Stolen Lies (Truths and Lies Duet Book 2) Read online

  Stolen Lies

  Copyright © 2019 K Webster

  Copyright © 2019 Nikki Ash

  Designer: All by Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Editor: Emily A. Lawrence, Lawrence Editing

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About This Book

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Acknowledgements from K Webster

  Acknowledgements from Nikki Ash

  About Author K Webster

  About Nikki Ash

  Books by K Webster

  Other Books by Nikki Ash

  My life was brutal, horrific, ruthless.

  Dark.

  Until a beautiful bride was dragged into my life.

  I took her as my prize and made her mine.

  Vengeance never tasted so sweet.

  I see her truths every day, and it’s hard not to fall for a woman who makes me weak.

  She can try to run, but I have no intention of ever letting her go.

  I wanted to marry for hate, but it looks like hate is a lie.

  To the brave readers who are back for more. We promise not to put too much strain on your heart.

  Kostas

  One Year Later

  Lies.

  All fucking lies.

  Both of the assholes lie straight to my face. I’ll kill them both. An evil laugh erupts from me, making them both wince in exactly the same way at exactly the same time.

  “Is that your final answer?” I ask, grinning.

  “Y-Yes,” the fuckface says. “M-My final answer.”

  The room spins and I close my eyes. Blood. Sweat. Piss. The scents emanating from this cellar have my bile rising. Fuck, I’m going to puke.

  I slice through the air and miss them both. Irritated, I stomp over to the table and grab my bottle of tequila. Adrian clears his throat as I guzzle down the liquid, but I ignore him. The burn races down my esophagus and then hums through my veins.

  “I hate liars,” I mumble and take another swig. “You’re a liar.”

  The man—some Galani idiot cousin whose name doesn’t even matter to me—whimpers. “Please,” he begs. “Please don’t kill me. I told you everything.”

  Ignoring his pleading, I swipe the air again. This time I get them both right across the chest. This makes me laugh. His cries of pain are fucking entertaining.

  “Sir,” Adrian says.

  Swiveling around, the room spins, and I stumble at the movement. When everything slows to a stop, I find two Adrians too. Both scowling at me. What the fuck is his problem?

  “Got something to say?” I demand, my voice a husky slur.

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Just fucking hungry.”

  What time is it?

  What fucking day is it?

  Fury burns through my chest hotter than the tequila. These days, I’m losing sight of myself. My purpose. Everything.

  Don’t think about it.

  Don’t think about it.

  Blond hair. Blue eyes. Pouty as fuck lips.

  Pain chases away the anger and the ache inside my chest threatens to rip me in two. I grit my teeth so I don’t do something stupid like throw myself onto the floor kicking and screaming like a goddamn toddler.

  She’s gone.

  Been gone for a motherfucking year.

  All leads are dead ends.

  Even this slimy asshole tonight was a dead end. He knows nothing. Nothing of value. I’ve sliced enough of his skin that if he knew the answer, he would’ve given it up already. But he hasn’t because he doesn’t know shit.

  Where are you, Talia?

  Someone took her. I can feel it in my bones. But all the usual suspects are quiet and in hiding. Everything feels so normal. As if I imagined my wife—imagined holding her luscious curves and driving into her tight heat. Sometimes I wonder if I did. Was it all a fucked-up dream? Am I in some unknown level of hell?

  I swing out again, missing the Galani roach and his double. Squinting, they become one. Ugly motherfucker. Him and his blurred phantom twin.

  Everything turns black for a moment and I stumble. I’m just blinking away the confusion when Adrian forcefully grabs my knife.

  “Let me finish up here, Boss.” He pins me with a hard glare. Why the fuck does he have four eyes?

  “What’d I miss?” Aris asks, clomping down the stairs. “Yuck. A fucking mess is what.”

  “Kostas was just heading up to grab some coffee and a bite to eat,” Adrian says. “You came just in time.”

  Aris rakes his gaze down my form and his lips purse together in disappointment. Same fucking way Mamá’s did. My heart fucking hurts. His stare softens as he grabs my arm and hooks it over his shoulders.

  “Come on, bro,” Aris mutters. “Let’s get you back home.”

  My home is empty and cold. I hate it.

  “Wanna swim?” I slur, leaning heavily into him.

  He chuckles. “And watch your ass drown? Maybe later.”

  “Let me guess,” I grumble. “You gotta get home to your wife.”

  A snort escapes him. “Selene is not my wife.”

  “Yet.”

  “Yet,” he concedes. “But she sure as fuck acts like one, always bitching if I don’t get home at a decent hour.”

  I laugh. “At least you get laid.”

  “If I get home in time,” he jokes.

  We stumble up the stairs and he helps me into his Porsche. The drive back to my villa makes me nauseous. I’m about to puke when the car finally comes to a stop. He helps me out of the car and into my villa. I groan when I scent lemons. The maid’s been by, which means she had to clean up after my latest rage. Everything has been replaced and put back together again. I fist my hands, eager to destroy it once more.

