All the Pretty Lies Read online

  All the Pretty Lies

  Marin Montgomery

  Contents

  Description

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Part II

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part III

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  COVER DESIGN: LOUISA MAGGIO

  EDITING: The Passionate Proofreader

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permission Coordinator” at the address below.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  Description

  What does the tragic death of a twenty-seven-year-old Portland beauty have to do with a suburban mother in Houston?

  Everything.

  Only Meghan Bishop doesn’t know it yet.

  When the married mother stumbles upon evidence suggesting someone close to her may have ties to the heinous crime the nation can’t stop talking about, she’s forced to dive headfirst into an ocean of secrets she never knew existed.

  Unraveling her life one startling piece at a time, Meghan realizes she believed all the pretty lies she’d been told.

  And the truth? It’s uglier than she ever could have imagined.

  For Jess-my fellow Midwesterner.

  Thank you for being an inspiration and a true friend. We crossed paths for a reason and we’ve already made a million memories exploring the island. Thanks for the laughter and the bond we forged. I’m blessed to have you in my life.

  Prologue

  Talin

  “When?” I lean against the doorjamb, crossing my arms. My nakedness a minute ago felt natural and comfortable, now I want to wear a long robe and cover up, hiding my body along with my innermost thoughts.

  “Talin.” He sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Let’s not do this now.” He slides off my bed, the covers rumpled, the decorative pillows tossed in varying degrees across the room. A reminder of a few minutes ago when we lay side by side in unison, not face to face in a stand-off, pitted against one another.

  His clothes are folded on the chair in the corner, the exact opposite of mine, which are scattered haphazardly on the floor, a nude bra peeking out from underneath my bed, panties lodged somewhere in the covers, my jeans tossed on the edge of the mirrored dresser.

  “I’m not doing this with you anymore.” I put my hands on my hips. I’m going to be strong this time. No more of this back and forth relationship, wavering between my indecisiveness and his empty promises.

  He reaches a hand towards me, a peace offering. I swat his hand away. “Talin.” He growls.

  Twice he’s used my real name.

  He never uses my real name. He always calls me “Tally”, which is what everyone else has nicknamed me.

  “This isn’t right what you’re doing.” He throws his arms up in disgust. Or maybe defeat.

  “You either.”

  We stare each other down.

  “I’m going to miss my flight.” He strides to the corner chair and pulls his boxers out of the neat pile, sliding his white Calvin’s on. His gaze never leaves the pouty look on my face.

  I shrug.

  “Let’s not end it like this,” he pleads.

  “You mean this?” I point towards the bed. “What’s this? We have nothing more than that bed over there. Let’s just end it all together.”

  “You don’t mean that.” He tries to hold my stare as he buttons his tan and navy striped shirt, a lock of dark hair falling over his eye. Those chocolate brown eyes I get lost in every time.

  “I do. I’m tired of this.” I scowl. “I don’t want to see you again.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is.” I turn to my bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower. You better be gone when I come out.”

  “You know I have to go.”

  “Then do that.” I swing back around. “Do what you always do. Go. Delete my number. This is over.” I stalk through the door, tears pricking my eyes.

  I feel his hand reach out for my back, grazing my skin, but I don’t acknowledge him. I slam the bathroom door shut, holding my breath as he puts his shoes on, his heavy footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors.

  He pauses outside the closed door, only an inch of wood separating us in person but miles in reality.

  Twenty-two hundred and seventy miles, to be exact.

  I grip the door frame from the other side, resting my cheek against the wood, biting my lip in apprehension.

  Will he stay or will he go?

  A sigh on his end, as I imagine him pushing his head against the oak, lips curled in resentment.

  A quick knuckle slam to the wood.

  His footsteps retreat, thudding down the hall.

  The front door slams shut in animosity.

  After it closes, it confirms how alone I am, and a sob escapes my lips.

  My heart sinks, the way it always does when he leaves. Pressing my eyes shut, it’s the feeling you get when you’re on a rollercoaster, that dizzy head rush that floods your brain at the same time you struggle to breathe. There’s a surge of adrenaline kicking in as we soar through the air, every loop faster and more brazen than the last.

  That’s how we started, six months ago.

  The butterflies tickle my stomach, fingers grazing the safety bar that’s sheltering me. My eyes dart to the track up ahead and I know it’s almost over.

  That’s today.

  No more swoops, upside-down twists, just the final bow, the metal cars shuddering to a stop as they ground to a halt.

  The end.

