Consumed by Truths (Truth or Lies 6)

“My uncle doesn’t have anything to do with Enzo falling in love with me.”

“Yes, he does. Enzo loves playing the knight in shining armor, the rescuer, even if he will never admit it. Your father made sure you were in need of rescuing.”

I frown.

“And your father made sure you didn’t die. He sent me to keep that from happening. I pulled you out of that car before you caught on fire. I saved you, because your father sent me to.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s my father.”

“Sure, it does.”

“You really saved me? You were the one that pulled me to safety?”

He nods.

Our food is delivered. And we eat in silence. When I finish my last bite, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key.

“What’s this?”

“A key to your house.”

“My house? I don’t have enough money to own a house.”

He laughs. “Sure, you do. Why do you think your father has been saving all his money for years? Why did he make you live in a trailer park instead of a house? So when you really needed the money to disappear, to live off of instead of being vulnerable to the Black organization, you would have it.”

My eyes grow big as I pick up the key. “Come on, I’ll show you. I thought it might be better if he showed you. But you’re stubborn. You need to be convinced of how good your father really is. And your father will never say he’s a good father.”

I frown. “You do realize he sold me, right? He had me beaten every day for years.”

He hesitates. “I know that sometimes as parents, we make the wrong choices for our kids—terrible choices. Choices that at the time, we see as the only way out. But that doesn’t mean he is any less your father. Or that he loves you any less.”

I feel my heart opening to my father again. Even opening to being a little friendlier toward Beckett. He’s being nice, even if my father is paying him to be nice.

Beckett drives me in his Jeep. He blasts country music the entire time.

“I didn’t know you were from the south?”

“I’m not, but my ex was. She got me into country music.”

That’s when I realize Beckett is also dealing with a broken heart.

He slows the car at the end of a gravel road about two minutes from my father’s house. But unlike that one-bedroom cabin, this is a house. A real house—no, a mansion.

“Oh, my god,” I say as my jaw drops at the sight of it. “There is no way I can afford this house.”

“It’s already paid for.”

“Wow,” I step out of the car and slam the door shut. It’s a two-story cabin, with giant windows at the front. It backs up to the edge of a hillside, and I can’t wait to see the view from the back.

I start walking to the door.

“You are so cute when you waddle,” Beckett says.

“I do not waddle,” I say, although I totally do.

He chuckles. “Come on.” He holds the door open for me, and I step inside.

The entrance is amazing. It’s double-height, and you can see straight through the house to the incredible view at the back.