Lies and Other Drugs (Lies Trilogy Book 1) Page 6

  “Octavia. Please talk to me,” Noah sounded miserable, his voice tired and pleading.

  I let out a shaky breath, my tears from before trading themselves in for a manic laugh. Was this really happening?

  “Noah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m okay,” I began, “This is Samuel. He’s just a guy I like to fuck in public restrooms. Nothing major.”

  I would have willingly traded twelve orgasms to see Noah’s expression. I pictured it, but the image my mind constructed likely didn’t do it justice.

  “Octavia. You’re killing me, Babe.” I went rigid at the nickname, that was new. It also made me feel like a patch of grass. He was a wild bear pissing on his territory.

  And I liked it.

  But I shouldn’t like it. Because I had a dead body in my apartment and a date with a gun. “I need help hiding a body,” I said, my voice shaky. I waited for their reactions. One tick of the clock, two knocks on the bathroom door by Bartholomew, my boss. Three seconds for Samuel to laugh at what he thought was a joke and Noah to mutter, “Fuck.”

  When I didn’t change my expression or join in on the hysterics, Samuel’s face dropped, his eyes grew wide. Such pretty eyes, green and clear. They looked like they’d never been sad or seen death.

  “Wait, you’re serious?” he asked.

  “Please, please tell me you didn’t kill Youngblood,” Noah pleaded.

  I decided to sit in their assumptions for a moment, letting their fear and judgements permeate me. “No,” I finally choked out. “Mrs. Mulberry died. She’s currently lying in her bed at the apartment. I—I didn’t know what to do. I just kind of...left her there.”

  Poor Mrs. Mulberry. Did she have any family? Did she have anyone that would miss her? And if she did, who would avenge her death? Who would they even blame? Time was the only enemy here, and I couldn’t punch it, couldn’t squeeze time’s neck in my fist or learn its secrets and burn it alive.

  “Ah hell. I’m so sorry,” Noah said, his voice dark. He wasn’t really sorry about Mrs. Mulberry. He was thinking of his daughter. That’s what death did to people, it made them think of all the people they’d ever lost.

  Nope. Not me.

  “And Mrs. Mulberry is…?” Samuel asked.

  “My roommate. The apartment is in her name…” I realized just then that I was homeless. Damn, I hated sleeping outside.

  “I’m not going to let you be homeless, Octavia,” Noah said, as if reading my thoughts. But what could he do? He lived in LA so he could drive by the playgrounds his daughter used to visit, eat at the restaurant he proposed to his ex-wife at, and sleep in the same bed he used to fuck her on. He had habits to maintain. A routine of self-destruction and regret.

  “You going to come to New York, Noah?” I asked. Samuel was watching me with interest. “Gonna come save me?”

  “Maybe.” His voice was soft.

  “I dare you.” I hung up the phone then looked at Samuel. He crossed his arms over his chest and got that look in his eye, like he was trying to decide what to do with me and if I was worth the effort. I waited him out, eager to see what he’d come up with. I felt his assumptions, his predictions. Samuel was rolling me up and putting everything he thought he knew about me in his pocket.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” he asked. It was a strange thing to focus on. He’d just learned about my plans to kill his best friend and that I currently had a body in my apartment.

  “He’s my therapist,” I answered, my voice thick. Why was I crying again? Oh yes. Mrs. Mulberry was dead. And death made me think of William. Did someone find him like I found her? Did they too walk away and leave him for someone else to worry about?

  “So how long have you been in love with your therapist?” Samuel asked. He wasn’t letting this go, and I kind of hated him for it. “I didn’t really think you had anyone.”

  Since I met him, I thought. “I’m not,” I said. I wasn’t a good liar, and we both knew it. Honesty was in my veins. You couldn’t go through life without a care in the world while living a lie. But I also wasn’t a good person, and Noah deserved better. One of these days, I’d push him so far away that he’d stumble into another woman’s lap, someone that would treat him with care. Someone that didn’t have an expiration date. Someone that was capable of loving him back.

