Queen of Lies: Volume 2 Read online

  Queen of Lies

  Volume 2

  Whitney G.

  Contents

  —

  Queen Of Lies

  Also By Whitney G.

  About Queen Of Lies

  Preface

  Prologue

  Michael

  Michael

  Meredith

  Michael

  Michael

  Meredith

  Meredith

  Meredith

  Michael

  Michael

  Michael

  Meredith

  Meredith

  Michael

  Michael

  —

  Legacy of Lies

  Author’s Note

  —

  QUEEN OF LIES

  WHITNEY G.

  Queen Of Lies

  Book 2 in the Empire of Lies Series

  Whitney G.

  Copyright © 2020 by Whitney G.

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs.

  Editing by Evelyn Guy of Indie Edit Guy.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Visit my website at

  http://www.whitneygbooks.com/

  Also By Whitney G.

  THE FIRM

  Filthy Lawyer

  (April 2020)

  Sinful Witness

  Dirty Judge

  Empire of Lies Series

  King of Lies

  Queen of Lies

  Legacy of Lies

  Empire of Lies: Full Series

  Steamy Coffee Reads Collection (Volume 1)

  Naughty Boss

  Dirty Doctor

  Cocky Client

  Steamy Coffee Reads Collection (Volume 2)

  Selfish Suit

  Wolfish Player

  Devilish Stranger

  Reasonable Doubt Series

  Reasonable Doubt #1

  Reasonable Doubt #2

  Reasonable Doubt #3

  Falling for Mr. Statham Series

  Resisting the Boss

  Loving the Boss

  The One Week Series

  On a Tuesday

  On a Wednesday

  On a Thursday

  On a Friday

  On a Saturday

  On a Sunday

  On a Monday

  Sincerely, Carter

  Forget You, Ethan

  Turbulence

  Over Us, Over You

  Two Weeks’ Notice

  The Fine Print

  The Layover

  About Queen Of Lies

  From the New York Times bestselling author of Reasonable Doubt & Turbulence, comes part two of a sexy and thrilling serial.

  The woman I fell in love with is a walking contradiction...

  She's sexy as hell, yet infuriating. Hopelessly in love with me, but carefully plotting to get the hell away.

  She honestly thinks that I'm the 'king of lies'?

  Well, she’s f-cking fooled you...

  She's the queen.

  Queen of Lies is the second book in the Empire of Lies Series.

  Book 1, King of Lies, can be downloaded for FREE by tapping here.

  For me.

  I wrote this story just for me.

  Preface

  Dear Awesome Reader,

  Thank you for downloading the second installment in the Empire of Lies trilogy.

  If you missed book 1, King of Lies, you can download it for FREE by tapping here.

  This book does end on a cliffhanger like the first installment (King of Lies), but this story will conclude with Legacy of Lies.

  Also, please be forewarned, this is still a departure from my typical books. (Trigger Warning: There are certain scenes in this novel that may trigger some readers)

  If you’re waiting for a steamy, contemporary romance, stay tuned for the upcoming releases of On a Wednesday & The Fine Print.

  I truly enjoyed writing something a bit different for this trilogy, and I hope you enjoy all the twists and turns in this detour.

  F.L.Y.

  (Effin Love You)

  Whitney G.

  P.S.—If you’re interested in reading my first serial trilogy, Reasonable Doubt, you can binge read it in its entirety by tapping here.

  Prologue

  Michael

  Since you’re still reading this story, I’ll have to assume that you’re a masochist. That, or a hopeless, starry-eyed reader who keeps a horde of romance novels with alpha male heroes at your fingertips.

  I’m willing to bet that you open every book you buy with the same set of expectations and desires—yearning to dive deep into the mind of a ‘bad boy’ hero, waiting patiently for him to rip your heart to bleeding pieces for the sake of angst. All so you can watch him grovel his way back to the heroine, for him to stitch every shred of your feelings back together by the time you reach the last page.

  You repeat this obsessive pattern over and over again. No matter the author, no matter the book.

  You’ve done it so many times, that you probably have no idea what it’s like when that doesn’t happen, and that’s okay.

  I’m more than willing to be your first…

  Michael

  Before We “Met”

  I stare ahead at the passing traffic, not wanting to believe the words that are falling from Trevor’s mouth. There’s no logical reason why a father would ever want to kill his own daughter. And as many times as I rack my brain for a plausible answer, I can’t think of anything that would make a billionaire like Leonardo Thatchwood even think of taking that risk.

