Everybody Lies Before They Bleed
1463 Words
Chapter Four
Everybody Lies Before They Bleed
The drive to my hometown took three hours.
Three hours of rain. Three hours of silence. Three hours trapped in the backseat of Lucien Mercer’s car trying not to completely lose my mind.
Damien drove.
Which somehow made things worse.
Because unlike Lucien’s suffocating silence, Damien talked.
Not constantly.
Just enough to keep tension alive.
“Your town looks exactly how murder documentaries start,” he commented as we passed another stretch of empty highway.
I stared out the window. “Comforting.”
“Thank you.”
Lucien sat beside me in the backseat, one arm resting against the door, gaze fixed outside.
Cold. Unreadable. Dangerously quiet.
Ever since the phone call, something inside him had changed.
He looked… focused.
Like whatever mask he usually wore had slipped enough to reveal the sharp edges underneath.
I hated how aware I was of him beside me.
The heat from his shoulder. The expensive scent of his coat. The tension sitting permanently in his jaw.
Every instinct told me to fear him.
Unfortunately, my instincts were becoming unreliable around Lucien Mercer.
“What exactly happened at my apartment building?” I asked finally.
Neither man answered immediately.
My anxiety snapped tighter.
“Lucien.”
His eyes shifted toward me slowly.
“An elderly man was found dead outside the building.”
Cold spread through my chest.
“Do I know him?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Then why are we driving there like the FBI?”
Damien glanced at us through the mirror. “Because someone left your name at the scene.”
Of course they did.
I laughed suddenly.
Not because anything was funny.
Because panic had reached the point where my brain no longer knew how to process reality correctly.
“This is insane.”
“Yes,” Lucien agreed quietly.
I looked at him sharply. “You still haven’t explained why you’re involved.”
His gaze held mine for a second too long.
Then:
“Because if Blackwood is moving openly, you won’t survive this alone.”
That answer sat heavily in my chest.
Not because it comforted me.
Because part of me believed him.
And that terrified me more than anything.
The city skyline finally appeared through the rain around sunset.
Gray buildings. Crowded streets. Familiar decay.
Home.
Or something close to it.
The moment we entered my neighborhood, shame crawled under my skin automatically.
Broken sidewalks. Flickering streetlights. Apartment blocks stained with age and neglect.
Beside me, Lucien remained perfectly expressionless.
Which somehow felt worse than judgment.
Damien parked across from my building while police lights painted the wet streets red and blue.
My stomach dropped instantly.
Yellow tape surrounded the entrance.
People crowded nearby whispering nervously.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
Lucien exited first.
The rain hit hard immediately, soaking through my hoodie within seconds as I climbed out after him.
The entire block smelled like wet asphalt and cigarette smoke.
I barely made it three steps before an officer stopped me.
“Ma’am, this area is restricted.”
“I live here.”
The officer frowned. “Name?”
“Elena Vale.”
Everything changed instantly.
His expression sharpened.
Another officer nearby turned toward us immediately.
That was not a good sign.
“You’ll need to come with us.”
Lucien stepped forward before I could react.
“She’s not answering questions without counsel.”
The officer recognized him instantly.
People always did.
Something uneasy passed across the man’s face.
“This doesn’t concern you, Mr. Mercer.”
“It concerns her,” Lucien replied calmly. “So now it concerns me.”
The officer clearly didn’t like that answer.
Too bad.
Because apparently Lucien Mercer was the kind of man police officers didn’t argue with unless absolutely necessary.
A familiar voice suddenly cut through the tension.
“Elena?”
I turned sharply.
And my entire chest cracked open.
Mom.
She stood near the apartment entrance wrapped in an oversized cardigan, face pale with exhaustion and fear.
The second she saw me, tears filled her eyes.
I ran to her instantly.
“Mom.”
She grabbed my face with shaking hands like she needed proof I was real.
“Oh thank God.”
My throat tightened painfully.
“What happened?”
