All the Pretty Lies (25 page)

“Who do you think you’re fooling,
Sloane?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. And you’re a terrible
liar.”

He’s right, of course, which leaves me with
only one choice—to be direct.

“I heard you on the phone, Hemi.”

A dead silence fills the interior of the car.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I hear Hemi hiss an
explicative under his breath. My heart sinks. It seems like he
didn’t want me to hear that conversation. And if he didn’t, that
means he had something to hide in it. From me, specifically.

My pulse picks up as I consider the very real
possibility that Hemi is the enemy. Sharp talons sink their lethal
tips into my chest and tear.

“Please tell me I misunderstood, Hemi.
Please,” I whisper, my throat closing around a ball of emotion
lodged there.

“Sloane, you have to understand that I never
did any of this to hurt you.”

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

I lean forward in the seat, laying my chest
on my thighs and my forehead against my knees. Somewhere in the
back of my mind, the part that can think beyond the pain I’m
feeling right now, I say to myself that this is over. Over in the
worst possible way.

“What did you do, Hemi?” I say, squeezing my
eyes shut and rocking forward. “What did you do?”

I’m barely aware of the sound of gravel as
Hemi pulls off the main road. I’m barely aware of the feel of the
car slowing around me. I’m barely aware of the taste of tears as
they slide down my cheeks and over my lips.

“I have three brothers. Harrison is thirty.
We call him Reese. I’m the next oldest. Haliefax is twenty-five. We
call him Leif. And Hollander. Ollie. He’d be twenty-four if he were
still here.” Hemi pauses, his voice breaking on some unimaginable
pain. “But he’s not. He died. Just over two years ago.”

I want to empathize with him. And, to some
degree, I do. But right now, I’m so devastated over what I feel is
coming down the pipe, I am almost numb. Numb to Hemi’s pain. So I
let him talk, uninterrupted.

“My last name is Spencer. Hemsworth Spencer.
My father is Henslow Spencer.”

Instantly, it clicks together in my head.
“Henslow Spencer? As in the oil magnate Henslow Spencer?”

Hemi’s laugh is not pleased or proud. It’s
bitter. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

At first, I’m stunned. Hemi is
the
Henslow Spencer’s son? How can he hide so effectively?

But that question is drowned by my second
thought. It’s with an agonizing pain that my heart breaks for my
brother. And my family. Whatever is happening here, whatever is
going on, my blue-collar family won’t stand a chance against it.
Justice works one way for people like Henslow Spencer. Theirs.

Still, I say nothing. At this point, I don’t
even know what
to
say.

Hemi continues. “I spent the first
twenty-five years and some odd months of my life being a spoiled,
selfish rich kid who had nothing more important to do with his days
than jet set around the globe and spend my family’s money. Women,
drugs, alcohol, gambling, racing, anything and everything you can
think of that had even the smallest chance of making me feel
good—or feel
at all—
I did it. As much as I wanted, any
time
I wanted, with no one to tell me no. No one to tell me
to stop. No one to tell me to do something with my life, or to call
me a pathetic prick. The world was my oyster. Just like it was my
brother’s. Ollie learned it all from watching me.

“Reese is driven. Always has been. Ollie
would’ve learned to take over the world if he’d been close to
Reese. And Leif, he’s a damn extreme sports junkie. Ollie would’ve
at least been killed in some…better way if he’d been close to Leif.
But he wasn’t. He was closest to me. Maybe because we were more
alike. I don’t know. But he learned from the best. Or the worst,
rather. And it got him killed.”

As lost in my own devastating disappointment
as I am, I can’t help but be drawn into Hemi’s story, into his
past, into his pain. I sit up, wiping my face as I lean back
against the front seat and watch him from the corner of my eye.
He’s stiff behind the steering wheel, his fingers curled around it
so tightly his knuckles are white. Like he’s trying to strangle it,
trying to punish it for the things he’s seen.

