All The Truths (Lies & Truths Duet #2) by Rina Kent

My fists clench by my sides. “Eye for an eye.”





Three years ago





I’m panting as I finish up the asshole who dared touch her.

Put his fucking hands on her.

Made her—

“Fuck!” I roar as I jam my fist into the wall over and over again.

Pain explodes in my knuckles and blood oozes from the cut skin. It does nothing to quell the rage boiling inside me. If anything, it fans the flames, making it burn hotter, needing the release.

I kick the sorry fuck lying on the floor by my feet. He releases a helpless, childlike whimper, but he’s already unconscious in the middle of his living room.

When I came here dressed in a ski mask and carrying a bat, I meant to beat him to a pulp, but after the first hit, it just wasn’t enough. I had to feel his skin bleeding underneath mine.

Ever since I walked in on this fucker shoving his dick down Reina’s throat, all I’ve been seeing is black.

I punched him at first, and he begged like a damsel in distress. He asked if I’m the father of one of the girls he keeps pictures of. It got interesting then.

I didn’t hold back.

I held him against the wall and jammed my fist into his face until one of his eyes swelled shut. His nose is probably broken and he keeps bleeding all over the carpet like a pig.

Then when he fell, screaming at me to spare him, I kicked him some more. When he begged and told me he wouldn’t peep on little girls anymore, I pressed on his chest with my boots until I heard the pop of his ribs breaking.

He’s out now. Boring fuck.

“Come on.” I crouch beside him. “Fight me, motherfucker.”

He coughs, gurgling on blood. Both his eyes are now closed, one of them swollen and purple.

I clasp his shirt in my fingers and lift him up off the ground. His blond hair streaked with white strands is half soaked in red.

“You dare touch her.” My voice is on the verge of blowing up. “You fucking dare come down her throat.”

He murmurs, trying to say something, but it only comes out as unintelligible sounds.

I shake him, making his head loll in an awkward position as if about to snap. When he speaks again, I lean closer to his blood-soaked face, all swollen and unrecognizable.

“S-she…she…b-begged for…my cock.”

I freeze, and for a second, I think I’m going to turn to ice and break.

I don’t.

A deep, black rage envelops me in its clutches like a vice. I rise to my feet, my muscles clenching so tight as if about to fucking crack.

I kick him in the groin until he wheezes in pain. “This cock?”

He groans and spasms on the floor, but I don’t stop. I keep kicking him over and over again until I’m sure I’ve turned him impotent.

It’s a mistake such a sick fucker like him has a working dick anyway.

Once he’s no longer moving, I leave his suburban house that he got by teaching kids and getting into their pants.

After making sure no one sees me, I slip out the back entrance and through the bushes where I hid my car.

For a second, I stand there, panting. My hands are smeared in blood, and my shoes are too. I can barely breathe with the ski mask on.

This is what she turned me into.

A fucking criminal with no regrets whatsoever.

She pulled me by the gut years ago and since refused to let me go.

I retrieve my phone and dial the person who’ll take care of this whole mess.

“Alexander Carson speaking.”

Only my father would answer his son’s call by stating his full name.

“Asher Gray Carson speaking.” I can’t help the sarcasm.

He sighs. “What is it, Asher? I’m busy.”

“You’ll get busier then.”

“What did you do now? Hit another student for looking at Reina?” He sighs again. “I’m tired of your antics with your classmates. I can’t keep paying off those kids’ parents every time.”

“Sure you can. That’s your role, isn’t it? Paying for things.”

I can imagine him closing his eyes and rubbing his brows. It’s what he does every time I tell him he was never a father to Ari or me, as if he’s searching for the patience to deal with me.

“Is there a point behind your call, Asher? If not, I have things—”

“I hit a teacher. It’s the worst beating so far. I don’t know if he’ll live or die.”

“What did you just say?”

“A teacher, Alexander. I want him gone from Blackwood. Make sure to search his background—he’s a fucking pedophile.”

“How involved are you?” His voice is strained.

To an outsider, it’d seem as if he cares about his son’s wellbeing. In reality, he doesn’t want anything to smear his perfect, diligent name, which he spent years building. If his son is labeled a criminal, no one will hire his firm.

I stare at my hands and the blood glinting in the light.

How involved am I?

“Very deeply,” I tell Alexander.

“Have you left any fingerprints?”

“A few, yes.” I came with gloves, but I had to feel his blood on my skin.

“Fucking hell.” He breathes into the phone. “Fine, leave. I’ll take care of it.”

I hang up without another word. Alexander doesn’t deserve any thanks. After all, he left us alone to fend for each other after Mom’s death. The least he can do is pay the price for what we’ve become.