The Truth About Lies Read online

  Just as fast, I dropped the toolbox and caught Marcos around the neck. If anything happened to Drew, I was ready to crack his spine without a single hesitation.

  In a blink, Marcos produced his own weapon and stabbed it under the hinge of my jaw. I tightened my hold around his neck.

  “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa!” Drew exclaimed. “Everyone just relax.” He laughed. “This is nothing more than a little spat among family.”

  Yes, with a gun to his head and another under my chin, the idiot laughed.

  Suddenly, I was the one who wanted to kill him.

  But that could wait…

  “We are not family,” Dante seethed.

  Drew lifted his arms out to his sides. It would have looked like a surrender if he hadn’t stepped closer to the gun, pressing the tip deeper into his flesh. “My last name isn’t Guerrero, but your father made me one.” Another step forward forced Dante to take one back. “Go ahead. Let word get out that you put a bullet in my skull. You’ll be begging for the birds to pick the flesh from your bones.” He dropped his hands. “You can’t touch me any more than I can touch you. So how about you get your tweaked-out ass in your car, drive away, and let me do my goddamn job.”

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  My lungs burned as I held my breath. This was not exactly the new start I’d been looking for that morning. It was perilously close to an end instead.

  Dante stared, his trigger finger twitching each time he sniffled.

  And Drew stared back, a huge shit-eating grin splitting his face, all the confidence in the world damn near suffocating me.

  Finally, it was Marcos, still in my hold, who broke the tension. “We have shit to do and that does not include listening to Pop’s line of bullshit if you do something stupid, Dante. Leave them be and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Dante didn’t immediately move, and as the seconds wore on, I feared he wasn’t going to. But then, with a quick burst of laughter, he lowered the gun.

  And promptly head-butted Drew in the nose.

  “Motherfucker!” Drew boomed.

  My vision flashed red, and on pure instinct, I slung Marcos to the side and bolted toward Dante.

  Drew threw up a hand to stop me. “Stay out of it, Penn.”

  I couldn’t do that. He knew that better than anyone. He was all I had left.

  However, the decision was made for me when Dante simply tucked the gun into the waist of his pants, threw one last glare at Drew, turned on a toe, and then strolled away. Marcos fell into step at his side, straightening his suit coat as they leisurely walked to the black Mercedes.

  What. The. Fuck.

  As their car disappeared around the corner, Drew sidled up next to me, blood pouring from his nose and soaking the front of his shirt. “I think that went well.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Are you insane?”

  Tilting his head back in a useless attempt to stop the bleeding, he waved me off. “Please. That guy was a pussycat. You should meet their old man. Manuel’s a beast. They go against anything he says—son or not—and he’ll snatch the spine from their bodies Mortal Combat style.”

  Incredulous, I scowled at him. It only made him start laughing like the dumbass he truly was.

  “That was impressive,” a woman called, joining the conversation. “I get it now.” The blonde from earlier jogged over, a towel thrown over her shoulder. She stopped in front of us and peered up at me.

  Christ, she was beaut—Whatever. It didn’t matter.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and aimed my gaze at nothingness over her shoulder. “Get what?”

  “I had you pegged all wrong.” She used her hand to shield the sun from her eyes. “You’re the brother.” She offered Drew the towel. “And you’re Inmate Four-Oh-One—Manuel’s new son.”

  Drew chuffed and took the rag. Holding it to his nose, he mumbled around it, “Guilty.”

  “I’m Cora.” She dropped her voice before finishing with, “Guerrero.”

  Oh, fucking fuck me.

  Of course she was.

  Of. Fucking. Course. She was.

  It was hot for Chicago in early May, but a cold chill erupted across my skin.

  I blinked at the empty parking lot, and before I could stop it, my gaze flicked back to her.

  I regretted it immediately.

  She was staring up at me through thick, painted-black lashes, the strangest mixture of curiosity and confusion dancing in her haunting, blue eyes. “Why didn’t you tell them about her?”