“I was out of the country and Ollie was
looking to score some coke. He was in Atlanta and one of his
friends knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy. Said he could get
‘em some shit the police had confiscated from Bolivia. Ollie didn’t
ask questions. He knew two things: He was a Spencer and money
talks. He learned that from me, too. But neither one could save him
from whatever that coke was cut with. It killed him within
seconds.”

The mosaic of my mind, filled with so many
disconnected, wildly-colored pieces, begins to shift, slowly taking
shape, taking the shape of a picture that might possibly be even
more devastating than the confusing individual pieces.

The words come out in an incredulous whisper.
“And you think my brother had something to do with it?”

For the first time since I lifted my head,
Hemi turns toward me. I imagine the look on his face to be a
shadowy reflection of what I feel in my soul—agony. Pure,
unadulterated agony.

“God, Sloane, I didn’t know what else to
think! All the pieces fit. After over a year of searching and
investigating and paying people off, the only information we could
find about the supplier was that he had a connection to cops in
this area and that he was known by two names: Locke and Tumblin. At
first, yes, I thought I’d found the guy. But now…knowing you…I
just…I just don’t know how it could be him. I mean, seeing the way
he protects you, how much he cares. How could
that guy
do
something that would put you in so much danger? And why? Why would
he risk it?”

“He wouldn’t!” I declare vehemently. “Steven
would never do something like that!”

I feel desperate to make him see, make him
understand how wrong he is. I have to make him believe that Steven
isn’t the man he’s looking for. I have to make him call off
whatever things have been set in motion before my brother gets
killed.

“I realized there’s a chance I could be
wrong. That’s why I’ve been talking to my brother about finding out
more. As much as we can before it gets out of hand.”

“Hemi, you have to make this stop. Oh, God! I
can’t lose my brother. You have to make this right, Hemi. Please. I
know Steven. He could never do something like that. Never.”

I feel hysteria crowding in on me, clouding
rational thought. My breathing is coming too fast, my head getting
too light. I’m shaking by the time Hemi’s fingers wrap around my
upper arms.

“Sloane, I’m trying. I’m doing everything I
can to—”

“Like what?” I shout, tearing my arms out of
his grasp. “Like making secret calls to your brother than won’t do
a damn thing for
mine?
Is that what you mean?” Hemi reaches
for me again. I cringe away from him, shrinking back against the
car door. “Don’t touch me! I can’t believe I
ever
let you
touch me! You knew all this, you
knew
what you were doing to
me, to my family and I let you…let you…” I can’t even finish the
sentence. “You said you’d give me the truth, but all I got were
your
pretty lies, you bastard!”

Scrambling to get my purse from the back
seat, I leap out of the car, frantic to get as far away from Hemi
as I can. Blinded by tears, tears of heartache and shame and
betrayal, I start to walk in the direction of town. Like he’s
calling to me from a tunnel, I hear Hemi’s voice. It’s drawing
closer and closer, so I walk faster and faster until I’m running.
Running through the gravel and dust, running through the
helplessness and hopelessness.

“Sloane, stop! Please, let me finish!” I feel
Hemi’s hands again, this time dragging me to a stop. “I never meant
to hurt you. I swear to God, I didn’t.”

I whirl on him, fire in my vision, spitting
from my eyes like drops of blood. “You’re going to stand here and
tell me that you had no idea you were putting his life in danger?
With an accusation like this? If only one dirty cop mentioned it to
the right person, you didn’t think it might end in him getting
hurt?”

“Sloane, I didn’t know…I mean, I knew there
was a
chance,
but I never really thought anyone would come
after him. And that was a long time ago. In the very beginning.
When I was just getting to know you.”

It’s as the last syllable is drifting off
into the wind that I realize why Hemi is even here with me right
now. All this time, he’s been using me to keep an eye on my
brother, to get information, to get as close to him as he can
without ever raising suspicion. He’s used me to put my own family
in danger. And I’ve gone along with it.

Like my life is on rewind, I picture Hemi’s
hands on my body, his lips on my skin. I picture him laughing with
me, caring for me, pretending with me. I picture him sharing small
bits of his pain with me, all those precious seconds I thought he
was getting close to opening up to me.

