Grand Lies (The Promise Duet Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by JC Hawke

  Editing: Ellie McLove – My Brothers Editor

  Proofing: Rosa Sharon – My Brothers Editor

  Cover: Murphy Rae

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblance to actual person’s, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  GRAND LIES

  JC Hawke

  Ivy Rose Publishing Ltd

  Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  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

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Grand Lies Continues In…

  Afterword

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Dedication

  A unicorn once told me…

  “People don’t read for the story, they read for the way it makes them feel.”

  Thank you, Tee.

  Without you there’d be no Nina and Mase.

  Prologue

  Nina

  Ten years old

  Whore.

  That’s what they’d call her. She wasn’t ever Sara, Mrs Anderson, or Mummy as she was to me.

  “Whore.” The word falls from his lips as if it is poison on his tongue, seeping through the paper-thin walls and into my impressionable ears. At the age of ten, I knew right from wrong. I knew not to get into strangers’ cars and to look both ways when crossing the road. But still, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe the rancid words he’d spit at her—even when the truth in them was easy to see.

  My music plays through my headphones, and I spin, feeling weightless. I should go, leave the house and not come back until they are gone. But it’s got cold out, and my leggings and cardigan are the only clean clothes I have.

  My music calms me, making all the bad in the house quiet for a little while. It’s when the shouting and banging starts that I turn up the volume, drowning out my mother’s cries. One day I will help her, but I am just a kid. I learnt the hard way not to interfere when it comes to her houseguests. It only ends painfully for me, and the three hospital admissions have only led to social services trying to take me from her.

  I don’t want to go, but I don’t necessarily want to stay either.

  A loud thudding penetrates through my headphones, and my body goes rigid. I swallow down the fear in my throat and pinch my eyes tighter together. Don’t be a hero, Nina. Don’t be a hero.

  I continue to dance in the small confinement of my room, ignoring the pain in my mother’s voice.

  I spin.

  “Enough!”

  Thud.

  “Stop!”

  Spin.

  Thud.

  Spin.

  “STO—”

  I pull the headphones from my ears, rushing out of my bedroom door on shaky legs. My heart pounds in my chest, but I don’t stop, even when everything inside me tells me to leave. Run! Go down the stairs and out the front door, Nina.

  I have to help her—nobody else will—even if it hurts me.

  I’ve walked into my mother’s bedroom twice in the years she has brought them here, and both times I ended up in the hospital. My broken wrist was unbearable and not something she could hide even if she tried to.

  My nose was left broken for an entire week before she allowed me back to school. Maggie, my best friend’s mum, noticed the minute she saw me and drove me to the hospital. I had a broken nose and a mild concussion. It was already starting to heal, but it meant a visit from my social workers.

  Both occasions were the same man. Although my mother sleeps with multiple men, she doesn’t always sleep with men like him. Some of them look at me with pity in their eyes before they go to her room.

  I grasp the door handle with no plan, quickly turning the knob. I open the door and let it crash into the wall.

  “Get off her!” I shout, my fists clenched by my sides.

  His hands are around her throat. She looks purple. Her eyes are glazed, and I can see syringes scattered next to them on the bedside table.

  My eyes come back to hers, red-rimmed and wide. I need her to give me a sign to tell me what to do.

  I get nothing; it’s as if she has given up.

  “Get off of her!” I shout again.

  His hands release from her neck, and he stands. I spin away as he tucks himself into his trousers, and as soon as I hear his boots thudding on the hardwood, I run to my mother’s side.

  “Leave the cunt to die,” he spits at me from the doorway.

  My hands shake as I smooth my mother’s hair. I don’t dare look at him.

  He will leave. He will leave.

  Please leave.

  “I said, leave the cunt to die!” His hand fists my hair, dragging me from the bed.

  “Nina,” my mother croaks.

  I scream out in pain, feeling the roots of my hair clinging to my scalp.

  He pulls me to the top of the stairs, hanging me over the top step by my hair. “I don’t pay for a little brat to interrupt me. Fucking apologise!”

  No.

  He lurches my body forward, and I force my hands out to save myself, but he doesn’t let me go, wrenching me back by my hair again. “Apologise!” he grunts.

  I shake my head once, and then I am floating. In the seconds before my face hits the wooden steps, I pinch my eyes closed and pray it will knock me out—anything to take me away from this hell.

  I hear him leave and my mother’s cries. Her red dressing gown brushes my cheek as she steps over me and rushes for the door. I pull myself up and sit on the bottom step, adrenaline the only thing keeping me upright.