  Unable to take her scrutiny, I bent to pick up the toolbox. “None of my business you keep a kid in your shower.” I walked to the truck, dropped the tools in the bed, and called out to Drew, “We need to hit the hardware store.” A.K.A. I need an escape.

  I started to open the door, but her hand—complete with perfectly painted red nails—came from behind me and slapped on the glass to hold it shut. “I don’t keep her in the shower.”

  I did everything I could to stare through her reflection in the window—desperately trying not to see her. But my vision refused to focus on anything else.

  Those fucking eyes.

  Forging ahead, I tugged at the door. “Like I said, none of my business.”

  Her heat landed on my back. Cora was small, maybe five-two, whereas I was six-one. So her soft curves hit me in all the right—and completely wrong—places.

  “Back up,” I ordered.

  She didn’t move the first muscle—except for her mouth. “Dante found her after he put an ad online for models,” she said, careful to keep her voice low. “It’s how he gets new girls. He pulls them in, gives them drugs, flashes cash, fucks them, tells them he loves them, tells them he hates them, beats them, or whatever the hell it takes to get in their head and make them dependent on him. After that, he turns them out on the street to work for him.” She swayed impossibly closer and my breath turned to ice in my lungs. “That girl back there is a sixteen-year-old runaway with nowhere to go who learned the hard way—and, Penn, it was Dante, so I’m talking the real hard way—not to trust a man. A feeling she and I unfortunately share.”

  My body turned to stone and my grip on the handle became murderous. Oh, but she wasn’t done with her little fairytale from hell.

  “I found her half dead on the floor, needle still in her arm, at Dante’s house a month or so ago. I was there to pick up a new girl, but while he was passed out in bed, I took Savannah too. If he ever finds out she’s here, there is no telling what he would do to her.” Determination filled her voice. “I will not let that happen. So hear me now. I don’t know what kind of men you and your brother are. I’ll be honest: I don’t give the first damn as long as you keep your hands off my girls. But I appreciate what you did back there. More than I can ever express. So…” She paused, her gaze finding mine in the reflection, those fucking eyes boring into me like she was pillaging through my head. And then she finished with, “Thank you.”

  I was mere seconds from peeling out of my skin just to get the hell away from her when she backed off.

  She looked to Drew, who was still standing at the tailgate. “And…thank you, too, I guess.”

  He moved the towel from his face to reveal his mouth hanging open. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do I exist again? Because I swear, for a minute there, I disappeared.”

  Curiously, she tipped her head to the side. “You were seriously cellmates with Manuel?”

  “Yep.”

  “And he liked you?”

  Drew grinned and hooked his thumb in the direction Dante and Marcos had left. “A hell of a lot more than he likes those two jackasses.”

  And that was when the sky opened, the light of the Lord shined down, and he finally told me what I’d known for years: Penn, I fucking hate you.

  Because she smiled.

  And not like that ridiculous fake one she was wearing when she opened the door. Not even like the lip twitch when Marcos had told her that Manuel thought of Drew as his son.

  This smile was differ
ent.

  It was the kind of smile that could have shredded the darkest soul.

  And I knew—because it was the exact moment I felt the first slice through mine.

  Penn

  “So this is it,” Cora said in what sounded like an apology. And, as I glanced around our new shithole apartment, I understood why.

  Hugo’s crap was everywhere. Dirty clothes, dishes, and empty pizza boxes were strewn across the half-linoleum, half-concrete flooring.

  But at least it wasn’t carpet.

  Drew spun in a circle. “Home sweet home.”

  “It’s only one bedroom,” she said—another apology.

  I felt her gaze land on me: soft as a feather, harsh as an interrogation. I didn’t dare look in her direction. We’d shared enough contact earlier in the day to last me a lifetime.

  Switching the black duffel that held my limited clothing and toiletries to my other hand, I escaped down the hall, the sound of Drew’s motor-mouth filling the space I left empty.

  “Ignore him,” he told her.

  Yes. Please ignore me.

  “What’s his deal?” she asked.

  There wasn’t enough time in all of eternity for Drew to explain that one. Not that he would.

