Love The Way You Lie (Beautiful Betrayal #1)

Chapter 1

NOVA NICHOLS

HEROES NEVER DIE

Ryan Nichols is my hero. He’s my world.

He’s exactly who they model comic books and blockbuster movies after, when they write about the tall, dark, and annoyingly handsome lead swooping in to save the city.

Ryan Nichols is also my twin brother, older than me by mere minutes, and no matter how much I adore his existence, brothers were put on this planet to annoy their little sisters.

It’s in the rules.

“Let’s go, Nova!” Ryan slings my kitchen door open and pokes his head inside, his rear-end still on the back deck.

I startle and spill my coffee, the piping hot liquid dribbling along my wrist as I glance over my shoulder and snarl. “You’re a jerk.”

He grins and swaggers across the threshold, coming up behind me and grabbing my coffee. The scent of chopped wood and aftershave filters into the room, settling in the base of my lungs and providing me with a moment of home.

This is home.

He is home.

But then he goes and ruins it all by plopping my mug in the sink and tipping it to the side, dark liquid washing down the drain. Bastard.

Staff Sergeant Ryan Nichols is not only my hero... he’s an American hero who has spent more of his adult life outside our borders than in. His visits these days aren’t as regular as I’d like, and never for long enough before the phone rings and he’s gone again.

But for now, at least for this week, I get to soak him up and store away the contentment I feel when we’re in the same room.

Annoying tendencies and all.

“You know you love me, kiddo.” He flicks the back of my neck and darts away.

Because my duty, as his sister, is to spin and smack him with those handy skills he made damn sure I learned the instant I was old enough to swing.

He snags the keys to my truck and heads out the door with a smile so broad, I have no chance of holding on to my annoyance.

Perks of being a hero, I guess.

“We’re headin’ to Dukes,” he calls from outside, stomping his boots against the top step with a noisy thud-thud-thud.

It’s a habit we’ve had since we were kids, because if we tracked mud into the house and Mom found out about it, we were toast. “If you’re not in the truck in thirty seconds, I’m leaving without you.

Then you’ll pout about how we never spend time together. ”

“You didn’t have to waste my coffee.” And yet, I slide off my stool and grab my phone. “You’ve been here for three days, and you’re already pissing me off.”

“Let’s go, Nova!”

I jump and snicker, skidding across the kitchen and bursting through the back door after him. Another habit, I guess, ingrained after two decades where our driveway curls around the side of the house and into the backyard.

No one uses our front door except salesmen and strangers.

I emerge into a sunny September day and catch the red flash of a cardinal darting into the trees at the back of our yard.

The branches swell with deep green leaves, while the gardens below overflow with bright color.

This is my favorite time of the year; after the summer heat has passed, but the October chill is yet to slide in.

Ryan hangs out of the truck door, his muscular chest wrapped in a shirt we both know the ladies like, and cargo pants he seems to think are necessary, even while he’s stateside.

It’s all about the pockets, kiddo. It’s about having everything you need nearby.

“I’m dying of hunger, Nova. And you’re standing between me and a breakfast burger.”

“You could’ve eaten here, ya know?” I turn and lock up the house, dragging the door closed and taking a moment longer than necessary. It’s what siblings do. “The coffee pot was full, the fridge is stocked. I could’ve even made you a breakfast burger the way they do it at the diner.”

“But I want Dukes.” He drops into the driver’s side and slams the door, then he starts the old engine and grins at her purr.

Just as smooth as it was when it rolled off the showroom floor.

Because Ry is a tinkerer of machines, and he makes damn sure to come home at least once a year to service mine and ensure its reliability.

Moving across my back porch with slow steps and a sweeping gaze, I take this moment, as I have a million times before, to acknowledge how eerily alike he and our father appear.

How when he pulls on a pair of sunglasses to cover hazel eyes—the same as mine—and tugs on a baseball cap to squash down his dark locks—not the same as mine—he becomes Terrance Nichols’ clone.

And since our parents are dead, Ry became what I no longer have.

Father and brother.

Protector and pest.

“I’m seriously questioning whether you’ve learned anything at all, Nova.

” He slaps the side of the truck, startling my eyes back up to his.

“Daydreaming? Really? There could be snipers in the trees, kid. They could have you in their scope already.” He revs the truck, disappointed as he shakes his head from side to side.

