Empire of Lies
can’t trust a single word or fact you’ve ever told me, what’s your real name?”His lips turn up into a small smile, but he doesn’t let it stay. “Michael.”
“Are you really an only child? Do you have any other family members?”
“No one that you’ll ever get to meet…”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I glare at him. “Why would you ever lie to me about something as simple as that?”
“I wouldn’t waste the remainder of your fourteen questions on silly things like this, if you want to get anywhere.”
“I know how to keep count,” I said. “At what point did you decide to become a fucking liar instead of the man I fell in love with? Was this all part of some twisted plan from the beginning?”
He doesn’t answer either of those questions. He just narrows his eyes at me. We’re still standing toe to toe, the tension between us as thick as ever.
“For the record…” I say, debating whether now is the right time to say this. “I fell out of love with you the moment you brought me here and threw away the keys.”
“I never threw away the keys,” he said, his voice menacing, yet soft. “I’m just keeping them from you, for a reason you can’t yet see.”
“I was trying to pick a metaphor.”
“Then try to pick a better one.”
“I fucking hate you. How about that one?” I pushed a fist against his chest. “I hate everything about you. I’m no longer attracted to you, I no longer want you, and it’s in your best interest to just let me go.”
“That’s not a real question.” He ignored my fist hitting him again. “I think we should just pause this game at eleven.”
“So, you can regroup and get more of your fucking lies together?” I shake my head, decide to ask the only question that actually matters. “Are you ever going to let me go?”
“You know what?” He clenches his jaw and presses his forehead against mine. “I don’t appreciate being called a fucking liar, Meredith.”
“That’s not the answer I’m looking for.”
“I don’t think you know what you’re looking for,” he says, his lips nearly brushing against mine. “That’s your main problem. You have no idea what’s going on around you.”
Before I can fire back, his lips latch onto mine and his hands grip my waist. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck, and I can feel his cock hardening against my thigh.
I shut my eyes as his tongue darts against the crease of my mouth, demanding immediate entry.
Giving in without thinking, I arch my back against the counter—moaning as he kisses me so deeply and roughly, that I completely forget what the hell we were arguing about. Then I suddenly remember what it’s like to be touched by this man, completely owned and pushed near the edge by a single kiss.
Fuck…
Whispering my name, he slides a hand under my shorts—slipping two of his fingers against my soaking wet slit.
“Your pussy is pretty fucking wet for someone who’s no longer attracted to me,” he says, biting down hard on my bottom lip. He teases my clit with the pad of his thumb before jerking his hand away.
“Who’s the fucking liar now?” He steps back, leaving me breathless and wanting. He looks me up and down with a scowl—as if he’s the damn captive. Then he grabs his coffee cup off the counter. “I’ll be back soon.”
“I can guarantee that I won’t be here waiting.”
“You’re plotting to get away again?”
“If at first you don’t succeed—”
“You’ll fail and fail again,” he says, walking toward the eight-car garage. He looks over his shoulder. “If it’s any consolation for your wasted time, I’ll always find you, Meredith. Always.”
Michael Now
One day later
This woman is out of her goddamn mind…
I stare at the live security camera footage of the living room, watching as Meredith attacks the floor to ceiling windows with a fire poker. She runs back several feet, takes a few deep breaths, and then charges forward with the poker aimed at the perfect angle for damage.
Sweating and screaming in utter frustration, she falls backward onto the rug once the poker fails to pierce the glass, but she doesn’t stay down for long. She charges at it again and again, repeating the exact same thing she’s tried with the crowbar, the metal base of a lamp, and a wooden table leg.
Today’s escape attempt is by far the most entertaining—especially since I’ve had every window reinforced with steel. Last week, she attempted to get away by starting a fire in the indoor pool area. (It took her five hours to realize that the room—just like every other room in the house, is practically fire-proof. The sprinkler system is wired to turn on if it senses the slightest temperature change.) And yesterday, she attempted to rile up a group of readers on Goodreads.com for escape. The thread so far has over two thousand comments and not a single person believes her. (They’ve turned her plea for help into a controversy with its own dedicated hashtag: #FakeAuthorGate)
She’s a fucking fighter. I have to give her that, and a part of me wishes that we had met under different circumstances.
Then again, I would’ve never reached out to her again, if she’d been a mere one-night stand. She would’ve been a distant memory the moment we reached our climaxes and said our goodbyes.
“Mr. Anderson?” A female voice interrupts my thoughts. “Mr. Anderson?”
I turn off my cell phone and roll down my car’s window. “Yes?”
“Um, are you planning on coming inside the station to talk with the sergeant, or do you want him to bring everyone out here?”
“I’ll be in a few minutes.” I roll up the window, expecting the young redheaded officer to walk away, but she simply stands there. Blushing and staring at me like a high school crush.
Sighing, I lean over and lock my phone in the glove compartment. I pull down the visor and take a quick glance at my reflection.