Little Liar (The Web of Silence Duet, #2)

by Leigh Rivers

When I turn eight, I don’t get any birthday cards or a cake like the other kids in the orphanage—I sit under the bed with a drawing of my spider and imagine a crowd of people singing happy birthday to me, and we blow out candles that I draw. I close my eyes and make a wish. I wish someone would choose me.

My heart isn’t made of stone. It’s filled with poison.

The more I look at her, the more I realize how doomed I am. I’ve never had any luck—but she’s the rainbow I’ll fucking chase to win something more important than my own life.

I pull my cigarettes out and light one, enjoying the way the toxicity burns inside my lungs.