Every person only has three lies to use in this life. Three fibs to either save you, or doom you. Growing up, people tell you to use them with discretion, but many use and abuse them.

I was eighteen when I used my first lie. I was caught in some trouble with the law and needed to scheme my way out. Thankfully, it worked, and I’ve been living as a free man since. That is until tonight.

I sit, tied to a chair, in what seems like a warehouse. I’m blindfolded, but I can still hear four sets of footsteps around me. The air is thick with the smoke coming from their cigars.

The men snagged me on the way home from work. Threw a sack over my head, and dragged me into a van. We made no stops until we got to the warehouse. That seemed like hours ago now.

I know what they want from me. Ever since I lied about stealing the paintings, they’ve been after me. I knew someday they would come for me, again.

“Tell us where the paintings are, boy,” a husky voice says to my right. “We know you took them. Just because you lied your way through the police, doesn’t mean you can get through us that easily.” They must be dense if they think I’ll talk without force.

“I don’t think he’s going to talk, boss.” Another man says to my left. The first man grunts in agreement. “Then go ahead.”

The sound of metal scraping against metal startles me. In one moment, everything is quiet. The next, I’m screaming in agony as a hammer smashes down on my left hand. Pain radiates up my arm as bone shatters.

_Oh, shit, _I think to myself. _I guess it’s time to use my second lie. _