Tell me all your lies excerpt

My next thriller, Tell Me All Your Lies, releases June 4! You can get your hands on a sample NOW by clicking here. Find out why some family secrets are just too bloody...


Unlike most children, you see, my first memories are not of ice cream or a childhood book or petting a stray cat in the street–although she loved to pretend they were.
My first memories are of the blackish red splatters marring my mother’s sunshine yellow dress, her bright red lips seeming to match perfectly. My memories are of the odd, metallic smell that filled the apartment only to be stripped away by the stinging chemicals. My first memories in that Parisian apartment are about how sometimes a person enters through the front door and leaves in pieces.
These are my memories because when I was three, my mother slaughtered the first man as I sat outside the room drawing. But all I saw, all I knew, was the aftermath. The red.
Red splatters, red dots, red all over her just like the crayon in the box she’d given me.

But all I could think about was how beautiful the red looked. I wondered what it tasted like. I imagined the strawberry jam my mother sometimes ordered on her croissant, the sweet, savory taste dancing on my tongue as I closed my eyes. I thought that was what the red tasted like.
When I killed the second one, I remember flicking out my tongue to see if there was a speck of red to taste. It didn’t taste like the strawberry jam of my childhood, but it was still satisfying, beautiful.
Delicious. Killing has become delicious. I understand my mother so much better now.

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