Cruel Lies (Killers of Port Wylde)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

SEVEN YEARS AGO

The river below was a void, the illusion broken only when the wind blew. Looking down at that blackness from above was panic-inducing.

I peered over the edge of the railing, realizing I’d likely not survive the frigid waters, even if it were possible to survive the fall. The river was deceptively calm on the surface—the current just below was known for dragging bodies miles downstream in the calmer seasons.

Then there were the crocs.

I turned and faced the boys who drugged me and dragged me to this isolated, abandoned bridge. That’s what they were, really—boys. They weren’t more than teens. They should have been preparing for entrance exams, graduating high school, and starting their lives. They had all been promising youths.

Yet here they were, a knife in Ro’s hand, matching looks of regret and sadness on their faces.

Too bad sadness and regret didn’t change what was about to happen.

My mind was a chaotic mess, and standing on my own two feet wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped, but luckily, I didn’t have to—Ro held me in his arms, watching me like he was at war with himself internally.

A battle raged in the depths of his gorgeous eyes, shining like jewels in the moonlight as it peeked out from behind the spotty cloud coverage. A breeze whipped around us, intensified by how it broke around the bridge and engulfed us at this height. Shivers ran down my spine, though I could barely feel them. My body was sluggish, like it struggled to wake from a deep sleep.

What the hell did they drug me with?

Nash cleared his throat in the background, his frame stepping to the side in my peripheral vision. "Let’s get this over with, Rowan."

Angel’s voice joined his, but the melodic sound felt like it was being dragged over gravel. It was like he’d been punched in the throat.

"I can’t do this. Ro, Nash—she’s, fuck, man, what did she ever do to us? Do we have to kill her?"

Rowan peered over his shoulder at his brothers, then back at me, holding my gaze for a long time. "You know if we don’t, Father will have our heads. And I can’t let that happen to you two."

His eyes were locked onto mine, and a very unstable and inappropriate laugh bubbled up into my throat, escaping me like a bird whose cage had been left open. "Kill . . . me? Rowan Blackwood, what . . . a joke. You won’t . . . kill me. You . . . you love me."

I told myself I meant sibling love. That the sentiment was pure and untainted by a taboo emotion that had been building inside me for years now. I loved them all, each for their own little quirks. The way Nash would sit behind me on the bus and braid my hair in the mornings when we were younger, because Mama didn’t have time to before work in the morning. Angel and his little lullabies on the roof when neither of us could sleep at night. Our little private escape from the sounds of fighting that echoed from my mother and his father’s bedroom. And Rowan, sweet Ro, and his habit of shielding us all from it. The way he held my hand and tugged me along no matter what they were up to, never wanting me to feel left out.

They were the best brothers a girl could ask for. And somewhere along the way, I’d fallen for each of them in turn, and I suspected, so had they, with me.

And yet, here we were.

"You won’t." I blinked slowly, my gaze following a single tear that slipped from Ro’s eye and fell down his face, drawing a line on his perfectly chiseled jaw, where it dripped onto my chest and made itself at home. "You won’t."

The first time, I’d been confident. The second time, it came out as more of a plea. I’d never begged for anything in my life, but here I was, heiress to a small fortune, the spoiled princess of the Daniels empire, about to be snuffed out for nothing more than my money.

Mama had been right. Fame and wealth really did turn those closest to you into monsters.

And I was staring down my own. One last time.

I knew I was about to die. Their father wasn’t someone you went against. The man was ruthless, dominating, and abusive. Controlling to a fault. He played these boys like dolls, held the strings like the master of marionettes, tugging and pulling and positioning them right where he wanted them, forcing them to do the dirty work he couldn’t be bothered with anymore.

My hand caressed the side of Ro’s cheek one last time, tracing the line that always appeared when he smiled, my thumb sliding over his lips, committing them to the last memory I’d ever have.

The knife rose before me, and I belatedly realized that I’d been lost in my thoughts for too long. That blade shone in the moonlight like a beacon, and all my mental capacity focused on it. I might know it was coming, but I wasn’t ready to die.

"Please," I eked out, not even recognizing the sound escaping me.

Ro’s frown deepened, his eyes hard now and resolute as he watched me with a regret so deep I could feel it in my bones, like it leeched from his arms and into my very essence.

I regretted what was about to happen, too.

But he’d have to live with this forever.

I would only have to live with it for a few more seconds.

"Ro, please," I whispered, quiet enough for only the two of us to hear it. "You don’t have to do this." I wanted to push at him, wanted to fight this, wanted to escape him and run, save myself—something. But my body wouldn’t respond to my commands. Whatever they’d knocked me out with, it still flowed through my veins, disabling me, making my body useless to me.

"I’m sorry," he whispered back, his voice cracking, fresh tears welling in the corner of his eye. "I really am. But I’ve got no choice, Harper."

"I know," I muttered, feeling my mind slowly start to clear, my lips forming more coherent sentences. "Hell will never be good enough for you, Rowan Blackwood. But when you finally die, I’ll see you there."

A faint smile appeared on his face at those words, something sick and perverted, twisted, almost. A crack in his flawless veneer appeared, and I saw the monster he could be, lurking beneath the surface. "I hope that’s a promise, sweetheart," he rasped, and then the blade pressed against my throat, digging into my skin. Rain began to fall, pelting us both as the others ducked beneath the remnants of a nearby bus stop overhang.

Time slowed down, dragging on like the most reluctant of participants. My hair slowly plastered against my skin, chilling me to the bone every time the wind blew past us. Rowan’s thick mane sagged against his head, clinging to his forehead in messy curls. The blade pressed closer, a drop of blood welling up in the hollow of my throat, trailing down to where his tears had fallen earlier.

This was it. The end. All he had to do was drag that blade across my throat, and they’d go on with their perfect little lives. As that blade scraped to the side, a single thought ran through my head?—

You’re going to have to press harder if you want to kill me.

And then, the blade was yanked from my neck as Ro spun us so his back was to his brothers and dug the blade into his own forearm, slashing it across my throat. My hands finally reacted as I reached up to stop the bleeding from my neck, minuscule though it was, and with a grunt, Ro shoved me from the bridge and into the weightlessness of a free fall.

They say falling is timeless. Though the fall itself takes only seconds, it feels like an eternity. Your mind tricks you into a state of slow motion, taking in everything at normal speed and processing it at a fraction of what it should.

By the time I hit the water, my brain was still imagining how it’d feel when we hit bottom. The water rushed up around me, and I didn’t even have time to suck in a breath before I was swallowing liquid down whole, filling my lungs with frigidness.

I couldn’t scream, but I tried anyhow, only serving to waste what little air I had left. The soundless wail of fear and desperation tore at me, burning my lungs. Darkness crept up around me, spots in my vision closing in like hungry wolves on a tired rabbit. If I closed my eyes, if I just stopped fighting, it would all be over soon. The crocs would smell my blood in the water and come take care of the evidence. I would be gone before their teeth sank into me on the first bite.

I closed my eyes, refusing to greet death with them open, and stopped flailing, stopped fighting.

The last thing I saw as I drifted into sweet oblivion was the look on Ro’s face as I reached up and mapped his features out with my fingers.

Sorrow. Regret.

Sadness.

Love.