I cherished them.

I cherished
him.

I cherished lies.

The tattoo on my hip burns me—a betrayal that
is permanently embedded in my body, beneath my skin. The
butterflies of my freedom are now the broken bodies of trampled
trust and crushed hope. They flew too close to the sun and now
they’re being burned up, incinerated. They’re dying the only death
that a butterfly can—one that comes too soon.

“How could you?” I yell. My words melt into a
scream, a long wail of soul deep agony, torn from me like my heart
is being torn from my chest.

It was all a lie.

“Oh, God, Sloane, please. I’m so sorry. I
swear to you…I promise you that I…I never—”

“Stop it! Stop talking! I don’t want to hear
your words anymore. Your promises, your truth…it’s all bullshit. I
don’t believe any of them. I just want you to leave me and my
family the hell alone.” I wrench free of him a second time. “Go
away, Hemi. Just go away.”

I hate that my voice breaks on the last part,
my heartache showing through. But it’s with a stiff, straight spine
and a head held high that I walk away from Hemi, leaving him
behind.

I walk until I don’t hear him following me
anymore. It’s only then that I look back. I expect to see him gone,
already having driven out of my life like I asked him to.

Coward! Bastard!

But when I glance behind me, I see Hemi
standing just where I left him—in the gravel, under the sun,
alongside the road. Across the distance, our eyes meet. His are
full of guilt and regret and sadness. I push every other emotion
down into the pit of my stomach so that mine show only anger. And
hatred. And betrayal.

I hold his gaze as I take my phone from my
pocket. Then, slowly, decisively, I turn and dial my brother’s
number. The brother that I know and trust and believe in. The
brother who would never do anything to hurt me. I realize he might
still be sleeping, but I need him to answer. I need him to prove me
right. In front of Hemi. Even though he has no idea who I’m
calling.

When he answers, I exhale and start walking
again.

“Steven, I need a ride. Can you come get
me?”

“Where’s your car?”

“At the tattoo shop.”

He sighs, but he doesn’t argue. Because he
loves me. And this is what people who love each other do—they help,
never hurt. “Yeah, tell me where you are.”

I give him my general location and the name
of the gas station I know is a couple of miles up ahead.

“Give me twenty minutes,” he says.

“I’ll be waiting,” I reply, trying to keep
every bit of emotion out of my voice.

With one more deep, put-upon sigh, he hangs
up. And I keep walking until, when I look back, I can’t see Hemi
anymore.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT- Hemi

I stand in the same spot, watching Sloane
walk away until I can’t see her anymore. Now, ten minutes later,
I’m still standing here. Waiting.

I don’t want to drive up to her, to keep
pushing her when she needs the space. Hell, I don’t blame her for
her reaction. If I found out that someone I was sleeping with had
endangered my family, however unintentionally, I’d be eleven kinds
of pissed.

And she is. Rightfully so.

And I feel like shit. As much for putting the
bull’s eye on her brother’s back as getting her house shot up. But
the one thing that bothers me most, the one thing I was least
expecting, is how much it hurts me to see the hate in her eyes. To
see how betrayed she looked when she found out what I’d done. I’d
give anything to take it all back and erase that look.

For two years, the most important thing in my
life has been finding the dirty cop who sold my brother the bad
drugs that killed him. But lately, for the first time since Ollie
died, that has taken a back seat to something else. To
some
one
else.

Sloane.

When did things get so different? When did
she start to matter so much? When did I lose my edge, lose my
focus?

None of those answers matter now. It’s done.
She hates me and she has every reason to.

The question is: Can I live with that? Can I
live with her hate? Can I live
without
her?

When I finally turn away from the last place
I saw Sloane before she disappeared over the horizon, I pull out my
phone and punch in Reese’s number. I get the voice mail.

“Reese, call me when you get this. I need you
to have your friend look into something for me.”

If Sloane’s brother is innocent, I’ll make it
my mission in life to prove it. Until then, the only thing I can do
is reach back into a life that I promised I’d never go back to. Not
for any reason.