by Melissa Jane
Without indicating, I maneuver into a tight parking spot at least eight cars away from Sam. She takes to the footpath and only walks a few feet to her destination. Other than the bright red door, there’s nothing distinctively remarkable about the building. It’s just as beautiful as the others surrounding it, the strange thing being there’s nothing to suggest this is a place of business.
A feeling of dread strikes deep within. It’s a far stretch from the Sam I know and love, but highly plausible given the evidence.
Has Samantha taken to prostitution to get out of the hole she was in?
All things considered it would certainly make sense.
The car, a personal driver, new house, money in the bank—it’s a drastic change and typically not one that happens so quickly.
Deciding on a last-ditch attempt to reach her, I dial Sam’s number and wait, eyes glued to her every movement. She pauses on the sidewalk and opens her clutch. Just as she had earlier, she glances at the name on the screen and chooses to ignore the call. Closing the clutch and hooking it under her arm, Sam walks up the three steps and presses a doorbell. Smoothing her dress over her slender thighs and adjusting her posture she waits. The door doesn’t open, but she’s talking to someone on the opposite side. When she’s finished, the red door opens and she’s granted access before it closes promptly behind her.
“What the hell are you doing, Sam?”
A loud, obnoxious rap on the driver’s window causes me to jump in fright.
Shit!
“Fuck me!” I breathe heavily while regaining some composure. I turn to see who’s behind the rude interruption.
What. The. Actual… “Kane?”
He barely smiles as he watches me curiously. I feel like I’ve been caught red-handed and have absolutely no explanation for being here.
Winding down the window with my heart in my throat, I splutter, “Kane, what… hi… um… what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, but his smile gives him away.
“I’m… just…” Think! Kane frowns waiting for my reply. “There’s this thing.”
“This thing?”
I gesture across the street. “Yeah, I was going to check out a new project.”
His gaze moves across the roof of the car, a small knowing smirk again twitching his lips before his eyes meet mine once more. “Oh? Whereabouts?”
“I, ah…” I quickly glance at the other side of the street but see nothing that can form a plausible story. “I think I’m lost actually.” I laugh nervously and he notices. Time to switch focus. “What are you doing here?”
Kane takes a few heartbeats to reply. “I was planning on meeting some potential clients for dinner but that can be easily changed.” His gaze lingers and I feel a blush heat my cheeks.
“Oh no, business comes first. I’m just going to head home—”
“And slip into something more comfortable?”
“Um… yes.”
“I’d like to be there for that.”
I swallow hard as he allows his words to settle in.
“Relax, Blythe.” He laughs seeing how flustered I am. Kane leans down so both elbows rest on the window ledge, his face dangerously close to mine. He smells like heaven, if heaven could be a sin. My eyes fall to his mouth, and his tongue quickly darts out to moisten his bottom lip. “While I would love nothing more than to see that sexy-as-fuck body of yours wearing something small and lacy, waiting also has its benefits.”
Where my cheeks were warm, they’re now flaming hot.
Kane Alexander is going to be my ruin.
“Waiting?”
A groan escapes his lips, and my thighs involuntarily clench. “The longer the wait, the greater the need.”
So, that explains a yearlong abstinence and why I feel like a horny teenager.
“When it does happen, Blythe, I promise you’ll be on your knees not only taking everything I have to give, but begging for it, and I’ll be relentless in taking what I want.”
“That sounds… lovely,” I barely manage to say before closing my eyes, hiding from my own stupidity.
Lovely? What am I? A fucking nana?
Kane chuckles. “It can be lovely if you want it to be. But what I plan on doing to you will be far from.”
Sweet Jesus. My lying husband is robbing me blind, there’s every chance my sister is now acting as a high-class escort, and Kane Alexander is threatening to tear me apart in the most indecent way possible.
And I have no idea which problem to deal with first.
10
“Mrs. Cooper, I’m sorry.”
“Blythe. Just call me Blythe.” I sigh in irritation.
Wendy, calling from the bank once again sounds extremely nervous, and I contemplate saying now is not a good time and hanging up on her. But she’s rung for a reason and now I have yet another problem to pile on top of all the others.
“Blythe, I’m sorry for disrupting your day, but I need to discuss something with you as a matter of urgency.”
Pushing Kane’s project plans aside, I stand from my office chair and walk to the sofa. Something tells me I’m going to need all the comfort I can get.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“I grew concerned after you came to see me last week and placed an alert on the joint accounts you have. The credit card and mortgage accounts.”
My gut twists into one giant, painful knot. I hadn’t checked those because for as long as Shawn and I had been married, we’d never used the credit card, possessing it only for emergencies. We’d always had plenty of money flow from our own work, and fortunately, we’d never experienced any kind of emergency.
“Yes…” I encourage, dreading what she’s about to say.
“I placed alerts on any transaction over ten thousand dollars, and well, as it turns out, the credit card of fifty thousand has been maxed.”
The room spins and I fall back, landing on the soft cushions. I need to be sick. I should have taken care of the credit card last time I was at the bank. I should have removed my name from the account. Now, I’m responsible for paying it back.
“And the mortgage?”