Her expression changed.
Fear. Real fear.
Then her eyes flicked toward Lucien standing behind me.
And all the color drained from her face.
No.
No, no, no.
She knew him.
Or at least recognized the name.
“Mom?” I whispered.
Her breathing became uneven instantly.
“Elena… why is he here?”
Every nerve in my body went rigid.
Lucien’s expression hardened almost invisibly.
“You know each other,” I said slowly.
“No,” Mom answered too quickly.
Lie.
I knew her tells.
She twisted her wedding ring whenever she lied.
And right now she was practically cutting circulation off her finger.
“Mom.”
“Inside,” she whispered urgently. “Now.”
The apartment smelled exactly the same.
Coffee. Old books. Lavender detergent.
Normally it comforted me.
Tonight it felt suffocating.
Police had already searched the place.
Drawers hung open. Cabinet doors crooked. Papers scattered across the kitchen table.
Rage flared instantly.
“They searched our apartment?”
Mom looked exhausted. “They had a warrant.”
“For what?”
Silence.
Then she whispered:
“They think your father killed someone before he died.”
The room tilted violently.
“What?”
Lucien went completely still behind me.
Mom sank slowly into a kitchen chair looking ten years older than she had last week.
“I told them he was dead,” she whispered. “I told them this had nothing to do with us anymore.”
My pulse thundered painfully.
“What are you talking about?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
And suddenly I was eight years old again listening through cracked doors while adults whispered secrets around me.
“Mom.”
She looked at Lucien again.
Fear flickered openly across her face now.
“You shouldn’t have brought him here.”
“I didn’t bring him anywhere,” I snapped. “He keeps appearing like a psychologically unstable bat.”
Damien snorted somewhere near the doorway.
Lucien ignored him completely.
“What happened tonight?” he asked my mother calmly.
She swallowed hard.
“A man came looking for Elena.”
Every muscle in my body locked instantly.
“What man?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice shook. “Tall. Expensive suit. He kept asking questions about your father.”
Cold spread slowly through my chest.
“What kind of questions?”
“If your father left anything behind.”
The room fell silent.
Lucien’s expression darkened immediately.
Mom looked close to panic now.
“I told him we didn’t know anything,” she whispered. “Then Mr. Bennett from downstairs tried to intervene and—”
Her voice broke.
“Oh God…”
Realization hit me sharply.
The dead man outside.
Mr. Bennett.
The old retired mechanic who fixed bicycles for neighborhood kids.
My stomach twisted violently.
“He killed him?”
“No,” Lucien answered before my mother could speak.
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because this wasn’t meant to stay quiet.”
A chill crawled down my spine.
“What does that mean?”
Lucien stepped closer slowly.
“The body was left publicly for a reason.”
His voice stayed calm.
Too calm.
“To send a message.”
Rain battered the apartment windows harder outside.
Mom suddenly stood up shakily and crossed toward an old cabinet near the hallway.
Before I could ask what she was doing, she pulled out a small locked metal box.
My breath caught instantly.
I’d seen that box before.
Years ago.
My father used to hide it beneath loose floorboards.
Mom stared at it silently for several seconds before looking at me.
Then at Lucien.
“You were supposed to never find her,” she whispered to him.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Dangerously.
Lucien’s jaw tightened sharply.
“What’s in the box?” I asked quietly.
Nobody answered.
My pulse climbed higher.
“Mom.”
Her eyes filled with tears again.
Then slowly—
She handed the box to me.
It felt heavier than it looked.
Old. Cold. Important.
“What is this?”
Before she could answer—
The apartment lights suddenly shut off.
Darkness swallowed the room instantly.
Mom gasped.
Outside, tires screeched violently.
Lucien moved fast.
Too fast.
One second he stood near the kitchen.
The next he grabbed my wrist hard enough to pull me against his chest.
“Down,” he ordered sharply.
And then—
Gunshots exploded through the apartment windows.
- Writer