  “Well. I guess we should go to your apartment then.” Samuel didn’t wait for my protests. He pulled out his phone, ordered a car with an easy click of his touchscreen, then opened the door. On the other side, Bruce was standing there, his meaty arms crossed over his chest with a blood stain on his white shirt.

  “Really, Octavia? Fucking in the bathrooms?”

  And I laughed and laughed and laughed as I turned in my apron.

  Chapter 8

  I knew that money wasn’t supposed to buy you happiness. But watching Samuel fix all my problems with a simple call made me realize that it really just gave you convenience. And for someone like me, who was all about taking the easiest path traveled, that was basically the same thing.

  During the ride to my—I mean the—apartment, Samuel made three calls, efficiently making sure that a coroner was there waiting for us. I stayed in my room to pack what few belongings I had. I guess it was a good thing that I didn’t get attached. I only owned a suitcase full of memories, clothes, and disappointment. Because if I were attached, then leaving my perfect, ratty apartment that smelled of curry and Mrs. Mulberry’s perfume would have made me sad.

  Within the hour, Samuel had contacted her one living relative, an asshole living in Texas that only asked what belongings she had left. No grief. Just greed. I added his name to my list of people to fuck up. With my luggage loaded in a car downstairs, it wasn’t until my hand was on the door and her body was at the funeral home that I paused and looked around. It all happened so fast. This place was always meant to be temporary, but it felt more permanent than any other home I’d ever had. Maybe it was because this was the first home I had made on my own. Nothing from my mother had tainted this place.

  “I need one more thing.”

  Walking to her bedroom, I breathed in the disgusting smell of death and mold before going to her nightstand. Sure enough, the pistol was sitting right there. Locked and loaded.

  I’d never touched a gun. Didn’t know how to disarm it and didn’t have enough respect for that thing to treat it the way it deserved. I was the poster child for who not to give a weapon to, shrouded in ignorance and hatred. But I picked up the surprisingly heavy pistol and placed it gently in my purse, using my favorite belly shirt of Mrs. Mulberry's to wrap it up in. It was easy. Too easy.

  I didn’t ask where Samuel was taking me. He had that nice-guy hero complex. Not necessarily because he enjoyed helping others, but because it inflated his already massive ego. When he saw a woman in need, he got off on thinking he could save her. So when we arrived at his building, I didn’t say a word. What better way to learn about my enemies than to live with them?

  “Nathaniel will be...out...till tomorrow. Once he gets back, we can talk about plans moving forward,” Samuel said with a smile before pocketing his cell phone. “I know this is all hard for you, but maybe it’s a good thing, Octavia. Maybe now you can go home and live out your life. It’s what William would have wanted.”

  I let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t realize you were the expert of what my dead brother wanted. And if you don’t want me here, just say so. Don't use my brother’s wishes to manipulate me.”

  Samuel’s eyes widened at me. For a moment, there was nothing but shock on his pretty face, but then he relapsed before saying, “You’re right. I don’t want you here. You bring up a lot of sad memories for Nathaniel. He was just starting to move on when you showed up,” Samuel said before grabbing my ratty suitcase and walking inside. I guess regardless of if he wanted me there or not, I was going to stay with them.

  I yelled at his retreating back, “Well then I showed up just in time.”

  We moved what littl
e belongings I had upstairs. As I set my suitcase in the corner of their guest room, Samuel observed me, mumbling about amenities and some other bullshit that didn’t really matter. All the while, my fingers itched to grab my cell phone from my pocket and listen to William’s voicemail again. Over the last year, it had become my coping mechanism. It was that little digital place where he was alive and still needed me.

  I went back in the living room and put the phone up to my ear, closing my eyes as his voice soothed me over, redirecting my misplaced grief into something that made sense. I barely knew Mrs. Mulberry. She was nice enough, yes. We lived comfortably, yes. She was vibrant and kind and eccentric and everything I wanted to be.

  But the last thing she told me before she died and the heavy feel of her gun in my purse were making me anxious. Samuel was perched in the living room, staring at me as I paced the floor. Holding my phone up to my ear, I listened to William’s voice over and over.

  “I love you,” William said until I could almost pretend that he was still alive. Samuel just watched me pace, like I was a tiger in his living room. It made me feel rabid.

