Damaged

by Willow Winters

  The anger boils in my blood as I grip my leather belt tighter, making it sing in the air as I pull it through the loops and drop it to the floor with a loud clack. All the while my gaze is on her gorgeous eyes, and she’s staring back at me with the same desire as I have for her.

  The past is over and done. No one will ever know what really happened -- not her, not anyone.

  “Mason,” she practically whimpers my name and it pulls the beast in me closer to her. My knee dips into the bed, making it groan with my weight as I crawl over to her.

  Her soft blue eyes pierce through me, cutting through the dark room. More of the soft lighting from the city slips into the room as the heat kicks on and the curtains sway. The way the light kisses her skin as she pushes the duvet away makes her all the more beautiful.

  She’s laid out for me. All for me. She fucking needs me.

  I crush my lips to hers and dig my fingers into the flesh of her hips as she spreads her thighs for me. Her soft moans fill the hot air between us.

  She’s ashamed to be moving on so quickly. Especially with a man like me. I wasn’t made for a woman like her. I’m someone who could tarnish her sterling reputation and make the crack in her picture-perfect frame splinter even deeper. To say I’m rough around the edges is putting it lightly, but I have what it takes to keep her.

  We both know this was supposed to be a one-time thing. But now, I want more.

  She thinks she’s ruined, but she’s fucking perfect. It’s my sins and my secrets that could destroy us both. I’ll never let them come to light. Not now that I have something worth fighting for.

  She doesn’t know it yet, but I won’t stop until she’s mine.

  She needs to get over it and just accept this for what it is.

  She’s fucking mine now.

  Chapter 1

  Mason

  * * *

  Sinful pasts will haunt us both.

  They never leave, they stay like ghosts.

  You can’t outrun them.

  You can’t hide.

  When they come back to life,

  They’ll all know you lied.

  * * *

  “You should be thanking me for covering up your mess,” my father says from his high-back desk chair. His fingers grip the leather arms and the tips of his thumbs rub gently back and forth across the brass studs.

  Though the blinds are closed, the tall windows behind my father fill the large office with the dim light from the evening sun.

  I look over my shoulder at him, still holding a random law textbook I’ve taken from the floor-to-ceiling shelves that line the side walls of his office. The room smells of old books. With the dark wood, tan leather and deep red Beaumont rug, the decor reeks of old money and that’s exactly what this room represents.

  That and bullshit.

  Lies and corruption are what have held this room in its current state for generations. I’ve pretended for so long that it wasn’t true. But learning about what my father’s done… I can’t turn a blind eye to it anymore. It’s undeniable and unforgivable.

  I huff a small laugh, not letting him see how affected I am. “For the last time,” I tell him as I shut the book and smirk at him, “it wasn’t my mess.”

  I’m not admitting to shit. Not even to my own father. In this city, one slip up could send you tumbling into an early grave. Like my mother and like the mess my father’s referring to. I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone any longer.

  My father’s eyes turn to slits as his face reddens before picking up the cup of hot coffee. He holds the black mug with both of his hands, blowing across the top and refusing to acknowledge me.

  “You would have gone through hell-”

  I cut my father off, although my voice doesn’t reflect any emotion whatsoever. It’s a turning point in our relationship. Instead of him getting me worked up, it’s the opposite. “No I wouldn’t have.” I look him in the eyes as I add, “I would have been just fine.”

  A moment passes and the only sound is the ticking of the large clock on the right side of the room. “It wasn’t my mess you cleaned up, and we both know it.” He’s the first to look away, but instead of showing remorse, he only looks pissed.

  “Did you need anything else?” I ask him. I just want to get the fuck out of here and back to the construction site. This office reminds me of my grandfather, a man I loved and trusted. But he was a man who turned out to be just like all the rest of the powerful men in this city. Ruled by sin.

  “I’m tired of you getting into trouble,” he finally says. He’s lost his fucking mind. This is the first time in my life I’ve truly been in control of myself. No more fucking around. The recent events have been sobering. When I was a hormone-filled teen dealing with grief and anger, it was easy to pick fights. First, the death of my grandfather and then my mother. It was easy to act out.

  Thirty-three is too fucking old for that bullshit. I finally have my life together… all but the ties to my father. It’s a tangled mess of lies and money. Much like everyone else’s dealings in this city.

  The thought makes my eyes fall to the floor and then look back up to the shelves to mindlessly scan the spines of the ancient texts.

  Knowing what my father did makes all those memories of losing my mother surface. My stomach churns and my blood heats as adrenaline courses through me, adrenaline pushing me to confront the man I no longer know.

  I clench my hand into a fist and bring it to my mouth as I clear my throat and take a few steps towards him. He’s the one who called this meeting, demanded it really. But he hasn’t even risen from his chair. Lazy fucker.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answer him easily. “I haven’t got a single problem on my mind.” I give him a polite smile and keep the charming look on my face. It only makes him angrier and I fucking love every second of his pissed-off expression. He thought I’d feel as if I owed him.

  But I don’t owe him shit.

  I may be just like him in looks. Tall, dark and handsome, or so they say. A brilliant smile with an air of ease that’s made to fool and seduce the best of them. It makes sense that he’s a lawyer. Really it’s a family business really, but if it wasn’t, it’d still be the profession most apt for my father.

