by Gemma James
“Okay, sweetheart. Take care of yourself.”
We say our goodbyes, and my heart skips a beat as I glance at the clock above the stove. It’s been ten minutes since Cash left, but I don’t think twice about opening the door, because every fiber of my being expects to find him on the other side, thinking that maybe he forgot something.
But it’s Chris, and he barrels his way into my apartment before I can stop him. The door slams, the microwave beeps, and Chris latches the deadbolt, making his intentions clear.
He’s not leaving—not of his own accord.
I still have my cell in my hand, but he steals it from my grip before I’m able to get out a single text. “Give it back!”
“So you can text the guard dog? Don’t think so.” He takes another step toward me, and his foot catches, sending him into the nearby wall. “I need to talk to ya, Jules,” he slurs.
Maybe it was the conversation I had with Cash before he left my apartment, or the fact that Chris is drunker than I realized, but a cold sweat breaks out on my skin.
“What do you want?” My voice shakes with the question.
“I want you to admit it,” he growls as he comes closer, like an animal on the prowl.
I back up for every step he takes toward me until my spine meets the wall. “Maybe you should come back tomorrow after you’ve sobered up. We can talk then.”
“I’m not wasted.” He waves his arms in the air. “Didn’t have that much, promise.”
“Did you drive here?”
“Fuck no. Took an Uber.” He cages me in, hands planted on either side of my head, and his breath is hot and heavy on my face, reeking of alcohol. “Admit you still love me.”
Chris has never caused this kind of fear to riot through me, but I’m trembling with it now. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not tryin’ to scare you. I just want you to fuckin’ listen. Remember how good it was between us.” He dips his head, lips brushing my ear, and I try moving out of his arms, but he won’t let me. “My cock felt so fuckin’ good inside you, baby.” He grinds his erection against me.
The stench of alcohol on his breath, the aggressive way he’s handling me, the way he’s not acting like Chris at all…
Something tickles the edges of my mind, speeding up my pulse, clogging my throat. I can’t pull air into my lungs. I close my eyes, and another face hovers over me in the darkness with whiskey on his tongue, the forceful grip of his hands holding me down, leaving me helpless to fight him.
Perry.
The gaping black hole where that night should have been casts me in a blind spin, but in the middle is a pinprick of a memory, growing bigger and stronger, triggered by Chris’ drunkenness and desperation.
It’s a mere sliver of comprehension, but it tears through me like a tornado. Letting out a horrified sob, I shove Chris with enough strength that he falls into the adjacent wall. The weight of his body sends a mirror crashing to the floor, and the glass shatters to pieces like I do.
“Get out!” I scream, advancing on him, mindless of the glass under my bare feet. I pound my fists against his chest. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you fucking dare!” I back away from him as quickly as I advanced.
“Jules, please…” His shocked gaze locks on mine as he stumbles toward the door. “I-I’m sorry. Don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. I’m so lost without you.”
I slap a trembling hand over my heaving chest. “Go back to Oklahoma. I mean it. I want you gone.”
He dips his head, face a mural of shame. “I need to tell ya something.” Running a hand through his hair, he sucks in a breath, and when he lifts his gaze again, the tears he tried to hold back slide down his cheeks. “You should hear it from me.”
I lean against the wall, locking my knees so they don’t give out on me. “Tell me what?”
He opens his mouth, but several long seconds pass in his indecision. “I fucked up.” He shakes his head, expression a blatant apology. “I fucked up so bad, baby. I’m so sorry.”
Nausea rises in my throat. “What did you do?”
His expression fractures, and he runs a hand down his face. “Brit’s pregnant.”
21. The Coup
Cash
The uniform outside Monica’s room remains a stoic sentinel, though he lets me pass without issue. As soon as I enter, she lifts her head, red-rimmed eyes shooting accusation. Blackwell stands at my presence, and I gesture for him to reclaim his seat.
“Where were you?” Monica asks, a bite to her tone.
“I was here earlier. Don’t you remember?”
“How am I supposed to remember, Cash? The doctor put a bunch of crap in my system.”
“Better than the crap you put into your own system.” Part of me wants to take back the barb, but I’m too angry with her for what she did. Despite the way she’s been playing me since the moment we got married—before, if I consider her secret involvement with my brother—the thought of losing her to suicide shatters the pieces of my heart.
I take the vacant seat on the other side of her bed, opposite from Blackwell. “Have the police been back since she awoke?” Directing my questions at the attorney will get me further a lot quicker than trying to pry info out of Monica, especially since she’s still reeling from everything that’s happened.
With a grim face, he nods. “They’re charging her with murder.”
My breath hitches. Deep down, I anticipated this news, but I can’t deny a part of me hoped for a fucking miracle. “Jesus, Monica.”
“I’ve advised her to take a plea deal. She says Hirsch’s death was an accident. With no priors, coupled with her fragile emotional state, I think we can get the DA down to involuntary manslaughter.”
My gaze locks with Monica’s, and she turns her ice-blue focus on Blackwell. “I need some privacy with my husband.”
