All the Pretty Lies Read Free

They’re the kind I’ve always sought out,
and the only kind I have room for in my life. And, until today,
they’re the only kind I’ve ever really been interested in. So what
is it about this girl, with her innocent, brown eyes and her
perfectly-formed ass, that’s making my dick throb so damn hard?
    You need to get laid, brother! I think
to myself, tracing the outline of an oyster shell on pale, flawless
skin. And you need to do it fast.
    For an instant, it makes me miss the selfish
prick that I’ve always been. Before I became so driven.

CHAPTER THREE- Sloane
     
    “What time did you get in last night?” my
older brother, Sigmond (Sig, as we call him) asks.
    “Late.”
    “No shit, smart ass. I went to Cuff’s with
the boys after shift last night. I got in at almost one thirty and
you still weren’t here.”
    “So? I’m twenty-one years old. I don’t owe
you an explanation.”
    I watch Sig’s dark brown eyes, so much like
mine, widen. “Damn! Touchy, aren’t we? I didn’t mean anything by
it. I was just askin’.”
    I sigh. “I know. I’m just tired. Sorry.”
    Sig is only two years older than me and I’ve
always been closer to him than either of my other brothers, Scout
and Steven. Sig is the fun-loving one, and he’s never “fathered” me
quite as much as everyone else. Scout is bad, but Steven is the
worst. Being the oldest, he and Dad took it upon themselves to see
that I’m as protected and sheltered as a princess, and that I was
raised like a lady, even without one in the house. For that reason,
they keep a close eye on me, terrify my would-be friends and
suitors, and punish me every time I use the F word. That’s why my
only friend is Sarah, I’m still a virgin and my favorite word is
“frick.” It was either get used to that or spend my entire
childhood grounded. What the men in my house never understood was
that, lady or not, it’s hard to listen to four potty-mouthed cops
day in and day out and not pick up a potty mouth myself. But I
learned. Eventually.
    “Hand me the creamer,” Sig says, nudging me
with his elbow. I rise up on my toes and reach into the cabinet to
get down the creamer. Sig turns, his gun holster grazing my hip. I
hiss, sucking in air through my teeth. “What was that for?”
    “What was what for?”
    “You made a noise. Like I hurt you.”
    “Did not.”
    “Did, too.”
    “It’s nothing. Your holster just poked
me.”
    Sig frowns, looking down at his holster and
over at my hip. When his eyes rise to mine, he narrows them on me.
“So what? That shouldn’t have hurt. Are you sore? Why are you
sore?”
    I see concern light his eyes and I know
there’s no way I’m getting out of this without confessing to what I
did. Otherwise, he’ll have the whole family freaked out before I
can eat my breakfast.
    “I got a tattoo,” I admit. When Sig opens his
mouth to fuss, I rush to continue before he can get out the first
word. “And I don’t need to hear any bitching about it. And you’d
better not tell a soul, or so help me God, I’ll tell Bear every
embarrassing secret I can think of.”
    That gets his attention. Bear is Sig’s
partner. Sig knows he’d never hear the end of it if I told Bear
anything worth hearing. Giving a cop any information he can use to
rib, blackmail or otherwise embarrass the shit out of another cop
with is like handing him a loaded gun and a target. Sig knows this.
And so do I.
    His lips thin and I know I’ve won. “You know,
Sloane, you really should be more careful.”
    “I am careful, Sig. I’m always
careful. I’ve always been careful. This wasn’t not careful. It was just something I wanted to do. I want to enjoy the
next few years as much as I can—”
    “Stop right there,” he says, holding up his
hand. “Don’t even finish that sentence. I don’t want to hear it.” I
snap my mouth shut. I should’ve known better than to say something
like that, dredging up painful thoughts and memories. Even though
it’s