“I’m sorry, Blythe. I was really hoping you’d know about this, but the house has been re-mortgaged.”
No! That can’t be right.
“To its total value?”
“Yes.”
The cell slips from my hand as I lunge for the waste paper bin, my breakfast and coffee working its way up. After a few heaves, I wipe my mouth with a tissue and find my cell. Wendy, bless her heart, is still on the line.
“Mrs. Cooper, Blythe,” she says, correcting herself. It’s even worse hearing his surname after revealing such news. “I really am very sorry.”
“I don’t understand how this is happening. I mean the credit card is easy enough to max out as it doesn’t require both signatures, but to re-mortgage the house, surely that requires both parties to come to the table. And I can assure you, I have no knowledge of this until now.”
“I understand, and you’re very much right. Unfortunately, the mortgage file is locked and above my clearance to gain access, but I highly recommend seeking counsel over this. Have you spoken with your husband?”
I hesitate to answer because I already know her response and it’s the last thing I want to do.
“Not yet I haven’t. He’s conveniently gone MIA.”
After a few pleasantries, I hang up with Wendy and contemplate my next move. A gentle tap on the door sees Amanda’s concerned face through the glass. She enters when I numbly nod.
“I heard you vomiting. Is everything okay? You don’t look so good.”
“How did it get to this point? I only ever loved him, and this is how he treats me.”
Because she doesn’t know all the details, Amanda kneels next to me and sighs heavily. I held her hand through a volatile break-up of her own, and now she’s repaying the favor.
“I don’t know why men have to be s
uch cunts.” I throw a sideward glance at her interesting choice of words. “Don’t judge,” she quips, reading my mind. “I’m sure you’ve used that word a lot recently, even if it did remain simply a thought.”
I nod. She’s right.
“I don’t know what he’s done to get you so upset, but I do know you… and Blythe doesn’t take shit lying down. So, if you need to kick his ass, I’ll hold him still for you.”
I smile and squeeze her hand.
It won’t just be Shawn who’s getting the ass kicking. Whoever’s been conspiring with him at the bank is about to become a dead man, or woman, whichever the case may be.
ALTHOUGH IT HASN’T BEEN LONG since I moved into my apartment, sitting in the bedroom at the old house now seems so foreign, almost like I’m a guest at a hotel. Except, I’m not a guest. Breaking and entering isn’t the term I’d use either since I have a key. But as I wait to see if Shawn returns home, I look at the rumpled bedsheets and wonder if he’s had another woman in them. Was he just waiting for the day I finally packed up and left to be able to move on with someone else? Is Shawn even capable of that? Of course he is, because Shawn is a lying, manipulative bastard! But it still doesn’t change the fact that I miss our intimate times.
Shawn was always a generous lover, and when he was inside me, it wasn’t just sex. Yes, he would take me hard and fast every other time, but there was still genuine emotion behind it and was something I never took for granted. That’s probably why it hurt so much when he could no longer stand the sight of me.
The door closing downstairs pulls me from my own personal torment to throw me into the bowels of hell. My heart pounds as I hear his footsteps cross the kitchen. I listen so closely, I can almost predict his every step. Dropping the mail on the counter—which hasn’t been checked in over a week because he hasn’t been home—he moves to the bar behind the sofa and pours himself a vodka on the rocks. And then, finally, he takes the stairs two at a time. I see him before he reaches the bedroom, the faint light from the street bright enough to show him unbuttoning his shirt. He enters the room leaving the light off. He won’t be able to see me. I’m shrouded in the shadows of night, sitting in the wing-backed chair in the corner of the room. I watch as he removes his shirt, the silver glow caressing his muscled chest and back.
I miss touching him.
I miss him touching me.
He’s a lying bastard!
Shawn flicks on the bathroom light, its warmth now illuminating me. He catches my face staring back at him in the mirror and spins around, eyes wide with shock.
“Hello, husband.”
“Jesus… fuck, Blythe. You scared the shit outta me.”
“Because you don’t expect to see your wife in her own home?”
“No, because you’re sitting there like the fucking Godfather.”
Oh how I wish I could make you swim with the fishes right now.
“Where have you been, Shawn?”
His shoulders straighten, a sign he’s already on the defense. “I told you. Work. More to the point, where the fuck have you been? I don’t owe you an explanation as to my whereabouts when you’re the one who left our marital home.”
“Let’s not go through this again, Shawn. We both know why I left and it’s because you broke our marriage a year ago, so spare me the guilt because it doesn’t lie with me.”
“We could have worked it out, Blythe. You didn’t have to leave.”
“I tried working it out but my husband wanted nothing to do with me. But that’s not actually why I’m here. Had I known you were going to be a lying, cheating bastard, I would have left much earlier and ensured all our affairs were in order.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how you’ve drained our joint account, maxed out the credit card, and re-mortgaged the house… all without my written consent.”
I hear him sharply inhale.
Did he never expect me to find out?
Did he think he wouldn’t be caught?
“What you’ve done is illegal, Shawn.”
He shakes his head and runs a hand over his face, a trait I’m seeing more of lately. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? We have no more money left for you to take.”
