Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths (Ugly Truths #1)

20. Maggie

20

Maggie

F ury burns hot in my veins, and I cling to it like a lifeline.

Being angry is better than being numb.

Better than the pain and devastation I felt moments ago.

Anger is the only thing holding the pieces of me together, so I welcome it with open arms.

“How many, Archer?”

When he finally looks up at me, I almost crumple under the weight of his stare, the anguish evident in his eyes. Gone is the confident, dirty talking man I fell for. This man standing before me now is a broken, hollowed out version of himself.

He is open, vulnerable in a way I haven’t seen him before, and even though it kills me to see him that way, I refuse to back down. No, I’m too caught up in my own pain to be able to offer up any sort of comfort or forgiveness .

He lied to me. He’s had plenty of chances to come clean and didn’t. He doesn’t get to sit here and play the victim now.

“No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to act all repentant now. You should have told me the truth from the beginning.”

“You’re right,” he says, voice devoid of emotion.

He looks away, and I see it as soon as it happens.

I watch as he rebuilds those walls he likes to hide behind, brick by icy brick.

When he turns back to me, his face is blank, expressionless, that cold mask he donned so often in the beginning returning.

I am not normally a violent person, but seeing it now makes me want to scream, cry, claw it right off his beautiful face.

“You want to know how many people I’ve killed, Little Rose?” he finally answers.

“The truth is, I don’t know anymore. I lost count after a while. Does it really matter? They’re still dead. You want to know the most fucked up part?” He shakes his head. “I don’t regret it. I’ve never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it.

“I told you my sister died because of me, but I never told you the whole story. The person who killed her was the son of one of my marks, a man who liked little girls…a little too much. He was a sick fuck, and whether his son didn’t know about his predilections or just didn’t fucking care, I don’t know. What I do know is he wanted revenge. He pulled up in front of a restaurant one night when I wa s out having dinner with my family. The kid was a lousy shot. First bullet hit me in the shoulder. Second went wide—hit Cecelia straight through the chest. I held my baby sister while she bled to death in my arms right there on the sidewalk,” he says, voice cracking.

Tears run down my face in steady streams as I picture a younger Archer holding his sister while the life left her body. I can feel my resolve crumbling.

It’s no wonder he holds on to so much guilt, knowing the bullet that killed her was meant for him. I can’t begin to imagine what that kind of trauma does to a person.

“I didn’t even go to her funeral. I couldn’t. Instead, I hunted down the ones responsible and killed them—all except one: a cousin who fled like the coward he was. Care to take a guess who that man was?”

I shake my head.

“The same one you killed.” My head rears back as if I’d been slapped.

“That’s right. That’s why I showed up there that night—to finish what I started. But someone beat me to him.” His hand moves as if to touch me, but he stops himself. Instead, he tucks them in his suit pockets, and though relieved, I’m hit with a pang of disappointment.

“So, you see, he was dead either way. If you hadn’t killed him, I would have. My soul is already stained black—there was no reason for you to have to live with that burden as well. I had hoped you wouldn’t remember.”

I sway on my heels, my head spinning from this new revelation. This is a whole lot of information to process, and as I’m trying to wrap my brain around it, there is something about what he said that is nagging at me, but I’m having a hard time putting my finger on exactly what it was.

“Look—I understand where you’re coming from, I do, but that wasn’t your decision to make.”

“The whole reason you even had to do what you did was because of me. Don’t you see? It was my fucking fault. If I would had gone after him instead of succumbing to my guilt and grief, he wouldn’t have even been alive. You were assaulted and almost…” he cuts himself off as if unable to finish that thought. “You were hurt because of me.”

“Archer…” I start, feeling myself softening. “You know what happened to me is not your fault. You do know that, right? You have to stop holding yourself accountable for the actions of others. It wasn’t your fault.”

He nods, but I’m not convinced he truly believes it.

Suddenly, it comes to me why what he said seemed off.

“When you said you hoped I wouldn’t remember—why would you think I wouldn’t remember?” His eyes dart away as a flash of guilt crosses his face.

“What happened? Why are my memories all fuzzy? What did you do?”

“You were in shock when I found you. You lashed out, tried to attack me with the boxcutter. I had to sedate you.”

“You drugged me…injected me with something,” I say, suddenly remembering. “That’s why you thought I mi ght have forgotten. Why my memories are so foggy.” He nods once, and nausea churns my stomach as I remember how scared and confused I felt waking up that next morning, not sure what to believe, unable to trust my own mind.

“What the hell, Archer?” I yell, and he has the good sense to look ashamed.

“Did you know that for weeks, I thought I was going crazy? I was having terrible nightmares. I was paranoid and anxious. I felt like I was losing my damn mind.” My hands shake as I start to pace, the room suddenly feeling too small.

I stop abruptly, a thought popping into my head.

“You took me home, didn’t you?” When he doesn’t deny it, I continue, “You washed me. Changed me. You saw me naked. Archer…don’t you see how fucked up that is? That is such a violation. Was there anyone else… Did anyone else see me?”

“No. Only me.”

I nod. Good. That’s good. I would die if I knew there were others who saw me like that, but still…

“I was only trying to protect you.”

“I don’t care why you did it. You had no right!” I shout.

Suddenly overcome with the need to escape, I march towards the door.

“Where are you going?” he asks frantically, following behind me.

“I need to leave. I just—I can’t be here right now. I need space to think. Alone . ”

“Let me drive you,” he offers, and I scoff, shaking my head.

