Lies We Share (Lies 0.50)

He doesn’t see me at first, so I get to watch him without feeling embarrassed that there is a little line of drool on the corner of my mouth.

The suit doesn’t fit him perfectly. It’s slightly too big in the shoulders and just a hair too short in the legs. But no one will notice because the boy wearing the suit demands to be seen. His tousled blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and toe-curling grin capture my gaze. Even with the look of complete determination on his face, he shines brighter than the sun.

I don’t understand how he can pull off that look. And I have a feeling as he grows older, more and more women are going to fall for his charms. More and more women are going to want him.

Good thing I don’t want him. I could turn into a jealous bitch if I have to watch years of girls parade themselves in front of Langston.

Langston finally looks up. He stops walking. The brightness is gone when he looks at me. That’s who I am—I steal the life out of people.

He continues walking to me. He doesn’t comment on my appearance, and I don’t comment on his.

“Does your plan involve a way to get to my stepmonster’s house? Because the bus doesn’t stop anywhere near there.”

Langston hardly ever stays at his house. Instead, he’s almost always here at Enzo’s.

“I thought we’d drive,” I say with a smile.

“We aren’t sixteen. Neither of us has a driver’s license or has ever driven on our own before.”

I roll my eyes. “You know how to use a gun. You know how to hack into any computer. You’ve most likely killed before. I don’t think driving without a license even registers on the list of bad things you’ve done.”

He frowns.

“Are you scared? Think you can’t drive without wrecking us? I could always—”

“No, I’m driving. We’ll take the Porsche.”

I smile—my favorite of all Mr. Black’s cars.

We head inside Enzo’s house. Luckily, Enzo and his father are at the club working, so we don’t have to ask permission to use the car. We just take it.

Enzo wouldn’t care.

And if Mr. Black knew that we were killing Langston’s father tonight, he’d probably approve. The only bigger monster than Langston’s father is Enzo’s father.

We both climb into the Porsche. Langston doesn’t hesitate. He puts the car in reverse and backs out of the garage.

I flip on a pop song.

Langston growls and switches it to rap.

“Passenger gets to pick the music,” I say, flipping it back.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He steps on the gas too hard, and we lurch forward.

“Easy, tiger. We don’t want to get us killed before we even arrive.”

He lightly taps the gas, and then we are driving like the grown-ups we were forced into being far too young.

Annoyed with my music choice, he turns off the radio. Then his eyes grace the hem of my mid-thigh angelic dress. It’s covered in pretty white lace—the only part of it that hints that I’m still part girl. The rest of me is all woman. I developed early, already with plenty of curves at my hip and enough cleavage to draw in the most saintly of men.

“Why did you start wearing dresses, Liesel?”

There he goes calling me Liesel again.

I stare out the window. I started wearing dresses and acting girly when Enzo offered to pay for a new wardrobe for me, when I started a new school filled with rich snobs. The truth is I started wearing a dress because I liked the attention it gives me. I’m tired of blending in. Dresses make me feel like I’m more powerful than I reall