The Reaping: Language of the Liar by Angella Graff Read Free Book Online Page A

chains hanging from ceiling fixtures.
    Whatever it was, she didn’t expect a modern apartment with a microfiber couch, a recliner, and a massive TV mounted to the wall.  Some things looked off, like a giant bookshelf filled with texts she couldn’t begin to decipher, or the really bizarre, Ancient Greek-looking symbols painted on the walls in a faded rust color.  But there was a kitchen table with some open pizza boxes, beer bottles here and there, and a guy wearing a white t-shirt and tight jeans sitting with one foot propped up on the coffee table.  He had a cup of tea in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and he lolled his head back as Lennox brought Dorian inside.
    “Found her, did you?  Confirmed?”  He spoke in a light English accent, his voice almost friendly which was just as startling as his casual demeanor.
    “Confirmed,” Lennox replied.  He brandished his shoe which was covered in coffee splotches.  “Spilled her coffee on me, didn’t even touch the cup.  Just bought these, too.”
    “I thought you said you didn’t live around here,” Dorian said, her tone coming out thin and dry.
    Lennox turned to her, giving her an appraising look before he answered, one shoulder shrugging up and down.  “I lied.” He walked off, tossing his key and wallet on the small table next to the door.
    The guy in the chair rose, setting his tea down, and Dorian unconsciously backed up as he took a step forward.  For the most part he seemed non-threatening.  Shorter than Lennox, and probably fifteen pounds lighter.  He was the same age, maybe mid-thirties, shaggy brown hair, face that was probably shaven most of the time, but now hosting a five o’clock shadow.
    He was smiling, his cigarette clenched between his teeth, and he had his hands up in surrender.  “Easy love. We ain’t gonna bite.”  When she flinched, he turned to Lennox, a frown marring his face.  “The hell did you do to this poor girl?  She’s terrified.”
    “She’s strong.  I think it was recent.”  Lennox spoke from the bookshelf as he frantically searched for something.  He had an old flask in one hand, and shoved a wooden stick between his teeth as he paged through a stack of papers.  “I had to get her out of there.  It’s got a good hold on her.”
    The other man’s face fell into a deeper frown, and he took the cigarette from his teeth, crushing it down in a nearby ashtray.  That done, he held out a hand, but she refused to take it and he closed his fingers into a fist.  “Fair enough.  My name is Dashiell, but you can call me Dash.  I take it you’ve made Lennox’s acquaintance over there?”
    “You were both stalking me?”  Her voice came out in a harsh whisper, far weaker than she wanted to sound.  “You were at the café with him.”  She nodded at Lennox who had found whatever it was he was looking for.  He was walking to the kitchen table now, slapping the pages down on the scrubbed wooden top.
    “I was, yeah.  And we prefer to call it tracking.  Less nasty, you know.”  Dash ran his fingers back through his unkempt hair and took a step back.  “He bother to explain at all why you’re here?”
    Dorian was shaking and didn’t bother to hide it as she backed up further against the wall.  She could feel her phone pressing against her hip, wedged in her back pocket and if she could only get a second alone, she would be able to hit the emergency call button.  But right now, all eyes were on her.
    “I went covert,” Lennox said after a second.  He set the flask down and folded his arms across his chest, turning his attention back to Dorian.
    Dash groaned and rolled his eyes back to Dorian.  “Oh, bloody hell, he flirted didn’t he?”
    She nodded, her breath coming in sharp gasps.  “Um.  Yeah.  Sort of.”
    Dash shook his head, giving Lennox a withering glare.  “He’s the worst at flirting.  Not good with the ladies at all.”
    “Like you’re better,” Lennox countered.