  My body feels like that, spent, wishing for the moments that were mere seconds, the ones that passed in a blur.

  This will be the last time. It has to be.

  Turning the shower on, I pause to stare in the mirror. My white-blonde hair is in knots, sticking up in various places, my green eyes looking dark, sage-like, in the dim light. My mascara’s smudged, black rimming the lashes, a combination of sex and tears.

  Twenty-seven.

  I thought I’d have my shit together at this a
ge.

  Relationships?

  Always a tumultuous storm. The love of my life is gone, left me almost two years ago, not by choice. He left my engagement ring and a million memories.

  Sliding my finger across the simple, wooden mahogany, square-shaped jewelry box my great-grandfather made for my mom that was passed down to me, I finger the simple diamond band nestled in the middle, a reminder of him. The only piece of jewelry I’ve ever owned of value, the sentimentality worth more than an extravagant price tag.

  As I’m smoothing down my wild hair, considering my chipped cerulean blue nail polish and the aftermath of losing a second lover, a thud shudders through the house. It sounds like the front door, a heavy mahogany that closes with a loud bang.

  I look in the mirror, leaning on the gray speckled granite to admire my smug reflection.

  Of course he didn’t want to leave like this.

  Maybe this isn’t the end.

  Maybe he’ll come join me in the water and purposely miss his flight.

  Stepping in, I close the opaque shower door behind me. I can’t see out of the blurred glass, but I make out a flash of color.

  “Reed?”

  No answer.

  There’s a banging against the shower door. I pause, the water hitting me in the face. Tentatively, I slow the water to a trickle, then shut it off completely.

  “Reed, are you back?” I holler.

  A thump as something raps against the glass with urgency.

  I reach for the handle and push, jumping back as he rushes in.

  A scream escapes my lips.

  Loras.

  My rescue cat. An orange tabby with a fluffy white tip on the end of his tail, as if he dipped just the edge in a paint can. He’s ancient, at least twelve, his hearing subpar unless it involves catnip and tuna fish. Selective hearing, I guess.

  He’s meowing, a loud whimper as he steps on the wet tile floor of the stand-up shower.

  “Loras,” I exclaim. “It’s not your bath time.” I scoop him up, giving him a snuggle as I set him out, peering my head around the glass.

  My bathroom’s empty, minus the damn cat and his litter box. I glance down to the other end, to the walk-in closet. It’s a straight shot through the bathroom to get to it. Some might find it annoying to not have it in the bedroom, but I prefer the separation. My mad dashes from the shower to the closet mean that I wreak havoc there instead of in my bedroom. The walk-in has a full-length mirror on one wall and built-in shelves on the other, though from the tornado of dresses tossed off hangers, everything’s buried underneath the rubble. Loras darts towards his spot on the bottom shelf, his orange fluff disappearing in an instant.

  I close the shower door and rub my neck, surprised Reed didn’t show back up.

  Pulling the metal handle to the right, the blast hits me full force. The stringent water causes me to shut my eyes, blindly grabbing a bar of soap to wash my face, lathering it over my puffy eyes.

  Another loud bang.

  Loras better not be clawing and dragging the remnants of my wardrobe.

  I scrub at my skin, removing traces of make-up.

  Bad decisions.

  His kiss.

  My hand brushes over my mouth. Those lips that grasp onto me like I’m their lifeline. Like he’ll drown if I don’t reciprocate his touch with a fervent intensity.

  Tears start to burn my eyelids, sliding down my cheeks.

  I tell myself it’s soap in my eyes, counting to ten in my head.

  Grabbing the shampoo to lather my hair, I hold the wall with one hand, the bottle in my fist, catching my breath, the culmination of our relationship catching up with me.

  Water rinses over my skin as I absentmindedly rub the shampoo into my hair, scrubbing it. I’m pushing too hard, my nails digging into my scalp as if I’m looking for a fight.

  I wince, gently rubbing the offended area behind my ear.

  A rush of cold air hits my back, signaling the glass door is open.

  “What the…” My words stop, crashing to a halt as I feel the smooth touch of a finger on my spine, an automatic shiver down my back.

  It’s weird though, unnatural, like fabric is covering it up.

  “Reed, you’re letting the cold air in.” I stomp my foot on the slick tiles.

  Turning around, the shampoo bottle slips out of my hand, a gasp escaping my lips. When it hits the shower floor, liquid splatters as the plastic top cracks open, the watery pink substance oozing out.

