Chapter 24: Little Liar: Chapter 24

Before I was arrested, me and the guys always hung out at Mason’s place.

We’d be in the converted garage, getting high, gaming, fighting. It was our go-to when we weren’t riding or at some sort of party.

I remember the first time he invited me over—his mom and dad were kind, loving people, and I hadn’t a clue how they ended up with someone like Mason as a son. He wasn’t even allowed to cuss in front of them, yet he was sneaking out, taking drugs, smoking weed, and fucking girls in their kitchen while everyone was asleep.

His mom tried to ask me if I wanted any lunch with faltering sign language. They were learning… For me.

A few months later, they were all fluent.

When I wasn’t obsessing over my sister and her whereabouts, I’d be there, pretending I was normal, that people tolerated me because they chose to, not because they had to.

The same place that’s all boarded up now.

Some of the windows are smashed, the grass long, bottles all over the yard. Despite being in an expensive neighborhood, the place looks like a wreck.

It’s been vacant for eight years, despite the house still being owned by Mason’s family—they left it here to rot along with the memory of their son.

It didn’t take me long to find him. One single search for his name and town, and article after article flashed before me. My friend died the same night I was arrested. He was hit by a truck at high speed and died on impact.

Ever since my speech therapist brought up having a friend, I kept wondering what he was up to. I thought maybe he was married with kids, that he’d won that scholarship he was trying to get, or maybe he’d moved Down Under, living it up with the Australians and surfing and bathing in the sun.

Learning about his death made me wish I was numb—that I felt anything other than the raw pain of how much I’d hated him all these years, thinking he’d just left me in there to rot. He hadn’t ever tried to see me, not that I would’ve accepted, but all along, Mason was dead.

Olivia has had multiple opportunities to tell me what happened—she could have, at any point, told me that Mason was gone. I hadn’t mentioned him. I hadn’t mentioned any of my friends to her since she came back to me, but surely, fucking surely, I deserved to know?

When I went to her office, I wanted to confront her—I wanted her to have a good reason for not telling me—but my anger, the terrified look in her eyes and tone of her voice, turned me on. I was going to spank her over her desk, but I ended up with my dick buried in her ass.

Her punishment was not being able to come, but I fucked myself with that when Abigail walked in. I would’ve kept going if Olivia let me—I would have screwed her right there, in front of an audience, to prove how much I owned her.

Abigail is lucky I didn’t break her neck and throw her out of the fucking window.

I chew my lip and get back into my car—the drive back is about an hour. I need to pick Olivia up from work in a few hours, and I’m setting up a date.

She’s desperate for it, so I’ve finally given in.

According to Google and online forums, most date nights consist of seeing a movie or going for dinner in a restaurant. At the start of relationships and getting to know someone, there are nerves, blushes, and, most of the time, they never see each other again.

They can sometimes lead to a second date, third, fourth, where they end up screwing each other’s brains out then one ghosts the other. Or, on rare occasions, they end with the couple in a relationship, married, having a family, and all that bullshit.

My eyes were sore by the time I stopped my research.

By the time I reach home, the sun is setting. Still a few hours until I pick Olivia up. I hunt for candles, set them up on the coffee table, set out bowls of chips and various dips, and make sure the bottle of wine is in some ice.

See? I can be romantic when I’m not on a warpath of revenge. Thanks to Google and reading too many forums, I’ve taken notes on this shit.

I pause when an idea comes to me, and then I smirk to myself and head to my locked side room. It’s filled with pictures and footage and TV screens. I took them out of my apartment while Olivia was at work and set them up here, making sure the cameras were on each route Olivia takes in life, including to and from the courthouse.

I’ve even hacked the security cameras of the coffee shop she goes to on the way to work.

I scan through the files on my computer and spot the one from years ago, from when we were teenagers and she was “teaching me” how to kiss and touch her. I watch it all, shaking my head at how ridiculous and shy I look while she’s talking me through everything like I hadn’t drugged her and fucked with her body already.

Back then, I thought I was muscular and inked—now I’m larger, my hair is longer, my ears are stretched, and I’m covered in tattoos. I think the old me would be terrified of who I’ve become, since I’m still as hung up on the same girl, obsessed to the point of danger, all these years later.

