The sins were all from yesterday.
We tried to run, you tried to beat us.
Now we’re ruined, left defeated.
The frame clicks into place, and I turn it over in my hands and smile. I straighten my back at the bar stool and hold up the heavy silver frame. This isn’t for hanging out here where everyone can see, and it’s silly really, but I wanted it framed.
My engagement ring clinks against the frame as I hold it up, the sunlight from the large bay window in Mason’s house--well our house now, reflecting off the glass as I read the words.
A New Love and New Beginning.
It’s the first article of us that was run in the papers. Back when I didn’t know how to feel about the two of us, when I was riddled with guilt and pain and not seeing things clearly, I hated that we were in the papers at all.
I happened to come across it online the other day and when I read it, I lost it. Mason had to come in and find out why I was crying. He’s always worried that I’m going to break down. I wish he wasn’t so concerned for me. Something as simple as this article shouldn’t get me so emotional, especially since half the facts aren’t even true. But I love that our story has a beginning that was captured. I love that everyone around us knew.
I never would have thought that this article would give me pride and bring back a memory I want to be reminded of. A night when two lost souls knew they needed each other, even if we were too blind or stubborn to see it, we felt it.
“Finally,” I say with a bit of pride. It’s framed and perfect, just how I wanted it.
I hear Mason’s rough chuckle as he walks into the kitchen and wraps his hands around my hips and then plants a kiss on my shoulder.
I have to close my eyes as he hums and places his hand on my lower belly. He wants a baby. The very thought warms me and makes my head fall back against his broad chest. Wedding first though.
“Soon,” I say softly with my eyes closed.
“What’s this?” Mason asks, picking up the frame and reading the article. I watch his eyebrows raise as he reads the article.
“I was going to put it on my nightstand,” I tell him softly, waiting for his reaction. I’m still adjusting to moving in. I’ll never sell my family home, but I’m happier here, away from all the reminders of what used to be.
Watching Mason recall how we started makes me nervous. We went through a lot that isn’t conventional, and I still get a little insecure about it all.
He sets the frame down and kisses me again. It’s soft and sweet, but it lasts. My heart swells each time he kisses me like this. When he pulls away, he grins at me. It’s a cocky one that lets me know he thinks he’s got me all tied up in knots. And he does.
“Why this one?” he asks.
Truthfully, I’m not sure I can vocalize why I want this particular one on my nightstand, so I just shrug.
“I just want it,” I tell him simply and my easy response makes him smile.
“Well if you want it, then it’s all yours,” he answers me.
And that right there is why it was so easy to fall for this man. It’s simple and natural. No rhyme or reason. It just feels right.
The frame clinks on the counter as I set it down. It’s a lazy weekend and I really have to write to get this manuscript in before the deadline, but I’m doing everything I can to procrastinate.
“Do you a drink?” Mason offers. He has a sexy grin on his lips and I know he wants to stay in and do bad things tonight. He likes it when I’m tipsy, like the first night we met.
I can’t resist him, so I nod my head and his smile widens, filling me with warmth. I’ll never get enough of him and how he makes me feel.
I push the frame away and pick up the first envelope from the pile of mail sitting to my right as he heads to the fridge. The envelope tears easily and a handwritten letter slips out.
I feel my brows bunch as I unfold the thick cream parchment. Who the hell sends a letter like this in a plain envelope? Before I read it, I check the envelope again. My name is there, but no return address.
My eyes flicker to Mason’s back as he rummages in the fridge and then back to the paper.
Dear Julia,
It pains me to tell you this, but I can’t stand to watch from a distance as you fall into a trap. Your husband was murdered. I know this is going to shock you, but I have proof. You may not believe me, but I pray that you do.
Mason Thatcher murdered him. Don’t trust him. Don’t let him know that you know. If he finds out, you won’t be safe.
There’s more, but I can’t read it. A shiver rolls through my body and everything seems to blur.
My heart thump, thump, thumps. My body heats so fast. I reread the words, blinking and taking it in. My lips move with the words, but I can’t breathe. I can’t focus.
The handwritten letters seem to swirl together into a cloud of distrust. My vision fades, and I feel so fucking dizzy. I back up slowly, pushing away from the island and letting the feet of the stool scrape against the tiled floor. Mason looks up at the noise and my weak legs barely hold me up as I grip the stool, my bare feet padding against the cold ground.
My head shakes on its own. That’s not true. It’s not true. It can’t be true.
“Jules?” Mason’s voice is riddled with concern and something else. Something I never registered before, but I can hear it now. I can see it in his face as I barely breathe and look up at him.
“The-” I can’t even speak the words. It’s a lie. It has to be a lie. What a cruel fucking lie it is. But Mason’s response is throwing me off.
He sets a glass bottle of beer on the counter, squaring his shoulders, all humor gone from his face and something else, someone else, stands in front of me.
“Mason?” I barely get his name out.
“What is it?” he asks me in a voice so menacing, I’m scared. No. I shake my head. “Mason, no,” I say, and my throat goes dry and my words crack.
