All the Pretty Lies (6 page)

“I think this needs to be your last one,” Sig
says as I drain my third Corona with lime.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, noting the happy,
warm feeling, but no real impairment. “But I
am
getting a
little sleepy,” I confess, stifling a yawn. “Let me out so I can
use the bathroom and then we’ll go.”

Sig moves out of the booth and I stand, the
bar dipping and swaying around me. I reach back to lay a hand on
the table until I can steady myself.

“Can you even make it to the bathroom by
yourself?”

“Of course I can,” I say, noting that my
voice sounds slurred even to my own ears. “Just point me in the
right direction.”

Sig takes me by the shoulders and turns me
slightly, until I’m facing the bar. “Straight ahead. They’re just
down that hall, on the left.”

I strain to focus on the hall to which he’s
referring. When I do, I nod. “Got it,” I say and I take off,
weaving carefully between bodies as I go.

For the most part, I’ve never been at such a
disadvantage when peeing. I’m a squatter, my butt never having
touched a public toilet seat in my life. That’s more of a
challenge, however, when maintaining one’s balance is an issue. I
do the only thing I can. I plaster my palms to the silver metal
walls of the stall and I lean back until I’m hovering above the
commode, then I let fly.

I’m quite pleased with myself when I’m
finished and have still managed
not
to even so much as graze
the toilet seat. After I finish up, I right my clothes, wash and
dry my hands, then check my reflection in the mirror.

My black hair is still smooth and straight
and my minimal makeup is still intact. It’s my eyes that give me
away. They look heavy and unfocused. I
look
drunk, even
though I had no idea I was anywhere close.

I stick out my tongue to wet my dry lips and
press my cool hands to my overly hot cheeks before I head back out
to the bar.

It’s as I’m crossing the crowded floor back
to Sig that I wish for a little more clarity.

“Sloane Annelle Locke, just what the hell do
you think you’re doing?”

I know that tone. I know that voice. And,
despite my determination and my earlier bravado, I cringe. It’s my
older brother, Steven. He’s as bad as Dad for using my whole name
when he’s pissed.

I turn toward the voice. “Steven!” I say
enthusiastically. “You were just who I was looking for. Please tell
me Dad’s here. That would be just perfect.”

“No, he’s not. And you’d better thank your
lucky stars, too.”

“And why is that?” I ask boldly.

“He’d ground your ass for a year if he saw
you drinking.”

“Well, that would be a little difficult since
I’m twenty-one. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“The hell you’re not!”

“The hell I am!” I counter, equally
emphatic.

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

“Then what
is
the point?” I snap,
getting madder by the second.

“The point is that—”

I cut him off. “There
is
no point,
Steven. I’m not living like this anymore. I’m my own person. I make
my own decisions and no one is responsible for me
but me.
Now back off! I came here in hopes you’d be understanding and that
maybe, just maybe, y’all would stop treating me like a child.
Clearly I was wrong.”

I start to stalk off, but Steven grabs me by
the arm and turns me back around to face him. “Just where do you
think you’re going?”

“Home,” I say, trying to jerk my arm free,
but unable to break his firm grip.

“Like this? Behind the wheel? I think not.”
He starts to walk off, pushing me through the crowd in front of
him.

“Let go of me!” I struggle against his hold,
but it’s useless. He’s just too strong.

“No. You’re coming with me. Right. Now.”

“Steven—”

“I suggest you take your hands off her.
Right. Now,” a familiar voice says from behind us. My stomach does
a happy little flip and I look back to see Hemi standing a few feet
away, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl marring his
gorgeous face.

“Stay out of this, asshole,” Steven replies,
undaunted.

“I won’t ask you again,” Hemi says.

Steven stops dead in his tracks. He’s already
mad, and he’s the brother with the worst temper. As he turns, his
fingers bite into my arm.

“Shit, Steven! That hurts,” I say.

“How about this?” my brother begins, his
voice calm but hard. “How about you take your nose out of my
business before I feel like I need to do it for you?”

Hemi takes a step toward Steven, obviously
unconcerned. “Do what you have to, man. I’m not going anywhere
until you take your hands off her.”

