Lie Like a Villain

Chapter 7 || Inhuman

Jason watched as Rachel stowed the pistol beneath her pillow. He set his hand over Ana's blanketed foot, and unease bubbled in him as he realized he wasn't even sure of his own motives at this point. Was he reassuring his sister? Was he trying to score sympathy points with Rachel? Or was he simply distracting himself from his mewling conscience?

"Thank you," he said.

That, at least, he knew was sincere. Rachel might not know what all she'd signed on for, and he wasn't stupid—or honest—enough to tell her. But every minute she was here, he'd be grateful. Not that his gratefulness would do her any good. It felt like being on one of those hunting trips with his mom, being thankful to the rabbits he was skinning for dinner. The rabbits didn't care how he felt about them. The rabbits were just dead.

She shrugged. "Whatever." Her eyes flicked over him. "I want double the money."

The taunt of a familiar game dragged him out of the dark thoughts. A practiced, incredulous smile sprung to his lips. "For what?" he protested.

"Increased risk!" she said, as if that should be obvious. Pink spots bloomed on her cheeks, clashing with her vivid curls.

His brow quirked—a talent from his dad he'd practiced and perfected. Jason buried a pang at the memory. "You knew I was shot when you picked me up."

"I knew you were in trouble." She looked him up and down, lips pursed, brow drawn. "I didn't know you were trouble."

"Twelve thousand," Jason offered, "and I'd already be breaking my word."

"Ha!" Rachel threw her head back. "You're the child of convicts and I'm... well, I'm me. What use have we got for honesty?"

"Honor among thieves, right?" He shrugged.

She crossed her arms, eyeing him with professional distaste. "You're no thief."

"And you're no dealbreaker."

"Says who? 15K."

"Thirteen, and that's my last offer." It was too generous, but it was meant to be. He wasn't buying her services anymore; he could have talked her down to their original figure. No, he was playing with her, teasing her, finding their rhythm. He was buying her loyalty. An oily coil slid around in his stomach.

She stuck her jaw out, but her stern, alley-cat glare didn't scare him anymore. "I have a gun, you know."

"I know." Flatly, he said, "I'm rather hoping you don't shoot me with it."

She made a face, but it was more petulant than threatening. He didn't waver, and she heaved a great sigh. "Thirteen then."

He smiled and rose halfway to offer her his hand. "Done." Before she could shake, he pulled it up. "And no more renegotiating."

"Yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes, but when they shook on it, she had a good, solid grasp, her hand calloused but warm.

He sat back down, wincing as it jarred his arm. Rachel flopped back onto her pillows. "So, if you're telling the truth, what's up with the news story?"

Those pictures were the last thing he wanted to talk about. He tucked the covers up around Ana again, brushed some stray hairs from her face. Her eyes were open but getting heavier. She wouldn't be up much longer, and he was glad for it. She needed the sleep.

"Well?" Rachel prodded.

Jason dragged a hand down his face. "They must've been faked."

"In under four hours?"

"Makes more sense than the real story being printed in that time anyway."

"Yeah, but—" Rachel shifted. "Isn't that kind of... scary good? To be able to stage the bodies—"