  He’s the type of man who plays it safe whenever he bets. A man who will walk away from the table with all of his chips in tow, if he even senses that the game won’t end in his favor. From what I’ve witnessed by following him here or there these past several weeks, he’s the very definition of the word ‘cautious.’ He also has far too much to lose, if one blemish ever lands on his carefully curated record.

  I could’ve sworn he was attempting to run for public office…

  “How sure are you that it’s her father who wants her gone?” I look over at Trevor, still stunned at the news.

  He shrugs, puffing another “O” of smoke. “Pretty sure.”

  “Pretty sure or one-hundred-fucking-percent sure?”

  “Both.” He rolls his eyes. “When’s the last time I did something half-assed?”

  “You don’t want me to answer that.”

  “I can show you the video, if you’d like,” he says, reaching over and rummaging through the burner phones in his glove compartment. “Is that what you need to see to believe me?”

  “No.” I shake my head. He’s made stupid mistakes before, but he’s never been wrong or misfired. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Good.” He sits up and lights a new cigar. “Don’t hurt her too badly when the time comes, okay? I mean, make sure she doesn’t suffer more than necessary. His words, not mine.”

  I give him a blank stare.

  “Oh, and uh—” He paused. “I know you don’t typically do this, but he wants to make sure that the police don’t find her body for at least five years.”

  “I don’t take requests for how the fuck I do my job.”

  “Hence the words, I know you don’t do this typically…” he says. “You don’t typically go on five-hour dates with the targets either, so it looks like this is opening an entirely new era for you, isn’t it?”

  Fuck off, Trevor.

  Him wanting Meredith dead doesn
’t add up in the slightest, but I can’t spend too much time questioning it right now. There are far more important things on my mind, and I can get to the bottom of this Thatchwood mess later. Maybe.

  Sure, I can’t seem to think about anything except getting another taste of her lips or diving deep into her pussy again, but she doesn’t mean anything to me. She’s just the first memorable woman I’ve ever met, the first person who’s ever intrigued me this much in over a decade.

  She’s just a job. Just a job.

  “What other business do you need to talk to me about, Trevor?” I ask. “I need to go home and get some sleep.”

  “Please don’t insult my intelligence.” He hands me a folder.

  I open his folder, and inside are two lists. The first one consists of the businessmen and companies who are late making their deposits into our account—an offense that will prove very costly if they don’t rectify it by the end of the week.

  The second list is a personal one, the names we hardly ever say aloud. These are the people who ruined us long ago, the people who’d turned us into the half-hearted monsters we’ve become. The people who still, to this day, steal our sleep by haunting us in our nightmares.

  We don’t make any money “handling” them, but I’m willing to fit them into my schedule for free.

  The list started with twenty-eight, but now it’s down to ten. A far cry from the zero we’ve been wanting to reach for years.

  All or nothing.

  I stare at the name Dr. Holden McAllister and feel my blood beginning to boil. “I’ll pay our old therapist a visit in a few months. I need to do some research on his new life.” I glance at the other list and blink a few times to make sure what I’m looking at is real.

  “Why is Rio Warren on the debt list?” I ask. “I just saw him a few hours ago at Fahrenheit 900. He didn’t seem off or anything.”

  “I’m sure that’s because he dropped tons of money into your club and wanted you to see that,” he says. “Unfortunately, he’s months late paying us, so hopefully, he didn’t spend it all on liquor and bottle service.”

  “We don’t fuck with the mafia, Trevor. Ever.”

  “We do when they owe us over a quarter-million-dollars.”

  I raise my eyebrow, stunned that anyone would ever be more than a second late after owing that much. Still, a man like Rio isn’t a suit. There has to be an explanation.

  “Someone is probably late paying him,” I said. “Give him a few more weeks. He’s never been late before, and he’s always good for it.”

  “Fine.” He motions for me to get out of the car. “I need to get back to New Jersey to finish off an IKEA manager, and you need to turn back into the Michael I know by the time I get back. I expect to hear fucking research and planned times of executions. Literally.”

  I roll my eyes and step out of his car.

  He speeds off the moment I shut the door, and I return to the Four Seasons. I know better than to revisit Meredith in the penthouse suite again—even though I’m tempted, so I request a different room. I also request that they extend her stay by a few days and set two aspirin, a tray of bagels, and a note from me on her nightstand in the morning. (It’s common fucking decency. It doesn’t mean anything.)

  When I make it to my room, I turn the air conditioning on to the coldest setting. I open all the windows—letting in as much of the freezing night air as possible, and then I set the ceiling fan on high.

