Perfect Lies (Mind Games 2)

“We should see a movie. Movies are quiet. People don’t think much during them.” Pixie’s voice buzzes at me, but I can’t quite focus on it.

Something.

Something.

Something.

Something is wrong. Very wrong. SO WRONG.

I whirl around just in time to see the door close behind the woman. “What was she thinking?”

Pixie sees my expression and frowns. “I don’t know, paperwork deadlines. Her thoughts are never interesting.”

“Let me back.”

“Fia, I can’t—”

I jump over the desk, knock her down, and push the button. The doors click unlocked and I throw them open, sprint through. A guard stands up from his chair and sputters something, blocking my way. I punch him in the neck and keep going.

Around the corner. Everything is buzzing, every internal alarm ringing, I feel sick and I feel tight and coiled like a spring. I see the back of the woman as she opens a plain door and walks in.

Wrong.

“You can’t be back here,” a man says, roughly grabbing my elbow. I put a foot against the wall and use it for leverage, shoving myself into him. He’s off-balance. I drop to the floor and sweep his legs, knocking him down.

Can’t stop. Can’t wait.

More footsteps pounding behind me but I don’t care, I throw myself at the door, slam through.

Everything is fuzzy, the room out of focus except the woman. Her back is to me but she is in sharp relief, every line clear, every instinct in my body tuned in to her.

Stop stop stop stop her, I have to stop her! I lower my shoulder and run straight forward, slamming her head into the edge of a table with a resounding crack. She collapses on the floor and I pin her arm behind her back.

My heart races, but everything else starts to calm, the rush in my ears fading and my vision going back to normal. She looks small and fragile there on the carpet, wearing a white blouse and charcoal dress slacks. Her hair is still perfectly set in a bun at the base of her neck and I—

Oh, no, please no, please no no I didn’t mean to I didn’t want to—

I see her chest move and I lean back, exhaling with relief. She’s not dead.

I’m grabbed roughly from behind. Elbow to the nose, turn, knee to the crotch, I am a fury of fists and knees and elbows, but there are a lot of them. I don’t know why I’m fighting them, I don’t need to fight them except they won’t leave me alone.

They have stun guns. Now I want to fight them. I break a nose, pop an arm out of its socket, fight my way into the corner. Two left. Two on one. Not fair.

Not a problem.

“Stop! Get off her!” James shouts.

The security guard immediately in front of me pauses. I slam my head into his nose and he stumbles backward, clutching it.

Good. Now no one is touching me. I don’t want anyone to touch me. I smooth down the front of my black tee, then finally take in the room. Several men in various stages of shock sit around a large oval table. The table I slammed the woman into. She’s still lying on the floor, but James is crouching next to her.

“She’s not dead,” I blurt, needing to say it and needing him to confirm it. “I didn’t kill her.”

James finally looks up and meets my eyes. I can read the panic hidden there, but his face is carefully composed. “She’s unconscious.”

“Why did you attack her?” a handsome older man with salt-and-pepper hair asks, and when I look at him I feel

nothing