  “Do you have vodka?” I asked, those familiar tingly impulses rising to the surface. It was time to dive headfirst into something—anything. Mrs. Mulberry loved to drink. It seemed fitting I’d pay homage to her by doing something I absolutely hated.

  “Yeah. But I’m not giving you any.” His voice was calm but strong. I snapped my head to Samuel, smiling at how cute he looked when he thought he could control me. He was biting his lip. Did seeing me all worked up, all broken, turn him on?

  I made my way over to Samuel and stood on my toes, brushing my chest against his. “What are you doing?” he asked. I absorbed his confused expression while twisting my mouth into a wide smile.

  “Forgetting.”

  I kissed him. And just like my kiss with Nathaniel, ours was terrible. Lackluster. Unenthusiastic.

  At first.

  He didn’t want to like kissing the girl that had a gun in her purse and a vendetta on her mind. But he did. His tongue was full of reluctance as I opened for him, devouring him whole while I took each little part of my attention and poured it into him.

  I had an obsessive personality. I could only focus on one thing at a time. I let my passions consume me until there was nothing left. It was a blessing and a curse, living that way. Always observing. Always diving headfirst into my ideas. My passions.

  And in that moment, I allowed myself to be obsessed with Samuel. I convinced myself that I was addicted to his touch, and then I drank him up. His hand went to my ass as he squeezed. His other hand cupped my breast. Our breathing blended together as we huffed like teenagers, using each other up until there was nothing left.

  Groaning into my mouth, he tried to guide me to his room, but I didn’t let him. There was something intoxicatingly tempting about doing this right where we were. What if Youngblood walked in? Would it hurt? Maybe my obsessions could shake hands then laugh in the face of one another. “I know you’re hoping that he’ll see us,” Samuel said.

  So the pretty boy was intuitive? I’d assumed as much, but now I knew for sure. I wondered if each kiss was giving him deeper access to my mind. The idea made me laugh. My mind was a dangerous place. He’d get trapped there like Noah if he wasn’t careful. “And I know you’re just using me…” he added.

  “Oh really? What tipped you off? The fact that my roommate just died or my lackluster kisses?”

  Samuel pulled away, shaking his head in disbelief. He then stared at me like I was a puzzle he needed to figure out. “I’ll let you use me, Octavia. I happen to like being used, especially by pretty women like you.”

  He leaned forward, placing the ghost of a kiss at my neck, his tender lips hovering over my pulse like it was supposed to turn me on. The twisting sensation in my stomach was a goddamn liar. “But if you’re gonna use me? You’re gonna enjoy it. And it’s going to be on my terms.” Samuel pulled back before bending to connect his shoulder with my stomach, hoisting me up and carrying me to his bedroom. I dropped my phone in the living room, leaving my brother’s last message behind. It was like dropping a weight.

  Samuel’s room wasn’t at all what I’d expected. Dark curtains, grey bedding. The wood furniture was bulky and timeless. There was a lacrosse stick propped up against the wall and a picture of him and a pretty girl on the nightstand. I didn’t care enough to ask who she was, but noticed that they had the same shade of green eyes and bright blond hair. Maybe Samuel had someone he loved.

  “This means nothing, okay?” I said as he dug around in a dresser drawer for what I assumed was a condom. He had his back to me, so I took a moment to strip from my work outfit. I didn’t even shave my legs today, that’s how much I cared about this fuck. I wouldn’t be faking any moans for his benefit. Nor would I drop to my knees and worship his cock like it mattered.

  “This means everything,” he argued, and when Samuel turned around, it wasn’t that square foil package I’d come to recognize in his hand. No, he had a blindfold and handcuffs.

  Kinky. Intriguing.

  “So you’re into bondage? You gonna tie me up, Samuel?” I was hot just thinking about it. My pulse was picking up, and I stared at him longingly.

  “Nope,” Samuel said while stalking closer. “It’s going to sit right here on the dresser for you to stare at. I’m gonna fuck you and let you wonder what it could feel like. Maybe later, when you break down some of those walls of crazy you have built up, I’ll let you use them. I’m going to show you how good it could be without letting it be the best.”