  Taking off my clothes, I lay at the center of the mattress and shut my eyes for as long as I can bear it—hoping that for once, just once, sleep will come and stay for more than five hours.

  Just once.

  I drift off into a dream that feels like it’ll finally last a long time, but by the time my eyes flutter open, I look at my watch and realize that it’s been exactly five hours.

  Fuck.

  The flames of my past are still burning hot and bright, and I know they won’t stop until I finish that damn list. Until I can completely focus on putting it behind me.

  I dress again and prepare to check out. As I’m walking to the elevator, my second cell phone buzzes in my pocket.

  No one has this number yet, and I’ve installed software that prevents robo-calls.

  Confused, I hold it up to my ear. “Yes?”

  “Um, hi.” Meredith’s soft and raspy voice comes over the line. “It’s me, Meredith.”

  What the fuck? “How the hell did you get this number, Meredith?”

  “You opened your phone and texted the concierge at some point last night.” She sounds like she’s still in bed. “I have a photographic memory.”

  I smile, impressed and completely caught off-guard. I never picked up on that while following her, so I mentally add that to my list of “Interesting observations about the Thatchwood Girl.” It can go right under “Sexy as hell without even trying,” “Unafraid of a little darkness,” and “Enjoys talking about books and authors for hours at a time.”

  I rush her off the phone—shutting down any idea of meeting up with her again, and make sure my gun is loaded and concealed before stepping onto the elevator.

  I’m supposed to spend today following a man who has an unfortunate criminal addiction, since I’m due to kill him in a matter of weeks, but I don’t drive to his job to stalk his routine. I don’t show up to the ice cream parlor where his family meets him in the afternoons, and I don’t hack into his personal computer when he “accidentally” leaves it in a locker at his gym.

  Instead, I think about Meredith. How much I want her, how much I need to have her, at least one more time.

  I try to let the thoughts remain thoughts, but before I know it, I’m using my own photographic memory and sending her an email.

  Subject: One more date…

  Michael

  Now

  Top Ten Reasons Why Meredith Thatchwood is Probably Still Alive (& Tips on How to Get Her Smoky Eye Wedding Picture Look)

  If Meredith Thatchwood was a Regular, Ugly Missing Person and Not a Beautiful, Billionaire Heiress, No One Would Care

  Fans Launch Petition for Gillian Weston, Author and Best Friend of Missing Thatchwood Heiress, to Release Her New Book; “Meredith was a FAN, too!”

  Police Question Heiress’s Newlywed Husband Again; Officially Clear Him as a Suspect

  ‘Hopeful, yet very concerned’ in the search for Missing Billion-Dollar Heiress, Father Says

  Officials Find Abandoned Car with Blood Stains, Meredith Thatchwood’s Locket Necklace, and Hair Strands in Trunk; Police to Test DNA

  The mainstream media is far too fucking predictable. They run every major story with the exact same cycle: Breaking news and an outrage story, tons of hour to hour coverage, new angle of the story, even more hour to hour coverage. They run with this big story for as long as they can—a couple weeks at most, and right when it begins to lose steam, they pick up the next breaking news story.

  Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

  It’s been two months since Meredith went missing, and her disappearance is slowly falling out of this vicious cycle—only mentioned by news stations when they’re desperate for clicks and want to examine “new angles” for the story. Occasionally, her name will resurface in the papers whenever her lying ass father wants to make a tear-filled appearance about how the cops aren’t doing enough to find her.

  Honestly, if I didn’t know what I know, I’d feel the same. They’re completely incompetent and twenty steps behind what’s really happening, but that’s exactly where I need them to be.

  Meredith

  Now

  1 out of 5 stars

  Dear fellow Goodreads.com reviewers,

  This is not a book review. I’m writing this here, on this book’s page, in hopes that someone will see this before I’ll be forced to delete it.

  My name is Meredith Alexis Thatchwood, and my husband—Michael Anderson—has kidnapped me. He is currently holding me against my will in a mansion, in the middle of nowhere. (From what I remember from the last t
ime I managed to escape, the place is five miles away from the Genessee River, past a drive of overgrown maple trees. Some street names nearby are Ardmore Lane, Pine Avenue, and Trellis Cove.)

  If you help me, I promise that my father—Leonardo Thatchwood—will reward you for alerting the police to my whereabouts.

  PLEASE call 1-888-MER-TIPS and show them this review. Please tell them I’m still alive…and please contact Gillian Weston and show this review to her, too.

  Please help me,

  Meredith