This isn’t real. My fist grips the stool tighter, and I struggle to react. This is a fucking nightmare. It has to be.
I'm caught in between my need to run for my life, and the need to know the truth. I need the truth. No more lies; no more secrets.
“Did you do it?” I ask him weakly and in an instant, something snaps into place. As if he’s acutely aware of what I’m saying. As if he’s been waiting for this.
No. My body turns to ice, my blood and lungs freeze and I can’t believe this is reality. It can’t be true.
Mason takes a step forward, around the island and it breaks me from my denial.
It’s my cue to run, a natural instinct that takes over. The stool falls hard, crashing to the tiled floor as I take off, but Mason’s faster, gripping my wrist and flinging me backward. I cry out from the pain shooting up my arm and he releases me only for me to fall onto the floor.
My heart pounds in my chest. Thump, thump, thump.
“Did I do what?” he asks me, his eyes narrowed and cold. This isn’t the man I know.
My bottom lip wobbles, the small bit of strength vanishing as I take in the raw truth. “Did you kill my husband?” The words feel as though they claw and scrape every inch of my throat as they come up, leaving me damaged and in agony as they float in the tense air between us.
I can’t believe I even asked him that. Deny it. Please deny it. Tell me I’m stupid and heartless and a fool. And this, whatever this is, it’s something that’s already over and never happened.
Mason stands up straighter, giving me enough space so that my breath could come back to me, but my lungs refuse to fill until he answers me.
“They think they can do whatever they want,” Mason says ripping the paper from my hand and standing over me. I didn’t even realize I was still holding it. I can’t move, I can’t breathe. This can’t be true. It can’t be.
“Your husband wasn’t a good man,” he says low, deep and rough, his eyes piercing into me before flickering back to the paper. He crumples it in his fist as my body heats
and a cold sweat spreads across my skin.
“No,” it’s all I can say. “You didn’t,” I try to speak. I don’t know if it’s shock or if I’m just that pathetic.
“I did.” Mason’s confession makes me lightheaded and sick. So fucking sick.
My heart twists with a pain that’s unbearable as I turn onto all fours and try to run. Crawling as quickly as I can before I can stand. The bottom of my feet are sweaty from nerves and I slip against the ground, crashing hard to the cold, unforgiving floor.
“No!” I scream out at him, leaving a strangled cry of a sob to linger between us. It’s only then that I even register I’m crying.
I try again to run, managing to get to my feet, and the door is so close. I scream out, although I doubt anyone could hear us. Not here in Mason’s home. I practically slam into the front door, but Mason’s right behind me.
With one hand on the front door and one on the knob, his hard body presses against mine, trapping me between him and my only escape.
His large body cages me in. I’m left facing the door, barely able to stand or breathe. “I’m sorry, you were never supposed to know,” he whispers as he braces one forearm to my right and the other to my left. I shrink beneath him, the weight of the reality crashing down on me.
I’ve fallen in love with my husband’s killer. I’ve slept with him and given him everything.
And now he has me at his mercy.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Jules.” His hot breath sends shivers down my back as he adds, “But I’m not letting you leave.”
Chapter 34
Mason
I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe,
I couldn’t see past the red.
I knew the risks, and it was wrong,
I didn’t stop till he was dead.
I can’t go back, you can’t pretend,
I never wanted you to know.
But pain and betrayal are all that’s left
There’s nowhere else to go.
Ten months earlier
One more contract, and then we just have to get the land converted to residency. The last name on the list is Morgan & Summers, a realtor company although they also do investments and developing. They’ll be the hardest to sell since they’re competition.
I rap my knuckles against the maple door of the owner’s office. I expected Howard Morgan, but the man who opens the door doesn’t look a damn thing like him.
He’s tall and young with thick blond hair cropped short, not the old man who’s owned the company for nearly fifty years. That man I was ready to sell the proposition to; no children and retirement within sight. I could have had him signing the papers within the hour.
Two green eyes narrow at me as the man holds out his hand for a firm shake. As soon as I slip my hand into his, a polite gesture, the man puts his other hand on top and smiles.
“Mason Thatcher,” he says as he holds the handshake.
My brows bunch and my muscles coil. “You have me at a disadvantage,” I say politely although my voice is low. “I was expecting Mr. Morgan.”
The man releases me, the smile still on his face. He gestures for me to enter, and closes the door as I do just that. It doesn’t escape my attention that there are two desks in the large open office. One on each side of the room, mirroring each other, both large dark wood, shining with a fine polish.
I was under the impression that Mr. Summers has stepped down. Apparently someone else has stepped up.
The windows are floor-to-ceiling, filling the room with bright light. It’s new, modern and it’s just then that I realize changes have definitely been made to this company that haven’t been made public yet. And that could fuck up this sales pitch.
“Jace Anderson,” the man says as he straightens his tie and takes a seat at the desk on the right. My blood chills as the name registers.
Jace Anderson. I stand there for a moment, my grip on the briefcase tightening as I struggle to comprehend how I’m in a room with this man.
He’s the other man Avery slept with. The other man she blackmailed. The man who knocked her up.