  I was on him in an instant. Teeth gnashing, back arching to be closer. His clothes were gone. Teeth marks covered his chest. I was scratching and pulling and hitting him with my sex as I wrapped my thighs around his waist, dragging my pussy all up and down his length before positioning him at my entrance. Fuck yes.

  “Make it good for me,” I ordered as he marched us over to the bed and slammed me down on my back. I bounced a bit, but he was hovering over my body within seconds. I turned to look at the toys on the dresser.

  Pretty boy was dark.

  And I liked it.

  “You wondering what it would feel like for me to tie you up?” Samuel asked while trailing his finger down my cunt and dipping it inside, groaning when he felt how wet for him I was. “If you don’t want to feel, you have to feel everything.”

  Sliding out, he brushed the pad of his thumb along my clit, making me jump beneath him. “Feeling is for people that care,” I replied through clenched teeth.

  My hands were held above me in an instant, the brunt of his weight pressing me into the mattress as he held me down. “Do you feel this?” he asked. “I bet you thought I was the flirty one, right? You thought I was the type to fuck you on my daddy’s yacht. You thought I was boring vanilla, getting off first then rolling my eyes at how long it takes you.”

  He wasn’t wrong. I thought the only thing he could offer his partners was a money complex. He kissed me deeply before speaking again. “I like to surprise people. I like to keep them guessing.” With a whimper, I parted my legs, letting them drop to the side, just like my reservations about Samuel. He slid in easy, slick against my wet need. The noises in his chest were deep grunts that made me vibrate. “Feel me?” he asked before thrusting.

  “More,” I begged. He slammed into me so hard my legs shook. “More.” Our slapping skin echoed around his room. “More,” I moaned, writhing and crying and dying a bit as he thrust deep inside of me. He held me down, and I loved how his body pressed against mine.

  And then I was feeling it all. Feeling the color of his bedroom walls. Feeling the sound of his grunts. Feeling the sadness in my chest but the pleasure in my sex. I felt angry, rising up to bite down hard on his lips, only stopping when he responded with harder thrusts. More. More. More. All of it. Making me feel everything and nothing at once.

  Chapter 9

  They say you shouldn’t make bacon while naked, but I enjoye
d the experience. The grease popped on my skin, burning with pleasant little bites that made me want to crawl back into bed. My strawberry blond hair was a curly mess that fell in ringlets down my back. My heavy breasts were full of teeth marks and bruises from the night before. Everything was staged perfectly when the front door opened and in walked Youngblood himself. I kept my back to him, giving up the opportunity to see his shocked expression so that I could act nonchalant.

  “Hi, honey, want some breakfast?” My voice was sickly sweet, lingering on that fine line of sarcasm William used to dance along with ease.

  “Sure,” a voice said that didn’t sound like Youngblood. It sounded like…Noah?

  Slowly, I turned around where not one, but two men were standing in the open concept living room. Hot electric blue eyes traveled my body. I took in the sleeve of tattoos, the retro styled light brown hair with natural honey highlights. I absorbed his precious smirk which hid behind sad eyes and a trembling lip.

  “Sorry, I don’t have champagne for mimosas,” I said, the first joke I could come up with on such short notice.

  Noah was here. Really here. I challenged him to prove me wrong, and he rose up to meet it. Accompanied by none other than Nathaniel Youngblood. I looked at the murderer standing next to my therapist and cocked my head to the side as more bacon grease popped on my back. “He called me,” Youngblood explained with a shrug.

  How the fuck did Noah have Youngblood’s number?

  “Don’t look so scared, Octavia. You’ve cursed his name enough times that it was pretty damn easy to look him up online. I would have just asked you, but you weren’t answering your phone,” Noah explained while giving me a pointed stare. I looked down at the floor where my phone was discarded the night before and winced. “Looks like you were busy doing other things…”

  My heart was pounding. It was so much easier to push him away when he lived in my phone with William and all the other things I wanted but would never have. “Have you been working out?” I asked with a smile. His arms were shredded, almost as thick as my thighs.