Page 94 of Threaded Lies

Two pairs of eyes shoot up from where they stare at the cell phone on speaker on the center of the table. I hear the tail end of Bob’s voice saying something and bite back my smirk.

“You guys good in here?” I ask. “Everything okay?”

“Hold on a second, Roberto,” Rhett says to the phone. I’m surprised he can talk he’s grinning so hard. “Yep. Everything is fucking perfect.”

Chad nods enthusiastically as I catch sight of that damn lighter sitting on the desk next to the cell phone.

Clank. Click. Clank.

As if I needed a reminder as to why I’m doing this. Thanks, Mase. I know that was you.

“Good campaign news, then? You’re topping the polls?” I pump my fist in mock enthusiasm.

“Something like that,” Rhett says at the same time Chad says, “Even better.”

I look at both of them with a confused expression, playing the part more now than ever. “Awesome.”

“Did you need us for anything?” Rhett asks.

“Nothing that can’t be talked about later. Just supplier issues and questions on onboarding those new subcontractors Rowan has hired,” I say.

“She’s the new co-CEO. Ask her.” Rhett is still so bitter over that. I fucking love it.

“Nah. I figure I’ll make you earn your paycheck.” I step back out of the door.

“I’m already doing my job on top of the bullshit you asked for last meeting.”

“Hmm. That’s why you get paid the big bucks, Rhett. I’ll leave you to whatever it is you’re doing. We’ll talk later.”

I shut the door behind me as Bob’s voice springs back to life on the phone behind it. I laugh at the Spanish accent he adds to his voice when talking to them.

But my smile is wide and my mood is fucking set.

It’s rare you get to watch your prey creep up to the trap and see the big, fat prize hanging just within your snare.

But right now, I am.

THIRTY-FOUR

Holden

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

“You dumb fucker. You’re going to get us in trouble,” a hushed voice says from a row of lockers somewhere down the room.

I freeze. The locker room has been closed for some time.

“Dude. Relax. I do this all the time,” another voice I know but can’t place says.

“Seriously?” a third voice asks.

Clank. Click. Clank.

The visceral reaction I have to that sound should be illegal. My teeth grit and my hands fist while my mouth waters like I’m going to get sick.

The fucking Trouble Trio. I should’ve known.

“It’s like taking candy from a baby. They keep all the cash tips here for the caddies. If there’s no money here when they open it, they just assume us rich fuckers stiffed them all.”