  “Dude,” Aris groans. “You have got to quit trashing your villa. Do you know how much money we’ve spent on fixing this room? I thought we were past this.”

  I’ll never be past this.

  Talia.

  Just fucking gone.

  “She’s dead,” I tell him, my words choking my throat.

  He sighs. “You don’t know that.” />
  “She is.”

  With a grunt, he drops me onto my sofa. I fade in and out of consciousness as I hear the microwave beeping. Something savory makes my stomach grumble. Aris sets down a plate of microwaved pizza on the coffee table.

  “Eat, man. You’re wasting away.”

  I shrug. “I’m not hungry.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and levels me with a serious glare. I roll my eyes as I take a bite of the pizza. My, how our roles have reversed. I think Aris secretly likes taking care of me as I wallow in my fucking misery. I’d say he gets off on it, but his concerned eyes that are exactly like Mamá’s don’t lie. And because of that, I eat the damn pizza.

  “I really do need to bail,” he mutters. “I hate leaving you like this, but Selene can be such a bitch.”

  “Married life,” I say with a grunt.

  “Not yet.” He laughs. “Hell, maybe not ever.”

  “You bought a fucking house for her.” I scratch at my jaw. “Am I an embarrassment?”

  “Truly, you are,” he taunts, his brown eyes lighting up with playfulness.

  “Fuck off. You never have me over.”

  “You’ve been preoccupied. You think I want to rub in your face the fact I’m happy with Selene and thinking about popping the question while you’re dying over here in despair? Hell no. I may think you’re a dick, but I’m not going to do that shit to you.”

  I chew the pizza and frown before swallowing it. “Don’t tell me you let her decorate.”

  He winces. “The kitchen is seashell themed.”

  “Jesus,” I say with a laugh. “Mamá would be rolling over in her grave.”

  We both sober up momentarily.

  “I miss her,” Aris rumbles. “I miss her so fucking much.”

  I, however, have mixed feelings on the matter. She fucked over my dad. Sure, he can be a dick. Like me. But did he deserve to be cheated on for a damn decade? Did he deserve to be shot because he was angry about the affair? He sure as hell didn’t deserve to lose his ability to walk because she couldn’t keep from having sex with Niles Fucking Nikolaides.

  Is that what happened to Talia? Did she run off with her secret lover?

  No one fucking knows. Especially not me.

  “Maybe when you’re not getting fucked up, you can come over for dinner one day. Make some décor suggestions to Selene.”

  “Maybe,” I grumble. We both know I’m not leaving this fucking hotel to go give interior decorating advice to my brother’s whore wannabe wife.

  Aris leaves the room and returns shortly with a glass of ouzo. He smiles as he sets it down next to the plate. “My peace offering.”

  “Who knew you could be so cordial, brother?”

  He grins. “Someone has to take care of your broody ass.”

  I suck down the ouzo and then slam the glass back down on the table. “You out?”

  “Yeah. I’m out. See you tomorrow.”

  “Any leads?”

  A frown mars his features. “If I had any, you’d be the first to know.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “We’ll find her, Kostas.”

  Bones in a ditch.

  Hair hanging from a vat of acid.

  Her big diamond ring at the bottom of the sea.

  That’s how I imagine we’ll find her one day.

  I hate that I’m losing faith we’ll find her alive. It’s been so long. Her mother is devastated. Phoenix is damn near crazed. And me, I’m fucking destroyed.

  A year.

  A motherfucking year.

  It’s not getting better. It’s getting much, much worse.

  “If you want me to stay with you and talk,” Aris says, “I can tell Selene we’re working more leads. I don’t like that look in your eyes.” He clenches his jaw. “You can’t do to me what Mamá did to us. Don’t leave me with our damn dad all alone.”

  He thinks I’m going to kill myself.

  It’s like he doesn’t know me at all.

  I don’t want to kill myself…

  I want to kill anyone and everyone involved in the disappearance of my wife.

  And if Talia left me of her own accord, well, I’ll deal with her ass when I find her.

  “Go,” I grunt. “Go play house.”

  He smirks. “You’re jealous.”

  “Jealous you’re going to get your dick sucked? Fuck yes. But by Selene? Hell no. Sorry, Aris, but she’s a snotty bitch.”

  Rather than be offended, he shrugs. “She gives good head.”

  We both laugh and then he lets out a sigh.

  “One more peace offering and then I’m gone,” he grunts. “You can get your lazy ass up off your couch if you want any more. Tomorrow, come to the office sober and we can shake up some more leads.”

  He disappears and once again returns with my glass refilled with ouzo. With a tip of his head, he leaves me with my alcohol and my depressing thoughts. After I suck down the drink, I stumble into the bathroom, shedding my bloody clothes along the way. I take a long, hot shower and lean my head against the cool tile. My hand rubs at my dick, but between the ouzo and my shitty attitude, it’s not interested in release.