  I continued to listen to them talk as I took in the filthy bedroom, complete with a stained mattress and a tower of beer cans.

  “He was born without a personality. You’ll get used to it,” Drew replied.

  There were several beats of silence where I could only assume they were exchanging knowing looks. But, again, I wasn’t willing to turn around and see for myself.

  “All right. I guess I’ll let you guys settle in. The bathrooms in the front of the building still work. I’ve shifted the girls around so one-oh-two is open. The door has three locks. If you’re inside…use them. On the flip side, if they’re locked, it means one of the girls is taking a shower.” Her voice took on a hard tone. “In which case, don’t even think about going inside.”

  Drew barked a laugh. “Cora, babe, we’re not here for your girls.”

  “Yeah, well, supposedly, neither was Hugo.”

  According to the half-empty economy box of condoms in the corner of his room, she was wrong. I didn’t inform her of this. I kept listening.

  “Okay, how about this. Penn or I get the taste to take a woman to bed, we’ll head into town, hit one of the bars, lie about how much money we make, take ’em back to their place, and then sneak out the next morning before they wake up.”

  “Wow. How very chivalrous of you,” she deadpanned, and as much as I wanted to deny it, her being a smartass made my lips twitch.

  “We do what we can,” Drew replied.

  “Right. As long as you’re doing it somewhere else, we’ll be just fine.”

  Drew laughed and then both of their voices grew distant. But I didn’t turn around. I just stood there, my knuckles turning white on the handle of my duffel bag as I stared at that bedroom, dread and impatience settling in my stomach.

  Jesus Christ. How had I ended up there?

  My lids fell closed, twenty-nine minutes of memories bombarding me.

  “No, please!” she screamed as she fell to the foot of the bed, crimson blood seeping through her pale-pink shirt.

  One in. One out.

  The stale, stagnant air that filled my nostrils did nothing to tame my demons, but it did wonders to remind me where I was—and, most importantly, where I wasn’t.

  Her perfume didn’t linger in that apartment.

  Her clothes didn’t fill the closet.

  Her herb garden she loved so much didn’t sit dead and overrun by weeds on the back deck.

  Her smiling, carefree face didn’t hang in images on the walls, tormenting me.

  No. That rancid, stomach-churning apartment was exactly where I needed to be.

  One in. One out.

  I startled when Drew’s hand came down on my shoulder.

  “Jesus, man. You going deaf?”

  Swallowing hard, I packed down four years of regrets and turned to face him. “Sorry. She gone?”

  His thick eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah…she’s gone.”

  “Good.” I walked back down the hall, settled my bag on the counter, and parked my ass on a wooden barstool—the only surface I was willing to touch.

  “How the hell do you think you’re going to get shit done around here when you’re acting like the boss lady is Medusa’s evil twin?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Right.” He shook his head and wandered around the counter to a small galley kitchen that had seen better days—like, say, the seventies. “Though, after today, I might need you to continue acting like a mentally unstable asshole to level the playing field for me.” He let out a low whistle. “Did you see her ass?”

  “Don’t be a dick.”

  A loud, condescending laugh bubbled from his throat. “I’ll take that as Penn the Priest noticed her ass too?”

  Actually, I’d noticed a lot of things about Cora Guerrero.

  Things like the way that simple turquoise tank top had hugged her, tracing and accentuating curves no woman that small should have possessed. And how her bra had been too thin because, as she gave us a tour of the building, it was her peaked nipples that gave the real show. And the fact that she’d been wearing a pair of tight ripped-at-the-knees jeans that rode so low on her hips that, as she walked up the stairs, the tan skin of her lower back peeked out, teasing a starving man—and maybe Drew too.

  That woman was a natural disaster waiting to happen, and if I didn’t watch myself, I was at risk of being victim number one.

  “I didn’t sign up for that shit,” I muttered.

  “Relax. I already told you I’d take care of Cora.” He scrubbed a hand over his cheek. “No way she can resist a face like this.”

