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

It’s a soft touch, so soft it shocks my warm skin. The emotionless look in his dark eyes is anything but gentle, though. A sadistic smirk lifts the corner of his lips.

A shudder emerges from deep within my soul.

It’s the look of someone out to destroy, to maim and mutilate—and he’ll do it all with a smile on his face.

“L-let me go.” It’s the pleading of the dying, my voice. The last murmur of the dead.

His grip tightens on my jaw until I wince. “That’s not how it works. Remember the rules?”

“W-what rules?”

“Break willingly and I might let you collect the pieces.”

My heart thunders until the machines erupt with sound. “What—”

My words are cut off when he leans closer until his breath tickles along my skin. Another involuntary shudder slides down my spine, and goosebumps form along my limbs.

I don’t know if it’s because of fear, or if it’s something else.

This close, he’s even more fatally gorgeous and dangerous. A flicker of connection grips hold of me.

I know him from somewhere, but where?

He runs his tongue from under my eye to the corner of my lip. Something violent and out of control takes over my body, and more goosebumps erupt.

I stare at him with trembling lips.

“Welcome back to your custom-made hell, monster.”





Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart does this weird thing, beating in and out of sync, as if it doesn’t know what to do.

There’s so much sadism in his eyes.

So much…grudge.

The way he watches me intently with those rainy forest eyes is close to being cut open and left for dead.

Maybe I already died and crossed over to hell, and this is my torturer.

Otherwise, why the hell is he calling me a monster when I don’t know him?

No—I don’t remember him. I most definitely know him from somewhere.

But where?

According to what the nurse said, he’s my fiancé. For some reason, that sounds wrong.

He’s not my fiancé. He’s someone more…sinister.

I try to lift my head. Pain shoots down my nape and snaps to the front.

Whimpers leave my lips as I try to tamp down the agony. I bite my lower lip to keep the sound from escaping.

No one will witness my weakness, least of all this stranger.

He watches me intently, his face impassive other than a slight twitch in his upper lip.

Wait…

I meet his dispassionate gaze and focus on the slight curve in his lips. My brain might be slow in keeping up, but I recognize that look.

It’s pleasure, sadistic and twisted.

He’s enjoying seeing me hurt. He’s watching my aching shoulders and the trembling of my lips like he’s in a competition and they’re his prize.

He likes my weakness and my pain.

He likes my suffering.

Help.

Someone help me.

A voice from my dreams—or nightmares—whispers in my head. That voice is so similar to mine.

Who the hell did I ask for help from before? I don’t like asking for help. I might not know my name or my damn age, but I know I don’t like showing vulnerability that way.

The door hisses open, cutting off my connection with the asshole who called me a monster. He releases my chin and steps back as if he wasn’t suffocating me not two seconds ago.

The kind nurse from earlier returns with a skinny, black doctor who’s wearing frameless glasses.

The asshole clutches my wrist and sits by my side, holding my hand in his. Shock ripples through me at how soft, yet cold his touch feels.

How can a touch be so gentle and yet so…cold?

It’s like I’m being held by a freezer.

His attention falls on the doctor and he smiles. There’s something curious about that smile. It’s not exactly fake, but it’s…dead. Lifeless, just like his touch.

“Dr. Anderson.” He speaks in such a polite, calm way. It’s completely different from the asshole from earlier. “How is my fiancée doing?”

I stare between him and his hold on my hand. No, I can’t be the fiancée in this tale. This fucking jerk can’t be my future husband. I’d really feel sorry for myself and my poor choices if that were the case.

I mean, come on, first I don’t remember my name, then someone calls me a monster, and that same someone turns out to be my freaking fiancé?

A girl can only take so many shocks all at once.

“Miss Ellis.” The doctor smiles in that polite but distant way. “How do you feel?”

“In pain?” I don’t know why it comes out as a question.

I swear Mr. Asshole’s lips twitch. In amusement or in sadism, I don’t know.

Dr. Anderson and the nurse do a thorough examination, including checking my pulse and my temperature. He also puts that light thingy in my eye. Now I know who was bothering me in my sleep.

“Do you remember your name?” he asks.

“It’s…” The name hovers at the tip of my tongue, but it’s like I can’t reach it. “I d-don’t know.”

Sure, I heard the name Reina Ellis before and after I regained consciousness, but I don’t relate to that name.

That name is wrong.

So I choose not to say it.

The doctor scribbles something in his notepad and continues asking me about what year it is, what country we’re in, what state, who the president is, etc.