Again, he shakes his head. “Not that. Look, Blythe… it’s not what it seems—”
“When were you going to tell me you quit your job at Usher and Gainsburg? It’s already been a year, so I’m taking a stab in the dark that you were never actually planning on telling me. The same as you were never planning on telling me you’ve defrauded every dollar we shared. Or is that why you’ve stolen all this money, because you can’t meet repayments? Do you even have a job? Why do you dress in a shirt and tie every day? Is this some kind of fucked-up Girl on the Train bullshit? Keeping up appearances that you still work?”
“Your mouth is good for a lot of things, babe, but right now you gotta shut it.”
One side of me wants to smile at his comment, the other side wishes I could throat punch the fucker.
When I don’t say another word, he moves to sit on the edge of the bed.” I know I’ve fucked up, Blythe, and I know I have a lot of unanswered questions and you deserve to know everything—”
“So, tell me. Tell me what the fuck is going on. Because the Shawn I married is not the Shawn sitting in front of me right now.”
“I can’t tell yo—”
“This is bullshit!” I go to stand, but his bark has become as bad as his bite. Another side of Shawn I haven’t yet seen until now.
“Sit the fuck down, Blythe. Just sit down and listen.”
Again, I do as he says. Not because I’m an obeying wife, but because for once, I might actually get some answers.
“I do have explanations for every single accusation you can throw at me. But…” he pauses, the words to follow tinged with remorse, “but none of them will save us. If anything, they will tear us further apart.
“Try me.”
“It’s not worth the risk, Blythe.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You have to.”
“I think you’re being a coward.”
“I probably am, but it’s to keep you safe.”
I laugh at his incredulous statement. “I know what you’re doing, Shawn. This isn’t about me. This is about you trying to save face. You’ve ignored me for a year, you’ve lied, you’ve stolen money, you’ve intentionally deceived me, and for all I know you’ve been cheating on me all this time.”
In a heartbeat he’s on his feet. Lunging forward, he wraps his large hand around my wrist and pulls me from the chair. I crash hard against his muscly chest, feeling the heavy rise and fall. His lips linger dangerously close to mine, eyes gleaming with a passion I’ve so missed from him.
“I wake up with the biggest hard-on every fucking morning because I haven’t fucked my wife for a year, much less anyone else. I go to bed with the biggest hard-on because my cell screen saver is still of you in your fucking pink bikini at Cabo. So, a truth I can tell you, Blythe, is… I have not laid a single finger on another woman.”
My knees weaken with his intensity, and I feel a familiar fire in my belly.
I want to hate him for all he’s done and is still doing. I want to hurt him the same way he has me. But my traitorous body still responds in the same whorish way it always has with Shawn.
He snakes a hand around my neck and through my hair, inching our lips closer. A battle wages within—I want him to kiss me hard and passionate, but I also want to kick him in the balls.
I’m now breathing heavy, the same as Shawn, our hearts racing at the identical speed.
His lips finally crash to mine and I fall against his body, allowing him to claim my mouth the way he so expertly does. We both groan, tongues meeting again after what feels like a lifetime. There’s nothing gentle about him but he’s still the perfect kisser I remember him being. Cupping my ass, he lifts m
e until my legs wrap around his waist. I feel his cock straining against his pants, pressing delightfully against me. Lowering me to the bed, him on top propped up with his elbow, my husband stares deep into my soul.
“Everything I’ve done is for us. No matter how it turned out, no matter how fucked-up the objective got, it was all for us.”
I feel my heart once again forming sharp icicles. His words sound like lies to my already-jaded ears. None of this—whatever he’s done that he can’t reveal—could possibly be for us. I allowed him to get this far, drawing me into his web of lies, but bitterness and the fear of further manipulation takes over and I attempt to push him away. Sensing the change in my demeanor, he fights me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head.
“Let me up, Shawn.”
“Don’t do this, babe. You—”
“Don’t call me that!”
He looks like I’ve slapped him. “Blythe, this is the best we’ve been in a year. Can’t you just roll with it and see where it takes us?”
So you get a free fuck?
“I know exactly where this is going to take me, and it’s nowhere good. If you can’t explain to me what the hell is happening, then you can never expect me to trust you.”
I struggle against his grip, which he tightens in response. I buck under him, wanting to throw him off, yet all I achieve is feeling his still-hard cock pressing into me.
“One day, babe. One day, I’ll be able to tell you everything. But for now, I can’t. And you just need to trust me on that.”
“Your actions have given me every reason not to trust you, and I simply can’t go on pretending that what’s happening is okay. Because it’s not.”
Shawn lowers his lips to mine and unlike earlier, he kisses me tenderly. I don’t fight against it, I let him do it because, frankly, deep down I want to roll with it. But I’m not a naïve nineteen-fifties housewife who lets her lying husband walk all over her.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” he says, half-reading my mind. If he knew the other half, he’d be scrambling to safety.
“You’ve broken my heart, Shawn,” I admit through a moment of weakness.
Even in the dark, I see the pain in his eyes. The same pain I’ve been carrying around for so long. “Don’t. Don’t do this, babe. We’re stronger than—”