“You
really
don’t want to do this,”
Steven warns.

“Oh, I think I do,” Hemi says, a smile
playing at the corners of his mouth.

Oh shit! Where’s Sig when I need him?

I step in front of Steven, facing him.
“Steven, I’m fine. I’m not driving. Just go back to what you were
doing. Don’t start trouble.”

Cops don’t start trouble in cop bars. Other
people start trouble in cop bars. And that’s the story every cop in
the place will stick to. It’s just the way it is. If Hemi gets in
the middle of this, there’s only one way it will end. With Hemi in
the back of a squad car.

Steven doesn’t even look at me when I speak
to him. He’s focused on Hemi and Hemi alone. Purposely, like he’s
making a statement, Steven puts his hands on my shoulders and moves
me behind him.

“You can consider this your one free pass.
You won’t get another one.” As if to punctuate his control, Steven
grabs my arm again and propels me in front of him.

I hear Hemi say the words, “Man, I asked you
nicely…” and then all hell breaks loose.

I feel Steven’s fingers disappear and I turn.
I see him pivot on his heel and swing his fist right at Hemi’s
face. My breath catches in my lungs. Steven is a big guy, and he’s
trained to take down criminals. Just the thought of what his fist
could do to Hemi’s wonderful bone structure…

My thoughts are curtailed when Hemi easily
ducks Steven’s fist. He does it with light grace and comes up
smiling.

“That’s a little more like it, big man. What
else you got?”

Ohmigod, he’s taunting my brother!

Holy shit, this won’t end well.

Steven brings up his fist and catches Hemi in
the stomach. Hemi steps slightly to the side, the blow glancing off
for the most part. He uses the momentum of Steven’s punch to roll
out beside him and push Steven into the crowd.

Steven goes stumbling for a few feet before
he stops himself and turns on a dime. I see hell on his face when
he starts back toward Hemi. That’s when the true nature of the
situation really sets in.

I’m drinking. For the first time. In a bar.
With my brothers. And a fight breaks out. Over me.

This will forever be my first impression upon
them as an adult.

Impulsively, I yell at the top of my lungs as
I step in front of Hemi. “Stop!”

I’m not sure if it’s my presence between them
or my voice that does the trick, but something brings Steven up
short. And before he can continue on his warpath, I hurry to
continue.

“Steven, before you can take all your
ridiculous anger out on a perfect stranger, know this. I’m turning
around right now and I’m going home. Sig is driving me. You were
way out of line and you can expect this same kind of shit every
night for the rest of our lives if you don’t stop treating me like
a child. If that’s how you want to play it, fine by me. But I
will
do what I want to do, whether you approve or not.”

After I finish ranting at him, I turn to face
Hemi, ignoring the fact that my heart skips a beat when our eyes
meet. “And you, this is none of your business. You don’t have time
for a girl like me, remember?” Hemi raises one dark brow. Other
than that, he doesn’t move a muscle. Doesn’t say a word. Just
watches me. “I appreciate the gesture of you trying to protect me,
but I don’t need protecting. Even from my asshole of a
brother.”

His eyebrows draw together in a frown. “This
is your
brother?”

I glance at Steven over my shoulder. “Yes.
Unfortunately.”

When I turn back to Hemi, his brow is even
more deeply furrowed.

“Now, I hope you two have the good sense to
drop this rather than go act like jackasses out in the parking lot.
I’m leaving.”

With that, with my head held high and my
spine ram-rod straight, I do my best to walk away without
stumbling. And, as far as I can tell, I do a pretty damn good
job.

CHAPTER EIGHT- Hemi

Holy shit! He’s her
brother?
I can’t
decide if this is the best turn of events—an unexpected gift to a
man trying desperately to do the right thing—or if it’s the
absolute worst—life handing me the very means by which I could
destroy myself. Either way, it’s a game changer.

I have a difficult decision to make. Do I let
her in? Do I do the unthinkable and let this girl into the
shitstorm that is my life? Or do I let opportunity pass me by?
Either way, I’m a thoughtless asshole and it all boils down to one
question: Who can I live with hurting more? My family? Or an
innocent girl?