  “What the fuck ever,” I grunt out.

  Once I’m dry, I wrap my towel around my waist and fall onto the bed. I reach into the drawer, pulling out my iPad. Turning it on, I open the pictures app and find ones I have saved of Talia.

  In the photos, her blue eyes are alight with fire. She was so alive. She loved to challenge me. I loved it right back. Loved her.

  Now?

  I still fucking love her, which is why this shit hurts so bad. I let her leave that day pissed at me when I should have dragged her back to bed to leave love notes with my mouth all over her body. I should have spoken those words. Maybe it could have made a difference. Maybe she would still be here with me.

  Scrolling past several pictures, I find my favorite. One of her lying in bed, her hair messy and her tits exposed. They’re red from my mouth and her nipples are hard. The sultry look on her face just begs me to come back to bed and fuck her again. Again and again and again. That’s not the look of someone who’d willingly leave. Deep down, I feel that in my heart. But my head? My head wonders if she was acting all along.

  Refusing to think badly about her when all I want is to fucking come, I undo my towel and fist my cock that’s come to life upon seeing her picture. She’s still my wife. Until I know she’s dead or left me, I’ll go on the assumption she’s alive somewhere out there missing me. I stroke and stroke, fixating on her plump lips. Her full tits. Her hooded eyes. Closing my eyes, I remember back to how tight she felt when I’d push into her slick cunt. How her tits would jiggle and she’d moan so fucking sweetly. Her fingernails would scrape down my shoulders and she’d beg for release. I groan when my nuts seize up. Heat splatters on my stomach and my chest heaves. When I reopen my eyes, I realize I’ve accidentally slid to the next picture. It’s one of her at the opening of Pomegranate that her mother took. I stole it from her mom’s social media like a fucking creepy stalker.

  God, she’s beautiful.

  She’s still out there.

  She has to be.

  As my eyes droop, I silently make a vow.

  I’m coming for you, moró mou. I’m always coming for you.

  And one day I’m going to find you.

  Talia

  “In the underworld, Proserpina has grown to love Pluto, who treated her with compassion and loved her as his Queen. As she would have up in Olympus, she remained eternally beautiful in the Underworld. Pluto admired her kind and nurturing nature. However, Proserpina missed her dear mother greatly and wished to spend time on earth with her. When Hermes reached the underworld, he requested that Proserpina come back to earth with him to rejoin her mother and father.” I turn the page of the book, and a tiny hand swats out at the page, wrinkling it slightly.

  “No, no, sweet girl,” I tell her gently. “We have to be nice to the book.” She looks up at me with her radiant bright blue eyes and gig
gles, and my heart feels as though it’s thumped straight out of my chest. But I guess that comes with the territory. My mom used to always tell me being a mom means removing your heart and giving it to your children.

  Wiping a drop of liquid emotion from my cheek, I continue to read my favorite part of the book. “Pluto knew he could not refuse the commands of Zeus, but he also could not part from his beloved Proserpina.” A golf ball sized lump fills my throat, and I have to set the book down for a minute to gather myself together. It always happens when I get to this part. Thoughts of him surface and I have to force them away. It’s the only way.

  With a deep breath, I continue to read the story. “Before she departed from the underworld, Pluto offered Proserpina a pomegranate as a farewell. This was, however, a cunning move by Pluto. All the Olympians knew that if anyone ate or drank anything in the Underworld they would be destined to remain there for—”

  “That book again?” a shrill voice, equivalent to nails grinding on a chalkboard, says, ruining story time.

  Without turning to face the owner of the voice, I close the book and stare out at the blue waters of Mirabello Bay. From up here, I can’t smell the salt water, but I can still see the waves lapping up at the shore, and sometimes when I close my eyes, I can imagine being down there, lying in a hammock, smelling the scent of—

  “You know it doesn’t understand anything you’re saying, right?” the annoying voice continues, snapping me out of my daydream. “It’s a baby,” she snarls.

  “And that’s why I’m the mom and you’re the maid.” I give my daughter a kiss on her forehead and inhale her fresh baby scent that’s mixed with chlorine from our swim in the pool earlier. “She’s not an it. And she’s almost six months old. She’s sitting up and crawling. She laughs and…” I turn around to face the maid, annoyed at myself for allowing her to work me up, but I can’t help it. Every time she speaks of my daughter as if she’s some alien, it riles up my mama bear instincts and I pounce.

  When my eyes scan down her body, I notice she’s dressed in a skimpy shrimp-colored dress and white heels, her face full of makeup, like she’s about to go to the club instead of rotate the laundry. Her collagen-filled lips are pursed together in a mixture of hate and confusion, and I roll my eyes. I don’t know why I even bother to try to explain anything to her. She doesn’t have a single maternal bone in her body. I pity anything—plant, human, animal, mineral—she attempts to care for. It will be dead within days.