  I did it.

  I protected her.

  “What were you thinking?!” my mother cries. “Are you going to pay the bills this week? Keep the house heated?!” She stands in front of me, her hair a mess and her eyes wild. I look just like her, but I hope to be everything she isn’t when I grow up.

  “Get up!” She pulls on my arm, and I hiss.

  “Ow, Mum, that hurts.”

  “You know nothing about pain, little girl. One day you’ll grow up and realise the real world isn’t a fucking fairy tale. It’s about time you started learning.”

  She drags me to the kitchen and over to the front door. “You think you can be big and brave?” She pushes me over the threshold, sending me tumbling to the asphalt. My knees sting as they scrape along the cold gravel. “Then you find the money for the bills. I can’t feed the both of us. You forget that you need me more than I need
you, Nina. It’s about time you grew up!”

  “Mum!” I panic.

  The door slams shut, and I shake my head, wiping the stray tear from my cheek and pulling myself up off the dirty ground.

  She thinks money will help us survive, but what she doesn’t see is that what she is doing to earn it is slowly killing us both.

  It was much later in life that I learnt to leave before she could hurt me.

  1

  Nina

  Never in my wildest dreams could I have comprehended how my life would turn out. I’m a firm believer that luck is the one thing between myself and some of the most unfortunate people in this world. Yet as I stand, hands on hips, chest heaving, glancing around at my studio—I know, hand on heart, that luck has absolutely nothing to do with my success.

  My studio may have materialised under fortunate events—a case of being in the right place at the right time. But it was the years I spent working late nights in our local bar that allowed me to take the opportunity when it presented itself. Every penny I ever saved went into this studio, and although I might live month to month and down to the penny to keep it, I’m still damn proud of myself and what I’ve achieved.

  It’s Friday noon, and I’ve just finished my second class of the day. My girls are working tirelessly to nail our routine for the showcase we have coming up, and as promised, I’ve given them some extra time for their lunch today. It gives me a chance to be alone for a while. To gather my thoughts and let myself go in my safe haven.

  It’s a large open space with smooth cream wood floors. Sunlight reflects off them as it streams in through the five Victorian sash windows. A barre adorns the entire length of the mirrored wall, which stands opposite the windows, making the room look much bigger than it is. In a small rectangular bay at the back of the room sits a magnificent, sleek black grand piano. It was here when I viewed the building and was never removed. It suits the studio, so I never complained.

  I feel more at home here than anywhere I’ve ever lived. I’d come here in the middle of the night when darkness steals the light of my existence if I didn’t think I’d get caught.

  I started renting the space twelve months ago when I met the owner in a café. We got chatting, and she told me about the building. She had to find a new tenant within three weeks, or she was going to have to sell. I knew I had to jump at the chance and pray I’d get the girls through the door to afford the monthly payments.

  It’s a two-storey building, so—after a lot of thought and deliberation and some unhelpful input from my friends—I converted the downstairs into an open gym. The memberships, along with my dance lessons, allow me to keep up the payments, and the owner, Erin, did me a deal to make it affordable until I had it up and running.

  She completely changed my life that day, and I’m forever grateful to her for helping make my dreams a reality.

  Dancing is my passion, it’s all I know, and it’s what gets me out of bed in the mornings. I’m blessed to have a career I adore so much.

  I head towards the benches and pick up my phone; I have five missed calls and two texts, one from my mum and one from my best friend Lucy. I open the text from Lucy first.

  Lucy: Hugh ended it. Meeting at The Pearl, 8 pm.

  This doesn’t shock me, and it means tonight will end up more than a little bit messy. Hugh was no good for Luce. She’s gorgeous, a natural blonde bombshell and a hopeless romantic who longs for something far from reality. Hugh was only ever interested in a Monday to Thursday relationship.

  Hugh was an ass.

  No doubt Megan will be joining us to help drown in Lucy’s sorrows. I consider calling Mum back, but I already know what she wants. It’s the only reason she ever calls. Rolling my eyes, I delete her message without opening it. Chucking my phone back in my bag, I take off down the studio stairs and head for the gym, knowing I’ll regret my choice to skip lunch.

  “I didn’t like that slimy bastard anyway,” says Megan as she drains the last of her pinot, she waves her glass at the barman for another, earning herself a deep frown from him in return. I drop my head and chuckle. How many have they had? I’m only forty minutes late.

  I screw my face up, thinking about Hugh and his less than stellar morals. “Me neither. He had all that extra body hair; I just couldn’t get past it myself.” I grimace apologetically at Lucy.

