Cruel Lies (Lies 4)

I have no memory after that.

Did Corbin fuck me?

I look to Langston and around the car. There is no one else here in the car with us. I slowly sit up and look behind us, but I don’t see anyone following us either.

Or did Langston burn all those motherfuckers to the ground?

The latter is more likely, but damn, do I feel sore and queasy. It doesn’t matter either way. Sex with a man who isn’t Langston is meaningless. Other men can do what they want to me, but I only belong to Langston.

“What happened?” I ask tentatively.

Once again, Langston doesn’t answer. He doesn’t turn around. His eyes don’t so much as flicker in my direction. But the vein on the side of his neck bulges, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens as he makes a right turn.

Clearly, I won’t be getting any answers from Langston, not that I deserve them. I destroyed a good thing he had going with Phoenix, and then I betrayed our marriage within the first forty-eight hours. I don’t even think it’s the betraying our marriage part that he’s pissed about. The destroying our friendship and not trusting him part—that’s what infuriates him.

I purse my lips and breathe out slowly.

I succeeded. I betrayed and hurt him. Now we can get the next clue. We can get one step closer to saving Atlas—that’s what I have to focus on.

I assume Langston is driving us to the next location to get the next clue. I told Langston the exact address earlier, so I don’t ask where we are going.

I just try to focus on my breathing and soothing the rattle in my belly, but I fail.

“Pull over,” I say suddenly.

Langston doesn’t listen, and I don’t have time to argue with him.

I throw the door open just as the contents of my stomach come up.

“Jesus,” Langston curses as he pulls the car to a stop.

I don’t pay attention to what he’s doing as acid expels from my stomach. I continue until I’m dry heaving. Even when there is nothing left in my stomach, my muscles continue to rid my body of all the shit I’ve been through.

“Here,” Langston says. He’s standing outside the car, just outside the spray of vomit on the ground.

I don’t have the strength to look up. I barely have the strength to lift my hand to take whatever he is offering me.

A napkin.

I cling to it as I try to wipe my mouth.

Langston grumbles something I can’t make out, and then he gently lifts my head up, takes the napkin from my hand and wipes my mouth. Then he lifts a bottle of water to my lips.

“Drink.”

I do, but the second the water hits my stomach, I start heaving again.

Langston pulls my hair back as I dry heave this time. When I finish, he once again wipes my mouth but doesn’t offer me water.

He looks at me curiously but doesn’t speak.

When it looks like I’ve finally finished, he lifts my feet back into the car, then does my seatbelt before climbing back into the front seat to continue driving us.

My eyes water, not from the lack of food or pain in my stomach, but from the way Langston still took care of me even though he can’t stand to talk or look at me.

He truly hates me, and this time, I won’t be doing anything to change his mind on the matter.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I hug myself in the back seat. My life is truly cruel—to give me a man I could love and then rip him away from me so quickly.