Lies(4)

Oh, shit. What if they’re going to hurt him too?

“Thom,” I gasp. “No.”

He spares me only the briefest of glances. “What’s going on?”

The creep turns, mouth set in a distinctly pissy line. Water keeps pouring out of the faucet into a bucket, presumably, and he’s holding a piece of ripped towel. “Wolf.”

“Spider,” says Thom.

“Since we had to pick her up, they wanted a threat assessment.” The woman continues to lean casually against the wall.

“It’s sanctioned,” snarls the man. Spider.

“And you decided that meant tying her up and torturing her?” asks Thom. “I don’t think so.”

The woman sighs. “For the record, I told him it wasn’t a good idea.”

“You were right.”

“Hey, now.” The man lifts his hands in a pacifying way. “I wasn’t actually going to do it. I was just messing with her head. You know how it works, you’ve got to—”

It all happens so quickly. The work of a moment, no more. Thom’s hand lunges for Spider’s throat, crushing his windpipe. The man doubles over, choking.

Unhurried, Thom draws a gun from his belt. One smooth, graceful arc, and the gun’s butt strikes the side of the man’s head. He drops to the floor.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years,” the woman says. “He always liked hurting women a little too much for my tastes. Such a rubbish human.”

It’s the last straw for me. I’m not used to all the threats and fear and violence. In movies maybe, but not actual real-world stuff. Acid climbs my throat and I lean to the side to throw up. Vomit splashes the side of my leg. I’m too freaked out to feel the usual disgust. Instead, I feel frail and hollow. Like I might cave in on myself at any moment.

“Fox, get him out of here,” orders Thom in a calm voice.

“Fuck’s sake. I hate carrying dead weight.” The woman, Fox, pulls out a cell, thumbs moving across the screen, sending someone a message instead of following orders. Perhaps she’s checking her social media first. I don’t know. Nothing about this makes sense.

Thom strides toward me, his face hard, eyes cold. I’ve never been afraid of him, but I am now. He produces a knife out of nowhere and squats down to cut the ties on my wrists. Then he grabs my chin, inspecting me.

I push him away, wipe my mouth clean with the back of a hand. My world has suddenly turned upside down. Thom the kickass fighter and me almost blown-up and waterboarded. What the hell?

“Thom…” I breathe.

His dark hair is this cool artful mess instead of following its usual dull, neat lines. And there’s a focus to him, a determination. No, a confidence. That’s the difference between this man and my former fiancé. He stands tall and strong. Ready to conquer nations, to take on anything and win.

Holy shit. Who is this guy?

Because this isn’t my Thom. It can’t be.

“Your eyes are blue,” I say.

“I wear contacts around you.”

“No. You’re his evil twin or something.” This makes total sense. Sort of. “That’s it.”

“Don’t be silly,” he replies shortly. “It’s me, Betty. Your fiancé.”

“I know Thom. He’s nothing like you. He would never…”

He pauses, then sighs. “You’ve seen my scars. You know them.”

“I know Thom’s scars, but…”

Without a word, he pulls his T-shirt up and over his head. Thom’s always been fit, but in the shadowy light, with the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans now exposed, the rippled body before me looks hard and dangerous. However, the scars are indeed there. Every one of them. One on the shoulder. A slash on his upper right arm. Four across his stomach, like a little constellation.

I shake my head. “Thom would never take his shirt off in public. He’s too self-conscious. We didn’t even have sex with the light on.”

“Self-conscious about the damage from the car accident, right?”

“Yeah, and the scars from playing sports and a surgery when he was younger.”

“I don’t care about them.” He sighs. “It was just too much of a risk that someone might recognize gunshot, knife, and shrapnel wounds if they saw them.”

Huh. “Thom?”

“Hi, babe.” He gives me a sad, sort of contrite smile. For the first time, he looks exactly like my Thom.

“What the hell is going on?”

He says nothing. But his gaze moves over me, taking in my battered face, my bruised body. It stops, however, at my hands. “Betty, where’s your ring?”

“I—I took it off. I was leaving you.”

For the first time, this scary alternate version of Thom seems almost surprised. A little shocked even. “You left me? Why would you…” Then he looks over his shoulder at Fox, who is carrying Spider away, holding him over one shoulder, fireman style. She’s obviously stronger than she looks. Thom leans in close, his voice harsh and low. “Tell no one. Do you understand?”

“What? But why?”

“No one. Your life depends on it.”

Returning without Spider, Fox wanders over. “All organized.”