All The Lies (Lies & Truths Duet #1) by Rina Kent

“No.” I jut my chin. “I won’t do—”

“Shhh. Don’t talk. When I speak, you listen. When I order, you obey. Now, open that fucking mouth.”

How can he sound so authoritative and controlling when he says that? Is that how he always talks?

The arrogant bastard.

His voice gains a lethal edge. “If you don’t, I’ll make you, and it’ll fucking hurt.”

As if proving a point, his thumb presses on a bruise on my thigh. I cry out as the agony shoots through me; hot and red. He keeps his thumb at my lower lip and doesn’t take advantage of my mouth opening. The asshole isn’t interested in that; he wants me to forfeit.

The pain slowly subsides and I go back to glare at him. He’s playing dirty with my condition.

His thumb strokes around the bruise eliciting a burst of slight comfort, pain, and a promise for more. I have no doubt that he’ll push if I encourage him. It’s like he has no limits.

“That’s nothing compared to what I can do to you, Reina.” His thumb freezes and I do, too. “Are you or are you not going to open that mouth?”

My lips part, slowly but surely. I don’t have the strength to play at his level now. With my injuries and his volatile personality, this can end badly for me. I have enough self-preservation to pick my battles.

He thrusts his thumb between my lips, and it takes everything in me not to bite down.

“Suck.”

It’s one word. One single word but it’s charged with so much intensity, it’s almost a living, breathing being.

He raises one perfect, thick eyebrow. “Do I have to threaten you again?”

Glaring up at him, I suck on his thumb faster than I intend to. My teeth graze his skin and I freeze, thinking he’ll rule it as if I were trying to bite him. When he continues watching me with half-lowered lids, I continue slower this time.

My cheeks heat and I curse myself for giving in this easily. Wait until I’m stronger, I’m going to clash with him headfirst.

“What to do?” He deadpans. “You have a new problem, Reina.”

I peek up at him, stopping.

“Did I tell you to stop?” He cocks his head to the side.

Groaning, I continue sucking the digit and lapping on it with my tongue.

“Your new problem is that you’re too expressive. You’re losing your touch.”

Why is being expressive a problem? I glare up at him so he knows exactly how I feel about him.

I don’t know what he expected, but my reaction is probably not it. Asher narrows his eyes before he pulls his finger out of my mouth. “I’ll find out about that night, and I’ll make you fucking wish you never set foot in the forest.”

“You’re a psycho.” I breathe out, my heart stammering.

It keeps beating and pulsing like crazy, as if it’ll soon stop and is using up all of its energy.

Asher’s lips pull up in a cruel smirk. “It takes one to know one, my ugly monster.”

He keeps calling me that, and I’m starting to think I should embrace that side to fight this particular monster off.





The rest of the week is filled with doctor’s appointments and trying to figure out who the hell I am.

I still can’t remember anything prior to waking up in the hospital, and Dr. Anderson’s diagnosis remains the same: my memories will filter back with time. However, at the last appointment, I heard him tell Alex we should be preparing for the possibility of this becoming long term.

I should be ready to live with a wiped memory.

Thinking about it brings a taste of bitterness and nausea. I’m not ready to face that bleak reality.

Today, I decided to end the one-person pity party and go back to college.

This is my last year, and I shouldn’t miss more classes.

I can walk with a brace on my right leg, and there’s no point in roaming around an empty house. Alex is barely home, if ever. Elizabeth—whom I finally convinced to let me call her Izzy—is usually holed up in the kitchen making some of the most delicious food I’ve ever tasted.

Every time I eat her meals, I wonder why the hell I would have moved out.

She’s been giving me funny stares whenever I ask for more or for food rich in calories. Apparently, I only ate salads before. That’s such a blasphemous thing to do when Izzy’s food is around.

To my dismay, the resident asshole Asher hasn’t left. I’ve been praying every day that the next time I wake up, he’ll be long gone to England.

Hasn’t happened.

On top of that, he enrolled in Blackwood College. I don’t know why the hell he would give up Oxford and return here.

It can’t be just so he can ruin my life.

Scratch that—with someone like Asher, it’s completely plausible.

I’ve been actively avoiding him, which isn’t too hard. We don’t eat together in this family. Alex is off to work first thing in the morning and returns late. Asher leaves early, too. I watch him from my window. He’s usually wearing jeans and stylish sports T-shirts.

Every day, he stops in front of the house and glances up. Sometimes, I’d swear he was looking straight at me if I weren’t sure the curtains camouflaged me. Those annoying aviators hide his expression, too, so I’m never sure what he’s thinking about.

No idea why I always want to know what’s going on in that screwed-up head.