Beneath These Lies (5 page)

I stepped outside the gate and was pulling it closed when he dropped both palms on top of the chain link. “You’re either fearless or stupid.”

“Neither,” I shot back, hackles rising. “I’m just worried about her.”

I turned my back on him and walked to my car. Once I had my door open, I swung my head around toward him. I had no earthly idea what possessed me to ask the question, but I couldn’t help it.

“All this hassle about my name, and you never even introduced yourself.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t smile. Still, I thought it was humor I saw on his face. He was laughing at me.
Jerk
.

“Rix.”

One syllable. That’s all it took. Recognition slammed into me and I dove into my car, shut the door, and locked it.

Holy.
Shit
.
That
was Rix?

Pulling out of my parking spot, I couldn’t help but stare out the window as I drove away.

He’s
the head of one of the biggest gangs in New Orleans?

I’d put him in the category of unapologetically bad, and I’d been right on the mark.
It’s okay
, I told myself.
You’ll never see him again
.

I
DROVE DIRECTLY HOME AND
left another voice mail for Trinity telling her to
call me, goddamn it
. After I’d stripped off the skirt and blouse I’d worn to the gallery today, I pulled my dark hair back into a messy bun and threw on a pair of leggings and a tank before covering it with an old dress shirt of my father’s that was so worn from washing, his monogram was barely visible on the cuff any longer.

I had to paint.

I had no idea what, if any social commitments I might have tonight, but I didn’t care. Everything could go to hell when the need to paint struck. It had been weeks since I’d picked up a brush, and even longer since I’d completed a single piece.

No one knew about my closely guarded hobby. Because if they knew, they’d ask me why I didn’t show my own work at Noble Art. I was the owner, therefore I could do whatever I pleased.

The reason? While I had confidence in my ability to choose great artists and pieces to sell, I had no confidence in my own work. Instead, I held a piercing, blinding certainty that it was beyond terrible and not fit to be seen by human eyes other than my own. I had no classical training, and those flaws I was so critical of in others’ work while assessing its ability to sell were more than present in my own. But I didn’t care because painting wasn’t something I did for money or for show—it was all about the escape for me.

The night I was raped over ten years ago, my entire life had changed. One moment of bad judgment contaminated every day since like black paint tainted every color it touched.

I’d been torn apart on the stand by the defense attorneys, my reputation put on trial. Rape charges were ugly, and they were even uglier when your rapist was the son of a politician who had plenty to lose. I’d been barely twenty-two when it had happened, and I hadn’t exactly been a choirgirl in college. At least the proceedings had been kept closed—again the benefit of the plaintiff and defendant being well-connected—and the general public never knew my humiliation.

I’d given up so many things after that. I was careful to keep any of the limited number of sexual partners I had completely off the radar, because of my hyperawareness of my reputation for the last decade. Instead of going out with friends and having fun, I’d locked myself away with my canvases. Painting had become my own personal salvation.

For years, I’d told myself I’d moved on, but I hadn’t. I would have been living a normal life all these years if I’d really moved on rather than burying myself in work and paint.

I paused to take in the man I’d painted while the events of the day replayed in my head. Tall, broad-shouldered. His skin color strikingly similar to the man I’d met today. I dropped my brush and stepped back.

What the hell?

Painting him hadn’t been a deliberate act, but it wasn’t something I could deny had just happened. There he was. All rippling muscle and striking silver eyes.

The only things that were missing were the tattoos I didn’t get a close enough look at to replicate.

But it was him.
Rix
.

His name didn’t seem to fit him.

Stop, Valentina
.
Just stop
.
He’s not important, he’s not relevant, he shouldn’t even exist to you
.

I was just starting to believe the things I was telling myself when my phone vibrated from the side table where I’d left it. After quickly cleaning my hands and wiping them dry on a rag, I reached for it.

Two things struck me at the same time: I’d been painting for hours. It was after midnight. And the second was:
Trinity
.

I answered immediately. “Are you okay?”

Her voice, which I expected to be filled with excitement over what Rix had told me, was shaking when she spoke. “Can you come get me? I’m scared, V. Something’s wrong here and I’m freaking out.”

Protectiveness to rival a mama bear roared to life within me. “Baby girl, I’m coming for you. Just tell me where you are.”

She rattled off an address, one that was almost the same as the one I’d already visited today, except for two transposed numbers. Apparently my memory sucked when I was sneaking peeks at a cop’s computer screen.

“Is that Derrick’s house?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m in the bathroom. I just want to go home, but there are people downstairs and they’re yelling, and I can’t find Derrick. I don’t know what to do. I tried to go out the back, but one of his friends wouldn’t let me leave and told me to get out of the way.”

I thought about the neighborhood she was in, and was happy someone didn’t let her run out into the night by herself. I’d had no idea she’d been hanging out there the last few months, or I definitely would’ve had something to say about it.

She might only be my employee now, but I’d watched her grow up from awkward middle schooler to a bright and beautiful woman. I’d given her birthday and Christmas presents. I’d taken her prom dress shopping. I’d done all of the things a parent would have done that her grandmother was too old or too uninterested to do.

“It’s okay, honey. I’ll be right there.”

I didn’t bother changing except to toss off my smock and grab a light cotton zip-up hoodie. It was still humid and hot, but it was late and I wanted to be covered when I ventured back into the lion’s den. Because this was the lion’s den. It was Rix’s world, and he’d made no bones about the fact that I didn’t belong in it.

Well, dammit, I don’t want to be back in it
. But I had no choice.