“What part of alone do you not understand?” I snap.

There is no way I can get into a car with this man right now. I am too angry, too emotional. I have too many thoughts racing through my head that I need to process by myself, without his cloying presence clouding my judgment.

“Please,” he pleads, his fingers raking through his hair and tugging at the roots.

“No.” I turn to open the door, but he latches onto my wrist with a firm grip.

“If you won’t let me take you, then please, let me get Jayce. We don’t know if someone’s still out there, and I couldn’t live with myself if something…” His voice breaks off, and he clears his throat. “Please.”

I open my mouth to refuse, but he’s right. If there is still someone looking for me, I would be foolish to run off into the night alone, to let my pride get in the way of my safety.

“Okay,” I agree. “But, I’ll wait for him outside.”

I try again to open the door, but he cages me in from behind, holding it shut firmly with one hand. And though he’s careful not to touch me again, I can feel the heat from his body radiating over the exposed skin of my back.

“Alright, I’ll let you go tonight, Little Rose,” he says, nose buried in my hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to breath my very essence into his lungs. “I know you need your space. But just know, this isn’t over. If you try to run from me…I will chase you. There is no where on this Earth you could hide from me that I wouldn’t find you. You are mine, and I will hunt you down and bring you back to me.”

A shiver rolls down my spine at his words, and I try to convince myself it’s from fear and nothing else, but I know it’s a lie. I should be afraid, but the truth is, I love his possessiveness. I revel in it, in knowing that he would be willing to fight to keep me when so many others discarded me so easily.

He lets go of the door, taking a step back, and I mourn the loss of him. This time when I go to leave, he lets me. I walk away without looking back—something I would soon come to regret—my heart breaking with every step I take.

Jayce is quiet the whole ride to my house. It’s not until he pulls up in front of my building that he finally speaks.

“My brother has carried the guilt of our sister’s death for years, never allowing himself even one ounce of happiness. Not until you. I know what he did was shitty, but his intentions were pure. He doesn’t think very much of himself, but the truth is, he is one of the best men I know. If you can find it in your heart to forgive him, I swear to you, he would never hurt you. Not on purpose.” His words ring with utmost sincerity.

It's evident in the way he speaks that he loves and respects his brother, but I already know what kind of man Archer is. I didn’t need Jayce to tell me that.

It’s not a matter of forgiveness—maybe it should be, but it isn’t. I already know I’ll forgive him, just as I know that even though he went about it all wrong, what he did came from a good place.

The truth is, I just need some time, some space to process everything.

In the end, I exit the car without saying anything, and he waits until I’m inside before pulling away, leaving me alone with my ghosts, the beautiful memories from earlier now tainted as the truth creeps in to haunt me.

Archer’s right: knowing what I now know has changed me, just not in the way he assumed. Because the truth is, I’m not sorry for what I’ve done. In fact, if given the chance, I would do it all over again. What kind of person does that make me? That I am capable of such violence acts without feeling the soul altering guilt that I know I should?

I strip off my dress, pulling on a worn t-shirt Archer left behind, and crawl into my bed that still smells of him—of us.

Somehow, I have managed to mostly hold it together thus far, but here, alone in the dark, I shatter, mourning the loss of my innocence.

With great, big, heart-wrenching sobs, I cry for Archer. For the guilt he’s carried around all these years. The anguish he must have felt when he watched his sister die.

I cry for me, for my lack of remorse, for knowing I am forever changed.

Eventually, the tears dry up, leaving trails of salt crusted on my cheeks, and when sleep comes to claim me, I don’t try to fight it, instead I welcome it, letting it carry me into blissful oblivion.

It’s still dark out when a noise startles me awake.

Light footsteps sound on the wood floor, alerting me to another’s presence in my apartment.

There is only one other person it could be and my heart leaps— Archer .

I let out a quiet sigh. I know I should be angry at him for not respecting my request for space, but in truth, I’m relieved he came.

All the lights are off, so the only thing I can see is his shadowy silhouette as he pauses, still halfway across the room.

“Archer—what are you doing?” I speak into dark, but he doesn’t respond.

Something feels off.

My heart rate spikes as a sense of foreboding sends an icy chill down my spine.

Calm down, Ma g s. It’s just Archer. No one else can get in here. Only you and Archer know the alarm code, I remind myself in my head.

I did set the alarm when I got home, right?

Shit—I can’t remember.

My inner voice warns me that something about this isn’t right. Now on high alert, I start to sit up.

“Archer, this isn’t funny…” I trail off as he comes nearer .

Fear clamps my throat shut when It’s not Archer’s spicy citrus scent that fills my nose but the unfamiliar smell of tobacco smoke and leather.

“W-who are you?” I choke out as I crawl up the bed, my back pressing into the headboard.

The dark figure just continues to stand near the end of the bed, letting my question remained unanswered.

My eyes dart to the door as I contemplate trying to make a run for it, and even knowing it will most likely be in vain, I have to try.

Throwing back the covers, I spring off the mattress, and sprint towards the door, only making it a few feet before my foot twists in my abandoned gown and I slip, crashing to the floor. Pain shoots through my jaw and ankle as I land hard on my side.

I scramble to get up, but it’s too late. A strong arm wraps around my chest, and a cool cloth is pressed to my face. My mouth waters, filling with saliva and blood as I fight to hold my breath. Flashes of light dance in my vision, and my lungs seize until I can hold out no longer.

I inhale, gasping greedily for air. There’s a slightly sweet, metallic taste on my tongue before darkness closes in.