Taken by Lies (Truth or Lies 1)

I nod, men and their pride. But I’m no different. I want my pride too.

“Where is he?” he repeats.

“He is standing right in front of you.” I fold my arms across my chest and grin, my eyes daring him to doubt me.

Enzo’s eyes narrow as he looks around for a man to jump out from behind me. It takes him a second to process that I’m not Jocelyn, I’m Kai Miller. Katherine is my actual name, but I haven’t gone by that since I was three and declared my name was Kai. I’ve always been Kai.

His lips curl into a grin. “I knew you were a thief; I didn’t realize you were a liar too, Kai.”

I smile back, tauntingly. “A liar who could have slipped through your cracks and been on the run for a lot longer than you were prepared to search for me. But I didn’t run. I owe you a debt, and now that debt has been repaid.”

He nods. “Your debt is forgiven. But it was a stupid trade, my beautiful, Kai.” He grabs my arm. “Let’s go for a ride on the waves, Kai. I have something I want to show you.”

5

Enzo

This can’t be right.

This girl can’t be Kai Miller.

It has to be a mistake.

Even if she is Kai Miller, my father must have written down the wrong name.

Or there must be a different Kai Miller.

She doesn’t belong in my world.

She doesn’t deserve to die.

Even though she stole your watch without any way to pay you back?

Shut up, I tell the voice in my head.

There is a difference between being punished and dying. She deserves to be punished for her crime, that’s all.

“Show me your ID,” I say.

Jocelyn, or Kai or whatever her name is, bites her lip in the adorable, seductive way she does when she’s thinking hard.

I groan inwardly, but don’t let her see how such a simple movement affects me. I want to kiss her, not kill her.

“I don’t have an ID.”

“What? Did you leave it at home?” I ask, not sure why she would. I don’t know where she lives, but surely she drove to the pier. I know she doesn’t live in any of the large seaside houses that cost millions and are the only homes nearby.

“No, I don’t have an ID.”

I grip her wrist, not believing a word out of her mouth. “You’re older than sixteen, which means you have a driver’s license.”

She shakes her head.

“You’re not at least sixteen?” Shit, how young is she?

“I’m sixteen; I turn seventeen next week.” She hesitates as if she’s ashamed to say the rest. “But I never got my driver’s license.”

I narrow my eyes into slits, demanding her to tell me the truth.