Page 34 of Fierce Lies


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I hated not having the answers. But Roman knew something, and I'd find out soon enough.

The elevator doors opened, and there she was, stepping into the lobby. I pushed off from the reception desk where I'd been waiting, forcing my expression to remain neutral despite my irritation. Whatever game she was playing, I wasn't about to let her know I was onto her.

"Ready?" I asked.

She nodded without speaking. Another red flag.

"Your car's been towed to the company mechanic," I explained as we walked to the parking garage. "They're looking at it now, but I'll take you home. It could take a few days, sometimes it can be done quicker if it's a small fix."

"I can't afford a repair bill right now," she admitted, her voice small.

"Don't worry about it. I'm happy to give you lifts for now. We'll deal with the bill when it comes, I'm sure the company can assist, since you need transport to get to and from work."

"I can't ask you to do that," she protested.

I opened the passenger door for her, offering a hint of a smile that I didn't feel. "I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for Macey. She'd never forgive me if I let her new favorite understudy get stranded."

She sighed and slid into the seat without further argument.

As I walked around to the driver's side, I clenched my jaw. Elena Peters had me twisted in knots, and I fucking hated it. I'd spent my entire career reading people, anticipating threats, staying one step ahead. But with her, my instincts were all over the place. One minute I was suspicious, the next I was concerned. One minute I wanted to interrogate her, the next I wanted to protect her.

She was messing with me without even trying, and I hated it.

I slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, stealing a glance at her from the corner of my eye. She had her eyes closed, a crease between her brows. Whatever was eating at her seemed genuine.

But so did a lot of things that weren't in my life. She could just be really good at pretending.

The drive was silent for the first few minutes. I kept my focus on the road, but my mind was replaying what I'd seen on the security feed earlier, of her searching those records and screenshotting them, sending them to herself. I'd already gotten my cyber team onto her email in order to wipe away that evidence by corrupting the files.

Elena was staring out the window now, lost in her own thoughts. What was she after? What did those records mean to her?

"Have you ever lost people you loved?" she asked suddenly, her voice so soft I almost missed it. Before I could answer, she shook her head. "Sorry, you obviously have, given your history, I imagine."

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. "I didn't have actual blood family. Not really. But I have lost people I loved. It's a part of life ultimately."

She looked at me, her expression pained, and something tightened in my chest.

If she was acting all this time, then she deserved a damn oscar. It was making me doubt if I was right in thinking she was playing me, but all of this was hard to figure out.

"My parents weren't good people," I continued. Gaining her trust could mean she'd open up to me, tell me everything I needed to know before I had to force it out of her. If it came to that. Besides, it's not like a background check on me wouldn't reveal these details. "Abusive. I cut them out when I joined the military. But I found people who became like family. And yeah, I lost them."

The memories flooded back—the smell of burning flesh, the screams, the weight of a child's body in my arms as the life drained out of them. I pushed them away, focusing on the road ahead.

"How did you survive it?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

I glanced over at her. Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. Despite everything—the suspicion, the confusion, the irritation—something in me softened at the sight of her pain. It seemed too raw to be an act.

"I focus on the people I can still help," I said. "On finding a new purpose. Sometimes it's just about surviving each day."

"Surviving isn't exactly living."

"No, it's not," I agreed. "But it beats the alternative. Besides, we can still serve others while we rebuild ourselves."

She turned away, staring out the window. "I'm not ready to endure and survive. I don't know how I can do it."

The vulnerability in her voice cut through my defenses. Whatever she was hiding, whatever game she was playing, her pain was real. I'd seen enough grief to recognize the genuine article.

We pulled up to her apartment building, and I killed the engine. Without asking, I got out and walked her to her door.She fumbled with her keys, her hands trembling slightly. I could see she was fighting tears the whole way.