  “Ugh, yes.” Megan snaps her fingers at me. “I swear he had hairs poking out his nose when I’d speak with him, and those arms.” She fakes an over-the-top shiver.

  Lucy’s mouth drops open, and she flicks her eyes dramatically between us. “Thanks, bitches.” Her hand slaps down on the table. “You tell me this now!” We laugh into our drinks as she takes an ice cube and launches it at us. It bounces off my head and onto the bench seat, making us all break out into hysterics.

  “Oh, oh, him over there with the grey tie,” Megan interrupts our laughing fit excitedly.

  Lucy scans the group of suits closest to our table until she spots the guy Megan is referring to.

  Her eyes go wide.

  “The bald one?!” Lucy openly points at the poor guy, and I drop my head in my hands. “Gee, talk about extremes, Megan.”

  Heads turn our way as we giggle like a bunch of schoolgirls, but I know this is precisely what Lucy needs right now. Untamed time with the girls is the best form of medicine, after all.

  I get up to go to the bar—much to Megan’s dismay, and she tuts, shaking her head at the barman, who is completely oblivious. Picking up her glass, I turn and give her a cheeky wink. She looks gorgeous tonight; her dark brown hair is pulled back in a sleek high ponytail, her lips painted a bright red.

  I love my dear friends; I’ve known Lucy my entire life. I even lived with her for most of my childhood. Her parents filled a void in my life that no child should ever need filling. Lucy moved into the city with me when we joined university eight years ago.

  And that’s where we met Megan. She was loud and silly and the missing piece of a trio we never knew we needed. She moved into our dorm room four weeks later, and the rest is history—sacred. Misdemeanours we’ll take to the grave.

  We managed to score one of the oval booths in the centre of The Pearl tonight. We have the perfect view of the whole place from it. The bar sits along the back wall lined with padded stools; pendant lights hang above the entire bar top setting a glow over the marble counter.

  I manage to squeeze in next to a woman who’s waiting for her drinks. The ratio of women to men in this place is lower than a ho’s standards.

  “What can I get you?” the cute barman asks.

  “Three glasses of pinot grigio, please.”

  I slide onto one of the stools and look around the club. It’s abuzz with music, the steady beat pumping through the speakers and creating the perfect Friday night vibe. My eyes drift to the four large pillars that encase the marble dance floor. It sits on a platform to the left of the bar, like a stage for men to watch upon. It’s currently full of women moving their bodies with the music, probably hoping to bag one of the asshole suits for the night.

  We’re so off them.

  As if sensing my thoughts, I catch someone from the corner of my eye sliding onto the stool that the woman has just left.

  “Hey, Nina!”

  “Joey, hi.” I give a polite smile and then eye the barman.

  Hurry up, please.

  I know this guy; he is everywhere we go on a night out, and it’s getting a little bit annoying.

  I look over at the girls for help. Lucy is giving me the thumbs up while Megan stands, pretending to slowly grind herself on Lucy’s chair. My eyes go wide before I close them and look back to Joey.

  For fuck’s sake.

  “I’ve not seen you out in a while. How’s the dancing going?” Joey asks, staring far too intently into my eyes. I flick my eyes around the club, uncomfortable and not knowing where to look.

  “Really great, actually. We have a show in six weeks,” I mutter back.

 
Joey is gorgeous; I can appreciate a good-looking man when he’s standing in front of my face, but there is something about him that doesn’t do it for me. Many times, I’ve found myself stuck chatting to him about something completely mundane. Like now, he doesn’t even acknowledge my mood. I’m clearly not interested and have hardly muttered a word, yet he is chattering on about God knows what.

  My gaze flicks to the side as I see two men approach the bar, slipping in behind me. The barman places my order on the cool marble and takes my card. I use the opportunity to turn my body towards the bar and away from Joey. His lips are moving, but I’m lost in the divine smell emanating from the males to my right to understand a word he is saying.

  “Two blue label scotches, please,” a deep voice asks at my back. “Did you clock the blonde in the centre booth?”

  My ears perk up at the mention of the girls. Okay, I need to get rid of Joey, so I can fully listen in on their conversation.

  “No,” replies the other man. He sounds bored, maybe a little bit pissy. “Don’t be that man, El.”

  “Me, you mean, don’t be me,” the first guy ‘El’ shoots back. “Come on, Charles, you know if you’re out with me, you’re my wingman for the night. I know you noticed them too.” I can hear the smile in his voice as he teases his friend.