All the Lies (Lies & Truths 1)

oice.

I wipe at the blurriness in my eyes and stare out the window, ignoring him.

He won’t see me break.

He won’t see me cry.

“By all means, don’t stop on my account, my ugly monster.”

“You think all this is fun and games?” I face him and fold my arms over my chest.

He does that staring thing again. His attention is like a living breathing thing, sharp and cutting.

I hate how gorgeous he looks in his simple white shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing taut forearms.

And the veins.

Jeez. His strong veins disappear underneath the shirt along with the tattoo I know is in there. His hair is combed today, but he still gives off ‘fuck the world’ vibes.

“I don’t know.” He taps his finger on the steering wheel ever so casually. “You tell me.”

“I thought I was dying.” My voice rises with pent-up frustration. “I could’ve died in there!”

“And yet you didn’t.” His cold, unfeeling tone cuts me so deep I’m surprised there’s not blood all over the expensive leather of his car.

“Is that what you want?” I murmur. “Would it make you happy if I died?”

He shakes his head once as he pulls into the house’s driveway. “You give yourself so much credit. Your life or death means shit to me, monster.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not a monster. I am not.” My voice breaks along with my heart.

He saved me. Twice.

Surely that means something. Surely he can’t be such a stone.

Asher hits the brakes so hard, I jerk forward, but the seat belt holds me in place.

Before I can make out what’s going on, he lunges out of the car, strides to my side, and yanks me out of the seat as if I were a rag doll.

He lifts me up and carries me bridal style with ease, strolling into the mansion just like that first time he walked me to my room.

My breast brushes against his shirt and my jeans are the only barrier between my skin and his steel-like hand.

For a moment, I’m too stunned to react. For a moment, I get lost in the contact of our bodies, the tightening of my nipples, the torturous friction and the aching sensation.

I shake my head, the stupefaction withering away.

My hands turn into fists and I hit him. “What are you doing? Let me down.”

He continues as if he doesn’t feel my punches.

One or two of the staff poke their heads out but quickly hide once Asher throws them a glance—or more like a glare.

Blood rushes to my cheeks at the scene they must be seeing. I can’t believe this is happening.

He takes the steps two at a time and barges into my room like a bull. I expect him to throw me on the bed like the other time and play some intimidation game with me, but he goes straight to the bathroom.

I don’t get a warning before he drops me inside the shower and turns the water on.