I was a bit of a dick back then—pretending I had no idea what I was doing despite practicing on her while she wasn’t conscious. Should I even tell her about those times, or will she get mad that I lied about the whole “I have no idea what I’m doing” thing?

Technically, I was still clueless and needing lessons from her. But sticking my fingers in her holes while she was unaware and me not understanding the way her body reacted didn’t exactly teach me.

Although she still got wet, moaned in her sleep, and she still tasted like fucking heaven when I sucked my fingers and licked her pussy.

The real thing is way better.

I land on a file labeled “Halloween” and click through different clips until I find one I know she’ll love.

I freeze as one of the screens draws my attention. Olivia is rushing out the back of the courthouse, stopping at our mom’s car. She looks like she’s been panicking.

My spine straightens, my brow furrowing at her posture and worried look.

I narrow my eyes. Where the fuck is she going?

A car pulls up at one side, the driver jumping out and grabbing her.

It takes a long second to realize this is real and some asshole is dragging my girl into their car with their hand over her mouth. She’s kicking her legs out, trying to slap her attacker, but I’m on my feet and grabbing my keys as she vanishes into the car.

Rushing to my car, I pull my phone out to see where she is. I have a tracker in her phone, something I was worried about her discovering, but now I’m grateful for my paranoia.

The red dot is moving. Fast.

I set my phone in the holder, press the gas, and speed out of the drive, the car tilting onto two wheels from the tight turn before I straighten it up and accelerate down the dirt road.

Fuck.

I could lose her.

I refuse to lose her.

I can’t. I fucking can’t.

I grit my teeth as I follow the dot, trying to remain calm. Leaning over, keeping the car steady, I empty the glovebox to get my small toolkit and grab the screwdriver.

It’s not the one I used on Olivia.

Someone is trying to take my girl from me, and the faster I catch up to the blip on the screen—which is turning onto a road that will take them into the forest—the louder my heart beats in my ears.

I don’t have anyone’s number to contact them. The only person I have in my new phone is Olivia. Why don’t I have my dad’s number?

The dot stops in the middle of the woodland—I’m close, so I slow down until the car comes to a halt. If they hear me or see me coming, they’ll drive off and it’ll be another chase. Plus, they might be hurting her.

I grab my gas mask from the backseat, slide it on, and take a deep breath before making my way quietly out of the car, gripping the screwdriver in my hand. Each footstep draws me closer, my breathing heavy within the confines of the mask.

I hide behind a tree when I see the black car. They’re still inside it, the window of the driver’s side down. I can hear Olivia screaming. It’s muffled, as if she’s got tape on her mouth.

Tensing my jaw and taking another deep breath, I go straight towards the car. The driver is on the phone, Olivia lying on the backseat with her wrists bound and rope around her face and in her mouth.

Without hesitation, as soon as I reach the driver’s side, I tighten my hand around the screwdriver and stab it into the asshole’s neck over and over again, blood splattering all over me as he chokes, each thrust sending more blood over my mask and coating the steering wheel and windows. Warm liquid spits at me as he tries to breathe, gasping like a slaughtered animal.

I jab the screwdriver into his jugular and yank it out then drive it into his fucking eye.

He’s dead already.

His head is hanging off, the flesh and butchered muscle keeping him from decapitation.

Motherfucker deserved worse. I should have taken him to the house and tortured him for even thinking he could take my girl.

Leaving him to slouch on the steering wheel while the soul drains from his body and soaks his leather seats in blood, I pull open the back door to find Olivia crying around the rope, screaming, a red mark under her eye.

That piece of shit hit her.

I’m too angry and losing it to speak. I can’t give her any comforting words. I tuck the screwdriver into my back pocket and go to her. She doesn’t question who I am. She knows. She saw this mask before when I took her and fucked her. A time I wish I’d dealt with differently, now that I know she could’ve eventually picked me, but I can’t take any of it back.

I untie her and pull her into my arms tight, holding her, never wanting to let go as my heart ricochets all over my damn body. Without her, there wouldn’t be any point in taking one more breath.

She cries into my shoulder—alive, here, with me. She’s with me. She doesn’t care that I’m covered in blood as she pushes the mask up and off my face and grabs my cheeks and kisses me.

Desperate. Each press of her lips is desperation—as if she’s trying to tell herself that this is all real and I’m here, in front of her, and she’s not being taken.