“Of course.” He rises from the chair and exits the room, leaving the two of us in tense silence.
Her full lips form a scowl, and she fights against the restraints keeping her arms flush with the mattress. “They have me strapped to the bed like a damn animal.”
“That’s what happens when you try to hurt yourself.”
Her dark lashes flutter against pale cheeks, and those chilly blue eyes turn glassy with the threat of tears. I want to kick myself for being so harsh with her even though she deserves it.
Even though I’m not entirely sure she’s not putting on a show for my benefit.
“Where were you?” she asks again, not quite meeting my eyes.
“Does it matter where I was?” I soften my tone, leaning forward, hands clasped between my knees. “It won’t change anything between us.”
“I needed you.”
“You were knocked out on sedatives. I needed to clear my head.”
“I’m not just talking about today.” If she weren’t strapped to the bed, I’m sure she’d cross her arms to accompany that sharp glare of hers. “You disappeared when I needed you most.”
The weekend I spent with Jules.
Settling back into my seat, I let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” And I am. I don’t regret being with Jules at all, but maybe if I’d had my phone on and would have answered Monica’s calls, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe she wouldn’t be strapped to a hospital bed and facing a murder charge.
“What happened, Monica?”
She works her jaw for a few moments, and I wonder if speaking the truth has become a foreign concept to her.
I try to swallow a sigh but fail. “I need to know what we’re up against. I can’t help you if I don’t have the truth.”
“It was an accident.” She shutters her eyes, and there’s no mistaking the utter devastation in her expression. “We were arguing. She pushed me, I pushed back…I swear to God, Cash, I didn’t mean to…”
Didn’t mean to kill her.
Her words flit through my head as vividly as if she said them. “What were you and Lydia arg
uing about?”
“I don’t want to do this now. I’m tired.” Monica lifts her chin, and the cool defiance that takes hold of her jaw shoots ice through my veins. The stranger is coming back more and more with each passing second, leaving me helpless to stop it.
“If I don’t get the truth out of you in the next five seconds, I’m out of here.” I clutch the arms of the chair, ready to bolt. “Do you understand me?”
“Cash, please.”
“Do you understand me?”
She flinches at my raised no-bullshit tone. “Yes, I understand. I just don’t want you to…to hate me.”
“If I don’t hate you by now, I doubt you could say anything that would make me start.”
Something in her expression softens, and my pulse speeds up in anticipation of finally getting the truth out of her. It’s right there between her parted lips, begging to roll off the tip of her tongue.
“I don’t deserve you,” she whispers.
“Let’s not get into who deserves what. We’ve both said and done things we shouldn’t have. Right now, I need you to tell me why you and Lydia were fighting. Was she blackmailing you?”
With downcast eyes, she nods.
“What did she have on you?”
Monica sucks in a deep breath, and five endless seconds later, she lets it out. “She was hired to seduce you.”
My heartbeat thumps in my ears, creating a painful rhythm I can’t ignore, and I try to make sense of her words.
I come up empty.
“Why?”
“I needed leverage.”
“Leverage for what?”
“Dad wants majority share of MontBlake.” She doesn’t look at me as she confesses, and it’s a good thing because I’m in a state of shock and mounting rage, and I’m sure my expression would send her deeper into a downward spiral.
“Your father was counting on the infidelity clause.” It’s not a question, but a statement as the pieces begin to form a picture that sickens me to my soul.
Her face bathed in misery, Monica nods. “Lydia was supposed to get you into bed, but you refused to hire her, then she got greedy and wanted more.”
“So she blackmailed you for money?”
“Yes.”
“There’s just one flaw in this plan,” I point out. “You cheated on me months ago. I have the photo to prove it.”
We lock gazes, and there’s no missing the apology in her eyes. “The photo is a fake. The only one who’s committed adultery in this marriage is you.”
I get up and turn my back on her, pulling deep breaths into my lungs. “What do you mean the photo is a fake? There’s not a goddamn thing that’s fake about you screwing another man in our bed.”
I’m clinging to the edge of a cliff, desperate to believe she’s lying, but every atom in my being tells me there’s honesty in her claim. She looks too goddamn sorry not to be telling the truth.
“It was a picture of you and me, Cash. I took it right after we were married. I just had it doctored to look like I was having an affair since I remodeled the bedroom. There isn’t anyone else, but I know you can’t say the same.”
I return to my chair and sink into it before my legs give out. “You had me followed?”
“My father did. If he doesn’t have proof already, he’ll get it. I was going to tell you everything, but it was too late. I couldn’t get a hold of you, then Lydia showed up wanting more money.”
“Why would you do this? Why would he do this?”
Our families have been close for decades, and no matter which way I look at it, I can’t figure out why her father would betray us like this.
“Your father and my mother have been having an affair. Dad found out last year right before they started talking about merging the companies. He saw it as a way to get revenge.”
“Why would you go along with it?”
Lips flattening into a stubborn line, she dips her head.