“Eyes open, or you’re dead meat. You know that. ”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” I start down the porch steps and circle the hood of my sixty-something-year-old Chevrolet Silverado.

It was once a shining gold. Probably. These days, it’s more of a poo-brown, and the gleaming showroom pizzazz it once had is now nothing more than chipped paint and flaking speckles flying off every time I top fifty miles per hour.

Dragging my squeaking door wide, I climb into the cab and plop down beside my frustratingly charming, obnoxiously naggy, minutes-older brother. But when the scent of chopped wood, engine grease, and aftershave hits my senses again, I settle back and smile. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You think so?” He taps the gas and brings us along my potholed driveway. “I haven’t eaten since last night, Nov. My body is basically consuming its own muscle at this point.”

“The fact you’re almost never here is the only reason I tolerate you when you are.”

He reaches across and tickles the side of my neck, so I whip my hand up and slap his away with a resounding crack.

“And daydreaming on my own porch? In my own backyard? A yard wrapped in forty-foot trees and absolutely no neighbors for at least a mile in any direction? Dude!” I smack his hand away again.

“This is Mount Gaines. It’s safe. It’s home.

There are no snipers in our trees, and you’re not hot-wiring trucks on the wrong side of a battlefield today. Chill.”

He pulls out of our driveway and onto a slow, winding, small-town road, and because there’s no traffic—ever—he settles in and opens his legs wide, resting his arm on the back of our bench seat and glancing across to look me up and down.

Sunglasses cover most of his hazel stare, but I see the flicker of his lashes behind the lenses.

The expression that conveys frustration with my nonchalance.

“Paying attention is important, Nov. If you’re floating through life and completely unobservant, I’m gonna worry. And if I worry—”

“Then you won’t be able to do your job,” I repeat the line he’s fed me for years already.

But since I don’t want him to worry about me tucked safely in the mountains and trees and practical fortress of my home while he’s…

wherever he is, dodging explosives and fighting a war he never started, I concede with a nod. “I’ll be more observant.”

“Good choice.” He flicks my neck.

“Ryan!” A snarling, snapping growl tears along my throat as I bring my fist up and smack his arm. “Stop it!” I punch his ribs, hammer-hand style, and revel in his squeak of pain. His wheezing choke. And under that, the chuckle of an older brother content with his duty. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

“It’s my birthright.” He rubs his side. “My legacy, even.”

“Oh, you wanna talk legacies? Great!” I flash a beaming smile, and thrill in the panic flaring behind his sunglasses.

“You dated Violet for five years, but I see no ring. There are no wedding bells or cute little nieces or nephews for me to obsess over.” I fold my legs and sit criss-cross-style as we head toward town.

“Five years is a long time, Ry, and then you just… stop. Like it never happened. Care to explain yourself?”

“Absolutely not.” He shoves his palm into my face, blocking my too-smug smile. “My dating life is none of your business.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And before you even consider it, I don’t wanna hear about your dating life, either. I don’t want to know. Not a fucking peep. And I swear to Christ, if you bring a man home while I’m in town, I’ll cut his nuts out before morning.”

“You said that when I was fifteen.” I push him away and lean against the door frame as he gently brings us around a bend in the road. “You had a point back then. But we’re twenty-seven now, which means you—”

“Still own a sharp knife, and unusually specific knowledge on how to use it. Don’t test me, Nova. Not while I’m in the next room. He won’t survive the night.”

“Big baby.” I turn the radio a little louder as a soft country song plays on the wind, dragging me right back to driving in this truck, on this road, a decade and a half ago, but with my dad at the wheel.

His hat pulled low over his eyes, the sun blinding us from ahead.

His stubble-covered jaw and his long, slow smile that always made me comfortable.

If he was happy like that, relaxed and tapping along to the beat of whatever music was on, then the world was at peace. Back then, nothing could hurt us.

“Are you dating anyone?” Ryan side-eyes me, his jaw clenching and gritting. “I didn’t wanna know. I don’t wanna know. But is anyone sniffing around?”

“Are they dogs?” I set my elbow on the door frame and my head against my palm. “Sniffing around implies a certain animalistic trait.”

“Men?” he clarifies. “Yeah. They’re all dogs. All douchebags. So?”