  The smooth touch is from a leather glove, the black material covering up a large hand. The rest is dressed head-to-toe in black, down to the Doc Martens on his feet, the yellow stitching synonymous with the brand. I can tell it’s a him by his stature and the way he stands, an imposing figure hovering over me, at least a foot taller.

  His right hand reaches out and grabs my wet hair, pulling it into a ponytail in a single swipe. He doesn’t bother to step all the way into the shower, his long arm twisting my slippery strands in his grip, yanking my head back and closer towards him.

  I yelp in pain. “Ow.”

  As I jerk my head in the opposite direction, his other hand reaches for my neck. My feet leave the ground as I’m lifted off the tiled floor. His splayed fingers might as well be a noose. My screams are drowned out by the water spraying me directly in the nose and mouth.

  I sputter, trying to catch my breath.

  Kicking my feet backwards, I make contact with his knee, which might as well be a steel post. It doesn’t even budge as I connect with it.

  He drags me towards the edge of the shower, stumbling as he trips over the ledge between the shower and the floor outside of it, a step down across the threshold. We almost go down, his viselike grip loosening around my hair and neck.

  I ram my elbow towards his chest, hitting him in the stomach. Violently, he whips me around, a slap across my face widening my eyes as he first connects with one cheek, then the other. The blows hit me like we’re in a sparring contest, except I can’t duck his punches.

  Tasting the sticky sweetness of blood, it gushes into my mouth, dripping from my nose and cut lip.

  A violent shove and I slide across the wet bottom, crashing into the opposite wall, my face making contact with the white subway tiles.

  His clothing’s now drenched, the water still spurting out from the jets as he becomes a soggy, black mess. He takes a step forward, his heavy boots both firmly planted on the shower floor.

  Wrenching my hands from their position on the tile, he twists me around.

  Blocking my face, I use my palms to shield myself from this monster.

  It’s pointless.

  He slaps them away.

  Reaching out, he grabs my neck with both gloved hands.

  I stare at him, looking him up and down, memorizing him, this masked face I can’t read.

  My body starts to convulse, naked and afraid, as I dig my nails uselessly into the smooth surface of the wall, nothing but the grout to grab ahold of. They slide down the slick wall, polish coming off in protest.

  I claw at him, acting like Loras on steroids as I flail my arms.

  The floor’s wet, and his boots slip as he loses his balance, his grip around my throat loosening.

  In order to catch himself, he has to release me and grab for the metal bar.

  Now’s my chance.

  I shove him away from me, catching him off guard as he tumbles.

  He’s blocking my exit, the difference between me and freedom, my life and living or becoming a statistic.

  I push full force, ignoring the bruises forming on my face, the blood, the air supply he cut off, and the purplish welt that’s sure to be wrapped around my neck.

  His body groans as I pummel his chest with my wet one, one-hundred twenty pounds soaking wet. He’s well-built, and it hurts me more than it hurts him. It’s like I’m punching a shield of armor.

  Pulling my knee up, I try and catch him in the groin.

  He connects with my leg, knocking me over. A
thud penetrates the white noise of water as my head hits the glass. A sharp crack jolts me, the shooting pain bringing me to my knees.

  My eyes see blinding white for a moment, and I close them in protest against the glare.

  When I open them, his hand reaches into his back pocket in one fluid movement.

  A sliver of metal.

  Goosebumps travel down my body. The warm water might as well be ice cold.

  He nods at me as if to say ‘it’s time,’ except he never once opens his mouth.

  Why? I plead with my eyes. What did I do to deserve this?

  He lowers his lids, forcing me against the wall, my back to him. He doesn’t want to see me beg, or maybe it’s guilt, my tortured eyes and his pained ones.

  Gripping my neck to hold me in place, I feel a searing pain in my back as a sharp object enters my flesh. It’s as if my lower extremities are being scorched, heat rising up as if I stayed out too long in the sun and acquired a sunburn.

  Bile rises suddenly in my throat, the contents of my dinner lost as I choke it up, watching the liquid sluggishly make its way to the drain.

  I feel dizzy as the small space spins.

  The water suddenly falters, a squeak as he shuts off the lever.

  Before I can consider his next move, a second cut snakes around my abdomen to hit my stomach. My mouth twists in horror.

  My mind comprehends the pain, the sight, as blood makes its way down my pale skin, a paintbrush slashing burgundy down my pubic bone and then running between my legs. It trails towards my left foot, to the silver toe ring from Mexico, the only time Reed and I made it out of the country.