“What happens if you don’t get those shares, Monica?” My tone is harsh, demanding, and the question echoes through the room.
“Nothing,” she mutters.
“Bullshit.” I fist my hands, studying every angle of her face. “You’re a damn good actress, but I’ve become an expert at detecting when you spew lies. Tell me the goddamn truth.”
She blinks, and a tear glides down her cheek. “Remember when I went to Paris for a couple of years after high school?”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“I never told you, but Kaden and I were together for a while.”
“It was more than a while.” I lean forward, catching her gaze. “I already know you were fucking him before we got married.”
Her lips part in surprise. “Did he tell you?”
“You kissed him in the parking garage the day Lydia died. The police thought it was me.” I wave a hand in her direction. “Let’s get back to Paris.”
“My parents sent me there because I was pregnant.”
I rub a hand down my face. “Does Kade know?”
She shakes her head. “I gave the baby up for adoption. But he believes I miscarried.” She pauses long enough to swallow hard. “He was devastated. Kaden wanted the baby. He wanted me.”
“And you wanted him.”
She nods. “I still do.”
The admission that she’s still in love with my brother should hurt more, but it doesn’t. My head is spinning too much, struggling to process the fountain of information Monica just dumped on me.
Finally, after all of these months, I’ve got the truth, but it’s so twisted I can hardly believe it.
“You were scared Kaden would find out.”
“Dad threatened to tell him everything.”
“He has a right to know.”
“If he finds out…he’ll never forgive me, Cash.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I couldn’t risk it.”
“So you go to these lengths instead? Are you listening to yourself?”
“I was desperate!” She grunts, fighting the straps that hold her down. “Tell them to let me go. I can’t take this anymore.”
“You took a bottle of pills and washed it down with a fifth. You’re not getting out of those restraints until they decide you’re not a threat to yourself.” I won’t even bring up the fact that she’s been arrested with one ankle cuffed to the railing of the bed.
A sob bleeds off her lips, and she veers her head, allowing the mess of her dark curls to obscure her face. Even restrained to a bed, she manages to hide from me. “I can’t tell him about the baby.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
With a sniffle, she nods. “I know.”
“So what are we going to do about your father and those shares?” Just because I was unfaithful—and she wasn’t—doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over and let the Blakes take what my family has worked so hard to build. “You set me up, Monica.”
She glances at me through her curls. “I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re going to grant me a divorce and fix the mess you made. That’s what you’re going to do.”
“Let me tell Kaden first,” she pleads. “He should hear it from me.”
“Agreed.” Just then someone stalls in the doorway of her room. I turn and find my brother on the cusp, hesitant to come inside.
“I tried to stay away. I realize I’m the last person you want here right now,” he tells me, “but I had to see that she was okay for myself.”
“It’s okay.” I get up, make my way to Kaden, and grip his shoulder. “She has something she needs to tell you.”
22. Through the Cracks
Jules
Les finds me sitting near the front door, feet cut up, laminate flooring smeared with my blood. I’ve been too shaken to do much else but sit here and stare at the wall since the sliver of memory from that night bled through the cracks in my armor, reminiscent of the broken mirror at my feet.
I’m still trembling, weak with shock as my heart thunders behind my breastbone. “Chris was here.”
Her expression is pure murder as she crouches in front me. “Did that motherfucker hurt you?”
I shake my head.
“Then why are you bleeding, Jules?”
“He was drunk. He cornered me, and I-I…I shoved him. The mirror broke.” I blink, then blink again, trying to get my mind to slow down long enough to make sense of everything that just happened. I meet her dark gaze. “He got Brit pregnant.”
“Holy shit.” She lowers to her haunches next to me, back against the wall. “Seriously?”
I nod. “He says he just found out last week. I don’t understand why he came back and proposed.” I glance at Les. “Why would he do that knowing he did something so…so…?”
“Unforgivable?”
“Yeah. Even if I wanted him back, I’m not sure I could forgive something like this.” I pause with a hard swallow. “But I also feel like I shouldn’t be so hurt over it either.”
“Of course you should be! Forget the fact that Chris betrayed you, but your own sister? That’s low, even for Brit.”
“He was so angry when he found out about Perry, and yet this whole time he was screwing my sister.” I close my eyes, but every time I do, I can’t help but see Perry’s face. Swallowing a sob, I let out a shudder. I’m not ready to tell Les what I suspect my former boss of doing.
Part of me is still processing—not just the bombshell Chris dropped on me, but the one he triggered as well. I’m still trying to find a way to cope and focusing on Chris’ confession is easier than examining the glimpse I had of that night.
It’s less painful, which I guess says a lot about the state of my relationship with Chris before my supposed one-night stand with Perry tore it to pieces. The confession hurts, but it’s not threatening to destroy me the way the realization that Perry might have violated me is.
“Jules?”
I startle at the sound of Les’ voice. She’s sitting next to me, but for a few seconds, caught up in the memory of Perry’s labored breaths, of the horror swimming in that slice of memory, I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone.
