Ten Thousand Lies
Copyright © 2016 by Kelli Jean
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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For my Bro Dawgs.
Ten Thousand Lies
is the second book in the Ten Thousand series. In this story, we delve deeper into the realm of dark suspense. Future books in the series will progress even more so.
In this book, we encounter human trafficking. There is graphic violence and adult content that could be considered triggers for sensitive readers.
There is recreational and medicinal marijuana use in this story.
Please proceed with caution. While this book does address some difficult human experiences, they are told from the points of view of those doing everything they could to put an end to such horrors.
However, as much darkness as there is in
Ten Thousand Lies
, there is just as much light and love.
Thank you for joining me on this journey. May you find joy in Ricki and Jaime’s story.
Ricki
Oliver bloody Fairfax.
It was all well and good. He wanted to marry Xanthe Malcolm. We’d all expected it to happen sooner or later, but he couldn’t just spring that shit over the phone. I’d told his arse to come in and tell me to my face that he was going to ask our little weirdo hipster to marry him.
While I was taking cash off one of my boys, the electric cackle of the door chimed—old spooky laughter, like an evil butler in a haunted mansion—and Ollie strolled on in. Jones gave him a chin up in greeting, and the bearded motherfucker did the same. He really did have the best fucking beard.
I’d started using The Sophisticated Caveman line myself. My oldest friend in the world, Deo Dahl, had created it. Now, I had a lifetime supply of the shit for free and a wife who could
not
stop sniffing my fucking face.
Ollie was a huge man, well over six feet, and he had been busting his ass to get even bigger after George Kastor had shanked him ten months back. His fitness routine was mind-boggling. I was seriously considering asking him to teach me capoeira. As large as the man was, he moved like a bloody ghost.
I still got an odd twinge in me vitals whenever I thought of George. He was the only sanctified kill I wasn’t so sure about. He’d been a violent, delusional man, and I had no doubt that he would have pursued Xanthe until he killed her, but his mental health had always given me pause. It hadn’t been his fault he was a wack job. But he’d poked Ollie good, and that had been enough for me to end the motherfucker.
“So,” I said, eyeing Ollie as he approached, “our blessing is needed, eh?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask for it. Either way, I’m asking her to marry me.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes,” Ollie replied.
He looked ready to throw down. I couldn’t be prouder.
“You get the ring?”
“I did.”
“Let’s see it then.”
Like a douche, he walked behind the counter, as if he worked here, and pulled the velvet box from his pocket. When he snapped it open, my fucking jaw dropped.
“Damn. I guess you are serious.”
Shit, that’s a hell of a rock!
“Very.”
“What is that? Four? Five?”
“Five.”
“Nice. I only got Jaime a four.”
“Who’s the douche bag now?” he scoffed good-naturedly.
“It’ll always be you, man,” I replied, feeling my affection for the Brazilian beast rise.
“No doubt.”
Looking up at him, I asked, “You know what this means, right?”
“Not really, no.”
“It means, you’re gonna be family. And family knows shit. You feeling me?”
Ollie’s face would have made me laugh had the subject not been so serious. Incredulous, for sure, with a touch of trepidation.
“No shit.”
“I shit you not, brother. Xanthe would never tell because it’s not her story. If you’re serious, if you want her for the rest of your life, then you will have to know. But you can change your mind right now. You can still be with her—we’d never stop that—but if you want her for your
wife
, then you need to know what that entails. And, once you know, there’s no going back.”
“I’m going to be her husband,” he told me. “She’s already told me she wants to be my wife.”
“Then, follow me,” I said.
Walking back through the shop, we stopped at Ronen’s station where he was tattooing a woman’s ribs. She looked ready to faint from the pain. Letting his foot off the power pedal, he glanced up. Behind his John Lennon glasses, his eyes shifted to Ollie.
With his eyebrows rising toward his beanie, Ronen’s jaw dropped. “No shit,” he said.
“No shit, brother. You know what this means,” I said.
Ronen nodded, glared at Ollie, and then stepped on the pedal once more. The poor woman whimpered as the needles touched her skin.
“We’re almost done,” he told her. Then, without looking up, he said, “I’ll tell Jaime to lock up when she gets back. See you in a bit.”
“No worries,” I replied.
People weren’t allowed in my office. I kept shit of a sensitive nature in here, and therefore, I had it locked at all times.
Ollie followed me, and I unlocked and opened the door. I let him walk in ahead of me, and then I shut and locked it after him. Ronen would knock when he needed in.
“Have a seat,” I said, pointing at the sofa.
Ollie copped a squat and watched as I headed for my mini fridge.
Love this thing.
I kept it stocked with beer at all times, and I grabbed two.
“Which of us is in need of the mental lube?” Ollie asked.
I popped off the cap with the butt end of my lighter and handed him a bottle. “I’d say both.”
He nodded, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a few hard pulls.
“What do you know about the Godwins?” I asked.
“The Godwins?” He gave me an odd look. “Like…the
Mafia
?”
“Yeah.”
Ollie’s eyes widened. “Only that they’re the biggest crime family in Britain. They had that shit go down some years back. The boss and his son were killed, right?”
Nodding, I then took a long swig of my beer. “Yeah.”
“Afterward, the other son took over and went legit or something? Well, as far as a mob family can, I guess.”
Again, I nodded. “You read the papers at least.”
“It was pretty gruesome, from what I remember. I was young when it happened. Thirteen.”
“Jesus, sometimes, I forget how young you really are.” I laughed. “It’s the beard, man.”
He stroked his hand over his face fuzz. “Yeah.”
“I was twenty-one,” I told him, my heart pinching with the memory.
A soft knock came from the door. Getting up, I unlocked it, and Ronen came in. Without a word, he headed for the fridge and pulled out three more beers.
“How far have you gotten?” he asked.
I handed him my lighter, which he used to pop all the caps off the bottles.
“Haven’t really started,” I replied.
Ronen and I had planned for this day—what we would say, how we’d tell Ollie. The Locals already knew the man was in the loop, that we’d be telling him the whole of it when the time came. They weren’t overly thrilled, but they’d been keeping a close watch on him since he’d been brought to the Locals’ hospice after the shanking. So far, he’d kept his mouth shut. In fact, he was extremely supportive of Xanthe and her role within the organization.
“He was asking what I knew of the Godwins,” supplied Ollie. “I told him that I knew of the massacre.”
“Ah,” said Ronen, taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa from Ollie.
“Yeah, and that he was thirteen when it happened.” I laughed.
Ronen’s eyes bulged behind his glasses. “Seriously? You’re just a baby,” he said to Ollie.