Tell Me No Lies: The Black Orchid, Book 1 Read Free Page A

All lies.
    And what about the darkness? What happened when the haze crept inside and I wanted to do dirty things to her, things reserved for pain whores and girls who specialized in charging guys like me top dollar to make them scream?
    What the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t have a normal life. I couldn’t date a normal girl. I wasn’t a fucking normal guy. I was barely human.
    I killed for a living. I hid in the shadows like a snake. I wasn’t good. I was the opposite of good. I was filthy. I was the absence of light. Why did I think I could be with her? Why did I think I could pretend and lie my way into her heart?
    I didn’t deserve sweet and innocent. I didn’t deserve honesty. I deserved exactly what I had. Zelie. Luke. Like attracts like. And then, there was the blood. All over my motherfucking hands.
    I stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear. She was walking away. Soon I would no longer be able to see her. She’d be lost to me.
    But something inside urged me to move toward her. She could save me from the darkness. I needed saving. I wanted to be saved. A part of me deserved to have something good in my life.
    I grabbed my sunglasses and put them on. “I’ll catch you later, Luke.”
    Grinning, he gave me the thumbs-up sign. “Don’t forget to wear a rubber. And remember, it’s just a fuck.”
    I started walking.

Chapter Two
    I dug my toes into the sand as I meandered down the beach.
    My gaze crossed the incoming waves and stretched as far as the eye could see. The ocean was beautiful, a shimmering blue that appeared endless, but as beautiful as the view was, I could not focus on the natural beauty surrounding the island.
    Fluttering optimism filled my chest. There was something more—excitement. I was excited about my future, about who I was about to become. I wasn’t sure how to define myself just yet. The mere thought of finally being able to burst free from the strict confines of my parents’ expectations brought a smile to my face. After years of towing the family line, doing what I felt was required of me as a dutiful daughter of the Howard family, I was ready to pursue my passion.
    I was an independent and creative with no business working in an office. I’d thought long and hard about what I wanted out of life, and it included making beignets. As insignificant as that sounded, it meant a lot to me. Before she passed, I’d grown very close to my grandmother. There were times when I could talk to her when I couldn’t go to my own parents.
    Following through on an idea I’d developed as a young girl while watching my grandmother cooking and regaling me with familial antidotes had become something of an obsession of mine. I knew making beignets sounded trendy and not necessarily promising but I had a business plan and my grandmother’s stash of generations-old family recipes.
    When I was in college, I started writing down everything I could remember of our talks about how her mother’s family descended from an illicit affair between a French aristocrat and a slave, how her great-great grandmother was an octaroon, famous for her beauty and her beignet stand.
    One day I might even write a book about it. But for now, I just wanted to create a business that would honor my grandmother and fulfill my own dream.
    My parents hated the idea. What was my degree in accounting for? Why had I already invested two years at a company I had no intentions of growing with? How would I support myself? They thought I was crazy for wanting to do something that didn’t appear to be sound, but people had to eat and Southern food was huge, especially among all of the Northern transplants who lived in the Raleigh area.
    I was certain I’d be a success. But I had a plan. And that involved quitting my current job and going to school again, not for a MBA but to the Culinary Institute of America to enhance my already above average home-cooking skills. I’d already been accepted. All I needed to do now was show up