“Oh God,” she sobs. “He works for the Reznikov family. They… they tried to kidnap me. They’ll… they’ll try again.”

I shake my head, unable to talk or get my words out given how much adrenaline is rushing through me.

I won’t let them take her.

I can already feel the crimson staining my skin starting to dry. His blood is all over the car. Evidence of his murder. Fuck. I just killed him and haven’t got a single plan. I usually do this carefully. I make sure they can’t be found. I create a story. I have files upon files in my locked room of different strategies to remove someone from existence. But this… this is bad.

“Someone is coming,” she tells me. “He was on the phone to a man. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. We need to go.”

I glance over at my car, hidden behind bushes, then at the body in the driver’s seat.

Help me put him in the trunk, I sign. I have a plan.

“Okay,” she replies quietly, wiping tears from her cheeks.

Olivia is barely any help. She drops his head on the ground while I hold his feet, shrugging when I glare at her. Then she stands aside, shaking, with a dead man’s blood on her hands as she hugs herself.

She covers her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.” Then turns and vomits all over the ground.

I shove him in the trunk, slam it shut, and go to Olivia, who’s hunched over still. Pushing her hair behind her ears and grabbing it all in a fist, I hold it back until she finishes bringing up her lunch.

She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. “Oh God. What do we do? We’re going to get into so much trouble and they’ll send you back to prison. Malachi… I can’t lose you again. I’d rather be dead than lose you again.”

No one is dying, I sign. I have a plan. Then while sliding my thumb over the mark under her eye, my nostrils flare. What did he do to you?

“I managed to knee him in the balls, so he punched me.”

I grit my teeth and glare at the trunk, wishing I could bring him back to life so I can kick his ass before killing him again.

“Look at me. I’m fine.” She rubs my cheek, running her thumb across my lips, coating them in red. “Tell me your plan.”

Nervously, I stand at the entrance of Vize Manor.

Olivia is beside me, holding my hand tight, rubbing her thumb over my skin to reassure me that everything will be okay. I can’t go back to prison. Especially for murder. I refuse.

The door opens.

Mom frowns, her face growing paler by the second when she sees Olivia, and how we’re both covered in blood.

“We need help,” Olivia tells her. “Someone tried to kidnap me.”

“Oh. What happened?”

Why isn’t she more concerned?

Dad appears at the door, tilting his head and pausing when he notices the mess on both his children. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Our fingers slip apart as Olivia runs for our father, burying her head in his chest as she sobs and cries and shakes. He’s confused yet holds her back anyway, lifting his gaze to me. Given the look in his eye, he thinks I did something.

My shoulders slump as her words fail and all we’re left with is silence beyond my little sister’s crying.

I need your help.

Mom laughs. “You must be joking. Why in the world would we help you?” she sneers, looking at me in disgust. “You’re not welcome here. Get the hell away from our house before I call the cops.”

Dad stops the door with his walking stick as my mom tries to close it in my face, shutting me out from Olivia.

She points at me, stepping right into my face yet speaking to my dad. “He tried to kill you and now he’s hurt Olivia! We aren’t entertaining him. He’s no longer our son.” Then her eyes burn into my soul. “You were my biggest mistake. You should have stayed in the system and messed up someone else’s family. Or better yet, you should have died with your mother.”

I can’t hit her. But fuck do I want to.

“How dare you,” Olivia snaps, stepping away from Dad. She takes my hand again, showing she’s with me. “Don’t ever speak to him like that again.”

“I’ve heard enough.” Dad glances between us then at Mom. “Leave us be.”

“Excuse me?”

When he doesn’t respond, only glares, she scowls at me, then huffs and walks away.

I want to rip her apart.

When she goes to work tomorrow, I hope she gets hit by a damn truck and dies slowly.

“What happened?” Dad asks.

“Someone tried to kidnap me, and Malachi killed them. The man’s body is in the trunk, and we don’t know what to do.”

Dad looks at me, and I don’t blink, waiting for his lecture, waiting for him to call the cops or tell me how much of a headcase I am, but doesn’t do any of that.

He’s quiet for far too long, and I grow anxious. My hand sweats in Olivia’s, and I break eye contact and stare at the ground.

“We’ll need to dispose of the body and destroy any evidence.”