My mind raced as I drove my Tesla back to the same street I’d parked on this afternoon, wondering how I’d flip-flopped the numbers of Derrick’s address when I’d jotted them down. I could have circumvented my encounter with Rix altogether, but that didn’t matter now. I just hoped I wasn’t walking into another confrontation with him.

No lights were visible from the house I now assumed was Rix’s. Good. He never needed to know I was here. In and out. Quick and quiet. Get my girl and go.

Every light was on in the run-down house two doors down, and cars with dark-tinted windows lined the street. It was the address she’d given me. I parked my car a few houses up and once again marshaled my courage. I’d texted Trinity when I was at a stop sign about a block away, but she still hadn’t responded.

Did I wait or did I go? I waited for another minute. Still nothing.
Screw it.
I was going in so I could get out of here just as quickly.

With no plan other than to get my girl, I stepped over beer bottles and crushed cans to make my way up the front walk. The house was similar to Rix’s but it hadn’t been repaired. The steps were caving in, the screen door was falling off its hinges, and more blue paint had peeled off the house than stayed on.

I thought about knocking but didn’t bother as the door flew open and two drunk girls stumbled out. Their mini skirts and tube tops revealed more than they left to the imagination, and their makeup was so dark and smoky, they’d almost assuredly look like raccoons in a few hours. But I could use them for information.

“Have you seen a girl named Trinity? She’s got long, dark hair with a pink streak on the side, and she’s about five seven.”

One girl giggled but the other, seemingly a touch more sober than her friend, nodded. “Yeah. She’s D-Rock’s girl. I saw her in there.”

Oh, thank God.
A wave of relief rolled through me. This day was all going to be a bad memory tomorrow.

“Do you know where in there?” I asked.

The girl shook her head, and grabbed the top edge of her tube top before it slid down and caused a wardrobe malfunction. “Try D-Rock’s room. It’s in the back but it might be occupied, if you know what I mean.”

She winked and grabbed the other girl’s hand, and they tripped their way down the steps and the sidewalk to the street. They chatted as they lit their cigarettes, ignoring me completely.

Whatever Trinity had been worried about didn’t seem to be troubling these girls at all, but still I entered the house with extreme caution—and my gun-packing purse tucked tight against my side.

Someone chose the moment I reached for the door handle to turn the music up to earsplitting levels. I pulled the door open, grateful the latch didn’t come off in my hand, and stepped into a tiny entryway that connected to a living room and kitchen combination. The paneled hallway in front of me ran down the center of the house.

I got looks from people in both the kitchen and the living room, and I think a few catcalls, but I couldn’t hear them over the music. One guy on the torn couch licked his lips and gave me a chin jerk, but I ignored him and made my way down the hall toward the back, where I hoped I’d find Trinity. I made it about five feet before someone—a very large someone—burst from a room and stumbled into me.

“Excuse me,” I yelled, my voice getting lost in the noise.

The man, obviously drunk and about a hundred pounds heavier than me, jerked his head toward my voice. “You lookin’ for me?”

What in the world?
“Um, no. I’m actually looking for—”

“Don’t care. I’m laying down claim on you.”

He moved one arm and I tried to duck under it to escape, but all I did was get myself trapped against a big, sweaty body.

“Where you trying to go, baby? I’ll take good care of you.”

His words were slurred, but the sheer bulk of him pinned me to the wall. My mouth went dry and my fight-or-flight response kicked into high gear. I shoved at him with both hands, struggling to get away so I could reach into my purse for protection.

I will not let this happen again.
My greatest fear, and I was trapped and helpless. He was immovable.

“Let me go!” I yelled. My voice was drowned out by the music as he reached a hand between us to grope at my chest.

Oh my God. No. No. No.

“You’re a fighter. I like that.”

Flashes of being held down by another man ripped through my brain, and I struggled harder. “Let go!” I screamed. His hot breath hit my ear, and the flashes of the past came stronger and faster.

“I like it when you scream. Gets me hard.”

Heart hammering, static in my ears drowning out the sounds around me, I clawed at him frantically. Panic stole my breath, but still I threw elbows and twisted until my lungs burned, and all I could hear was his mocking laugh in my ears.

And then he was gone.

I tumbled to the floor, landing on my butt. Pain shot through my wrists as they caught the brunt of the impact. It was the pain that snapped me back to reality.

Wincing, I lifted my hands and reached for my purse, ready to defend myself against him, but a glance up in the direction of the man revealed an unlikely rescuer.

Rix
.

Their voices were masked by the music, making it impossible to hear what they were yelling at each other, but Rix’s face twisted into an angry expression as his fist flew. It connected with the man’s jaw, and his knees bent as he crumpled to the floor. Out. Cold.

Holy shit.

The door to my right opened and a girl stumbled out. The bright light illuminated the pale yellow tile of a bathroom behind me, and I scuttled back into the room and slammed the door shut with my foot. I pushed up onto my knees, my hand shaking as I pushed in the flimsy button lock.

He’d told me not to come back.

Oh. Shit.
Why was he here?

My brain flipped into survival mode and I scanned the room, looking for something to barricade the door. Nothing. Instead, I reached into my bag and wrapped my hand around the grip of my pistol and sagged against the water-stained wall, forcing the images of Jay out of my brain. Every time I thought I was over it, something came back and yanked my past right up into my present.

I sucked in breath after breath, filling my lungs with oxygen as my heart slowed by degrees.

My present.
Trinity
. She might have called me from this very same bathroom, but she wasn’t here.

I have to find her
. Latching onto my sole purpose for coming here, I fought to gather myself. I couldn’t stay locked inside. I had to go out, and when I did, I would have to face Rix.