My eyes dip to his hand as he picks up a manila folder and opens it. His wedding ring is in plain sight.
My heart rate speeds up, but I move quickly to take the seat and pretend like I have no idea who he is. I don’t know what he knows. I sweep my hand over the back of my neck, hating how my collar suddenly feels tight. I look anywhere but in his eyes.
My father had her murdered Jace’s child included. It’s all I can think about as the man speaks about terms and how he’ll be handling the deal from here on out.
He doesn’t seem to know. If he has any idea about how Avery died, he must not know my involvement. Not that I knew about anything until it was over. I know she was killed and I have good reason to believe my father was involved. I don’t have the fucking balls to ask him. He told me about her blackmail attempt, and I know he wouldn’t have sat by and done nothing. But that baby wasn’t mine. It was Jace’s all along.
“Mr. Anderson,” I say and clear my throat and stand abruptly. I can’t sit in the same room as him, caught off guard and thinking about what happened and the unfortunate connection between us.
“Forgive me, but I need to reschedule.” Anderson stands up with me, fastening the bottom button of his suit jacket. “I do apologize,” I tell him evenly.
His brow bunches as he looks away from me. “You weren’t expecting me, I take it?” he asks.
I shake my head once, holding his gaze. “I wasn’t.”
He scratches the side of his neck casually before asking, “It’s not because of the redhead?”
His question catches me off guard once again. Avery. I still from his question, my heart racing a mile a minute, although on the outside I’m cool and collected.
“When I told him I’d pay for half, I didn’t mean right then and there.” He shrugs, not looking at me, but staring out of the window as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’ll pay him,” he says and looks at me with a grin on his face, “when I feel like it.”
Adrenaline races through my blood and every hair on my body stands on end. Pay for the hit?
“Is that so?” I mutter beneath my breath. Money for the hit. He knows. That’s the only logical thing that makes sense. Here he is smiling and withholding payment for a hit on his mistress.
“When did he ask you?” I ask him evenly only to get more information from this prick before my anger gets the best of me. I need to know who he is, and I need to make sure I’m hearing this right.
“I mean, I knew before it happened, but your old man didn’t tell me when.” The smile dips from his face for only a moment. “If he hadn’t joked about waiting till she’d told my wife, I’d be more… amenable.” My old man. No. I grit my teeth and suffer through keeping eye contact with this asshole.
“Told your wife what?” I ask him, and the lie in my voice comes out so naturally even I believe it. “About the baby or the affair?” It’s as if I’m truly curious and not disgusted in the least.
“Does it matter which?” he says easily, moving back to his desk and taking a seat. “Like I said, I’ll pay him when I decide to. If you decide to hold up business, that makes no difference to me. We’ll find a different developer. There are plenty that want this property.”
What I want to do is beat the shit out of him.
I give him a tight smile and reply, “You’ll hear from me soon.” I move toward the door, each step harder and harder to take. I’m only able to manage my anger because I know what I’m going to do as soon as I get to the parking lot.
I’ll watch which car is his. I’ll follow him. And I’ll make him pay for what he did.
None of these assholes care who they hurt along the way. Him, my father. All these high-powered pricks I deal with every goddamn day. Life means nothing to them. They get away with murder and corruption, never paying for their sins. But Anderson… he’ll pay for it.
Avery made a
grave mistake, but so did he.
You can’t cut the breaks in a swift, clean stroke. It has to look natural; there’s a technique to making it look like it was an accident.
I didn’t even think twice.
Yes, I killed her piece of shit husband. I set him up to die, and I don’t give a damn that it happened exactly how I wanted.
The bastard had it coming to him, but Jules was never supposed to find out.
Someone knows. The knowledge brings a chill to my body. Someone knows what I did. It’s been ten months. So much time has passed, and yet they’ve said and done nothing.
I hold Jules closer to me as I drag her up the stairs. The shock is over, and now her instincts are kicking in. Her nails dig in and scratch me as she flails in my arms. She kicks out, hitting the banister and knocking me backward into the wall of the stairwell.
I grip her tighter, shaking her slightly and pinning her small body still between me and the wall. “Stop!” I scream at her. She whimpers, cowering as her tears trail down her face and soak into my shirt.
It fucking destroys me that she knows. I’ll fix this. I don’t have any other choice but to make this right. I can’t let her go.
Her shoulders shake as I take another two steps up before she’s at it again.
This doesn’t change a damn thing... Jules is still mine.
Afterword
Although Jules and Mason got their happily ever after under false pretenses, it could never have lasted. Mason should have known that from the start, and in many ways he did. The truth always comes out, and when it does, everything changes and a new story begins.
Unforgiven, (Sins and Secrets: A Series of Duets Book 2) will be available June 19th.
Preorder your copy now:
Click here to Preorder.
The sins of his past can’t be forgiven.
Mason Thatcher gave me chills when I first laid eyes on him. The good kind. The kind that make your body ache, and your heart hammer.
Imperfect (Sins and Secrets Series of Duets Book 1) Page 17