  But it wasn’t his face that Cora would fall for. Drew was good with people, even better with women. All that wit and charm that had gotten him in so much trouble over the years was finally working in our favor.

  What was not working in our favor was the way Cora had been staring at me all day.

  Or the way my pulse spiked each time she came near me.

  But that was a different story. One that would never matter.

  “Though she seems rather fond of the ink. Either you need to invest in some long-sleeved shirts or I’m going to need to hit a tattoo joint.”

  Desperate to change the subject, I barked a humorless laugh. “Is this before or after you get yourself killed?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You acted like a child today, pulling that shit with Dante.” I moved around the bar, bumping my chest with his. “I’ve buried one too many goddamn people in my life. Don’t make me do it again.”

  All humor left his face as he suddenly paled. “Penn, man. I had that shit under control. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “It was to me. He put that gun between your eyes…” I shook my head. “We’re here to work, Drew. Not to pick a fight with a cracked-out pimp with a God complex.” I paused and locked my gaze on his, pleading just as much as I was demanding. “You have a job. I have a job. That’s it. Got it?”

  He stared at me for several beats, a darkness brewing in his eyes. “You know I fucking got it, brother.” He went straight to the cheap fridge, which was a few inches shorter than he was. Sucking in a deep breath, he opened the door, and then, in true Drew fashion, the tension melted away.

  “God bless your fat, perverted ass, Hugo,” he exclaimed, revealing a six-pack of horse-piss beer.

  After tossing one my way, he cracked a can open and moaned when it hit his lips. He was on beer number two before I was on the second sip.

  The hum of the fridge droned in the background until he finally broke the silence. “You gotta admit she’s a firecracker.”

  Outstanding. We were back to Cora. Not that I’d forgotten.

  “She’s crazy,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, I don’t know. T
here’s something special about a woman brave enough to pin you to a truck just to say thank you.”

  I became enthralled with my boots and tried to think of anything except for how soft her breasts had felt pressed against my back. And then I struggled to forget the desperation and fear in her deep-blue eyes as she promised me anything to protect that young girl hiding in the bathtub. When, truth be told, the minute Cora had whispered the word please, all I’d really wanted to do was protect her.

  Lisa had been dead for four years and I could still hear her pleas echoing in my ears, every day and every night. I didn’t need to add Cora’s to that never-ending symphony of my failures. Yet I feared I already had.

  Clearing my throat, I gave my attention back to Drew. “Any other man, that stunt could have gotten her killed.”

  “I’m not thinking the woman’s real concerned with her safety. Did you see that bruise on her face?”

  I had. And it’d lit me on fire. “Whatever. I just need you to keep her off my ass.”

  “Apparently, after today, you mean that literally.”

  “I mean that in every way possible. She keeps that shit up, it’s not going to be good for anyone.”

  He tipped the beer to his lips, smirking around it. “I gotta admit, Penn. That shit being a smoking-hot woman getting all up in your space, plastering her fine body against your back? I’m not particularly feeling sympathetic for you right now.” He smirked. “But I’ll take care of it. In the meantime, you can take the bedroom. After two years in a cell, I’m not real eager to spend the night in another.”

  I glanced down the hall. I hadn’t been behind bars for the last few years, but I’d been living in a prison all the same. That dingy eight-by-eight bedroom barely big enough to hold a nasty mattress wasn’t exactly the escape I’d been hoping for.

  But it was better than going home.

  Penn

  Just as I’d suspected, rest was nowhere to be found that night. Though I’d often heard that sleep required a flat surface that didn’t make a person fight the urge to gag, which was exactly what had happened each time I’d so much as thought about Hugo’s disgusting mattress. No amount of sheets, blankets, or plastic wrap could convince me otherwise. So, after I’d spent hours cleaning, sweeping, and mopping, I’d stood the mattress up against the wall, retrieved the sleeping bag that lived under the seat in my truck, changed into a pair of sweats, switched the lights off, and settled in for some heavy-duty staring at the ceiling. It was midnight and I’d made it a solid five minutes without losing my mind before Drew came knocking at my door.