Page 4 of Professional Liar
Two
Katherine
It was neverabout him and never about us. Our failure as a couple was always me. Never him. I promised myself I wouldn’t be this woman. Born into this life meant a certain amount of acting. But I never wanted to act with him.
Not him.
Never fucking him.
But Bianca. She came first. It was the only reason the hardwood cut into my knees. The only reason I plastered this fake smile across my mouth. The only reason I’d knocked on Pierce’s door after we’d decided to end things forever.
I hated him as much as I wanted him. And the man had no idea it was never his fault. I hated him for the weakness it gave me. The exploitation my enemies could machinate if they got their hands on him. No one could know. So I hurt him to save him, and I hated us both for the necessity.
I kept the smile in place, the rich hardwood of his floor cutting in to my skin, thankfully giving me a grounding point for the tornado of emotions swirling dangerously inside me. “Is this the kind of wife you want?”
The kind of woman good for crawling and begging and fucking in the dark.
“A proposal should only be delivered on your knees,” he said.
He’d gotten good at hiding his true feelings from me. I had no idea if he meant those words. The Pierce I’d known for ten years wouldn’t, but the tattooed, battle-scarred Pierce in my hands, was something rougher, more dangerous, ragged and weighted with experience.
Fucking bastard.
The uncertainty collapsed the flimsy towers inside me I’d been using to hold up the act. I couldn’t do it anymore. I needed him to gain access to the money I’d earned, the money Daddy locked away from me. But I couldn’t grovel to him. Not like this.
I needed a husband. Was it so wrong to want one who could see me, the darkness and the light? Someone to hope with, to grow with, and someone to wake me up when reality dragged me under.
Pierce could break into my mind with barely a whisper against my skin. When we met the night of senior prom, I knew within seconds of locking eyes across the crowded dance floor, he’d hurt me. And I’d want it over and over.
He hadn’t proven me wrong yet.
Years of heartbreak, of pain, of hating myself and him, had led us here. How did we ruin each other so well?
I released his pants, stood, and pulled my dress down. I couldn’t look at him. Shame beat through me, fear for what I was about to forfeit. For pride?
I wanted to be on my knees for him, but I wanted it to be as equals, not enemies.
“Why are we so fucked up?” I whispered, needing someone to tell me. Why not him?
He stood and cupped himself around me, his arms locking my back to his front. “Everyone is fucked up. We just do it better than most.”
His words trickled through the haze of lust, grief, shame, and the warmth of him heated my chilled skin.
I swallowed, my throat dry from the pent-up emotions and the need sweeping through me, before I spoke. ‘I’m going to leave. I’m sorry I asked you, Pierce. I’ll find another way to get what I need.”
I pulled away, but his hand clamped around my bicep. I trailed my gaze up the tattoos, which started at his wrist and ended at his chest, then up his neck before skipping those gorgeously sculpted cheekbones to meet his eyes. A brown so dark. The kind of dark you could hide in forever and never be found. “Kat.”
One word. It took one word for him to crack my mask. He always accused me of wrapping him around my fingers, playing him like a puppet, but it had always been the other way around.
He could ask me for anything, and I’d make it happen.
He could turn me inside out, and I would beg him for more.
One word.
One whisper.
One caress.