CHAPTER NINE- Sloane

I hear the doorbell ring, but I ignore it.
It’s probably a salesman. Someone stole the NO SOLICITATION sign
from the front of the neighborhood about a year ago. Not that it
worked. Solicitors kept coming anyway. Every couple of months,
someone would buy another sign and stake it in the grass near the
entrance to our subdivision. And every couple of days after that,
someone would come by and steal it. Neither the signs nor the
stealing of the signs interrupted the flow of solicitors. I just
wonder if one of them makes signs. That would be pretty
brilliant.

The bell rings again and I roll over to look
at the clock. Twenty minutes before ten.

My head throbs like my heart has migrated
from my chest cavity and taken up residence between my temples. I
moan into the quiet, glad that all the men in my house are either
at work or are at the gym on their way to work. The last thing I
need on top of my raging hangover is a bunch of arrogant
I-told-you-sos and smug looks.

I hear the annoying
ding dong
sound
for the third time. Gritting my teeth, I throw back the covers and
stomp down the stairs to the front door. I yank it open, ready to
unleash unholy hell on some poor unsuspecting vacuum cleaner
salesman, but I’m brought up short when I see Hemi standing on the
stoop. He looks like a breath of fresh air in his low-slung jeans
with a hole in one knee, his black
The Ink Stain
t-shirt
with the fabulous art on the front, and his aviator sunglasses,
shielding his eyes from the harsh light.

I squint as I look up at him, the sun driving
a thousand tiny needles straight through my eyeballs and into the
center of my brain.

“What are you doing here?”

I see his lips curve into a wry smile and,
when he lifts his hand, I notice for the first time what he’s
carrying—a cup of coffee.

I reach out and take it in both of my hands,
holding the steaming brew to my lips and taking a careful sip. Even
the smell makes me feel a little better. Like there’s life inside
the cup.

“Come on in,” I say absently as I turn and
walk away from the door.

It isn’t until I’m seated on the couch in the
living room with my legs curled beneath me that I realize what I
must look like—plaid pink shorts, tiny pink t-shirt that says KISS
ME on the front, hair in a ponytail, last night’s makeup
undoubtedly smeared all over my face.

I close my eyes against the mental image and
take another sip of coffee. After a full minute or two, when
there’s nothing but silence in the room, I crack my lids and look
around for Hemi. He’s sitting on the edge of an armchair with his
elbows on his knees, watching me.

“Good?”

I nod and take another sip. “How’d you
know?”

“I’ve had a hangover or two.”

“This is my first.”

“Mmm, I’m getting to see all kinds of firsts
for you. Lucky me.”

A coil of warmth lazily unwinds in the pit of
my stomach. It seems that he’s hinting at other firsts, dark, taboo
firsts. His expression gives away nothing and his eyes are hidden
by his glasses. I don’t need to see them to know that they’re on
me, though. I can feel them. Like a touch. Like a warm finger
against my lips. Nervously, I wet them with the tip of my tongue.
I’m not purposely trying to taunt him, but I don’t think that
matters. I see the muscle in his jaw bunch as he grits his teeth.
And I hear a hissing sound as he sucks in a breath past them.

I revel in the tension strung between us like
a taut wire. I want to enjoy it, prolong it, not push him away like
he tried to push me away.

“And lasts,” I say with a casual laugh,
referring to my venture into alcohol consumption.

“Maybe. Some things you try will be much
more…addictive than drinking, though.”

My pulse flutters. “And what might those
be?”

“I’ll let
you
tell
me.”

The coffee feels tepid compared to the heat
that’s coursing through me. This subtle, intimate way he has of
speaking to me is doing horrible things to my nerve. And delicious
things to the rest of me. But should it? This
is
the guy
that asked me to leave…

“What are you doing here? Did you come all
the way out here to bring me coffee?”

I live about thirty minutes outside
Atlanta.

With my father and brothers.

Still.

But once I graduate, and start making some
money, I’m outta here.

“I’m here to take you for your first
lesson.”