I look up with wide eyes.

Olivia covers her mouth on a sob and throws herself into him once more. She hugs him, thanking him over and over again while he rubs her back. His eyes lift to me, but I lower my gaze again so it’s fixed on my boots—which are covered in a dead man’s blood.

I have no right to ask for his help. I don’t deserve any of it. He’s the way he is because of me. I attacked him. I put him in a coma, gave him brain damage, and, ultimately, ruined his entire life.

I gulp and fist my hands.

Maybe Mom was right? Maybe if they didn’t adopt me, their life would be way easier. If fate was real, I would’ve found Olivia regardless of which family took me in, if any did at all.

“Do you have anywhere to hide him for now?”

I nod, but I don’t lift my eyes.

He follows behind me on the way home. Him and Olivia in his car while she drives, and I take the car filled with enough evidence to lock me up for the rest of my life back to the farmhouse. I have the guy’s phone, his wallet, and a random set of keys with a keyring of him and someone I assume is his wife.

I don’t feel bad.

He tried to take what belonged to me.

I pull in and reverse the car as far back as I can to the backyard—it’s dark now, and it’s starting to rain, but I have flashlights we can use.

Dad doesn’t blink at the home me and Olivia have been living in—as if he already knows. Olivia helps him out of the car and gives him his stick, then the three of us hunt for a flashlight while everyone stays quiet.

Olivia is about to find out a huge secret I’ve kept from her.

That I have bodies buried in the backyard.

Fuck, why am I nervous?

Dad being here doesn’t help. If I dig in the right place, they might not notice the other body bags. I’ve made more than enough bags to last a lifetime, and when I pull one out, Dad watches me in silence.

While Olivia showers, I lift the body from the trunk, stuff it into the bag, and tape it up. Rigor mortis is already setting in, so the guy is a bit stiff and heavy as I carry him to the yard and drop him.

Still, Dad doesn’t say a word as I start digging a hole. He doesn’t need to be out here with me. He could sit inside, sheltered from the storm, instead of all this awkward silence.

Rain is soaking my skin, saturating the blood and making it slide down my body. After twenty minutes, I have to remove my shirt from how hot I am—sweat coats my skin, mixing with the rain, and still, Dad watches me without saying a word.

It’s better if we don’t talk. We don’t like each other. There wouldn’t be anything to say, other than him asking me to leave Olivia and me telling him to fuck off.

My shovel hits something hard, and I swear when I notice the body I forgot to bag. It’s decomposed—been hidden in the dirt for about two months now, so it’s mostly bone.

I pause and stare, my lips flattening as I lift my gaze to my father.

He’s staring at his killer son, the murderer, the abusive asshole, yet he isn’t being judgmental or giving me shit.

“We won’t tell Olivia, but this is the last one.”

I roll my jaw. Who the fuck is he to tell me who to kill and not to kill? If someone gets in my way, they deserve a shallow grave in my yard.

Despite wanting to tell him to mind his business, I toss the shovel, climb up to the surface, and roll the body into the hole.

Even though he can barely walk without his stick, Dad helps me fill the hole with dirt. He’s only doing this for my sister. He can’t stand me. I’m the reason he can’t walk properly.

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive you,” he tells me. “But I’ll try.”

I flinch as his hand lands on my shoulder. He pats me twice, then slides his hand off me and goes to turn around.

“Dad,” I say, my nerves taking over when he pauses. I rub my fist against my chest with more meaning than ever. I’m sorry.

“I know, son.”

Walking back to the house, I stand in the middle of the kitchen while Olivia talks to Dad—they’re discussing our next steps and how he’s going to protect her, possibly send her to a safe house.

I pull the phone from my pocket. The screen is cracked at the corner, but it still works. There’s a preview of a message from hours ago that has me frowning.

There’s no passkey or fingerprint scanner, so I unlock the phone with a swipe of my thumb, open the chat box with the unsaved number, and see they’re discussing an exchange with Igor Reznikov for a fee of five thousand dollars for delivery of the “package”.

My dad comes up beside me, staring at the screen too. “Motherfuckers,” he mutters. “This has gotten out of hand!”

I call the number and place it on speaker for everyone to hear.

“What happened? I told you not to call this number,” a voice says.

The voice of Jennifer Vize.

The woman who raised us.