  “You need to quit this shit and do what you’re told, Mason.” My father stands from his seat quickly, his chair rolling backward and smacking against the wall. It hits the blinds and streams of light flicker into the room.

  “I don’t need to do shit.” He could talk to me like that all he wanted back when I was a child or before I knew the truth, but now I have no respect for the man in front of me. I’m disgusted by him and caught on the edge of what’s right and wrong. I should turn him in and let him rot in jail. I grit my teeth as I stare back at him. It’s what’s right, but I can’t bring myself to send my own father to prison.

  A low hum of admonishment deep in his throat makes the smirk on my face widen into a smile.

  “I have my own company, my own life-” I start but my father cuts me off. Nothing new there.

  “You were born a Thatcher, and you’ll die a Thatcher.” The words leave a chill across my skin. That’s the core of the problem. I was born into this shit and I can’t run from it. And my company is in debt to him. It was a rookie mistake I made before I knew what I was doing. Back when I didn’t see him for the man he really is.

  “Why do you even give a fuck?” I finally ask him. His pristine reputation is just fine now that I’m an adult and I’ve moved on from the fuck-up I used to be. “I’m not the one coming to you-”

  “She did,” he answers simply, with a spark in his eyes and the corners of his lips upturned as if that’s all the ammunition he needs. And in some respects, he’s right. They all know where I come from. They know I have money and power behind me. And that’s all anyone in this city cares about anyway.

  I shrug my shoulders and walk closer to the desk, bracing myself by gripping the back of the chair opposit
e him. “You decided to deal with her when what she said was a lie.” I stare him in the eyes, willing him to tell me again how he saved me. It’s complete bullshit. “She didn’t have shit on me. She couldn’t have done anything!” My voice rises and I hate that I’ve shown him this weak side of me.

  Control. I thrive with control.

  A heavy breath leaves him as he gazes back with pure hate but he doesn’t say a word. I knew he wouldn’t. He’s wrong. Dead fucking wrong and utterly ruined if I open my mouth to anyone. He did it so I’d owe him, but in reality we both know that he owes me now.

  “It’s your fuck up, not mine.” I practically spit out the words and shove the chair forward as I turn to leave him. My body’s tense and the anger is increasing. I try not to let it show. I fucking hate that I can’t control myself around this prick. Everyone else I can handle, but my own father, not so much.

  “Mason!” he calls after me. His voice turns to white noise as the blood rushing in my ears gets louder and louder, drowning out all the bullshit.

  The second I open the office door; he shuts the fuck up. He’ll never let anyone hear us fighting. Never. Secrets are always left in the office. It’s a family rule.

  The door shuts with a loud thud and as I walk down the empty hall, the thin carpeting mutes the sound of my black leather oxfords smacking against the ground at an incessant pace.

  Miss Geist looks up from her spot at her desk. Her eyes wrinkle as she tilts her head and gives me that smile that she always has for me. It’s one that says, oh what have you done now?

  Through the years, even after my mother’s death, Miss Theresa Geist has given me that look. She’s the only one who that showed any genuine regret when I had to deal with my mother’s passing.

  Weak, pathetic. You never let them see. That’s all I got from my father and grandfather. Everyone else is dead and gone.

  She clutches the small pendant on her thin silver necklace and her reprimanding smile changes to something more reserved when I look back at her. It’s instantaneous and makes me halt in my steps. I know I must look pissed. And I am beyond furious. It’s been two days since my father told me what he’d done all those months ago. It makes me fucking sick. Of course I knew what he’d done back then, deep down. I knew, but he never admitted it. He didn’t have to though.

  “He’s being a prick,” I mutter beneath my breath, waiting for the old lady to be a little bit more at ease. She doesn’t know a damn thing that goes on behind these walls, and I don’t owe her an explanation, but I can’t help myself.

  “Now, now,” she says with a bit of playfulness although she’s still shaken. She’s not used to seeing me like this.

  I give her a soft smile and wink, putting on the act I use so well. Maybe I have a soft spot for her, but I know who she works for and money is everything in this city.

  “Have a good night, Mr. Thatcher,” she tells me as she shuffles the papers on the desk, seeming somewhat less disturbed.

  It’s enough that it settles me and I push the double doors open with both hands and keep moving. The sound of my shoes slapping on the granite and the open air of the lobby filled with chatter soothes me.

  But only for a moment.

  It’s not until I leave the building that my true feelings surface. The mask fades, and the fear sets in. I didn’t know what my father was capable of.

  I had an inkling, but I thought I’d always imagined it. I’d thought my memories weren’t quite right. It’s not that I expected more from him. I just fucking hate that I was right.

  What’s done is done and I can’t stop what’s been set in motion.

  Chapter 2

  Julia

  * * *

  Don’t leave me alone, I cried and I screamed.

  Don’t leave me alone, my whole life demeaned.

  You left me unguarded. My heart raw and bleeding.

  You left me forever. The pain there left seething.

  You left me here weak. Just a stone in the ground.

  You left a place beside me, my pathetic life unbound.

  * * *

  Blood red lips. It’s called Black Honey, my favorite color. I’ve worn it since my freshman year of college and although I’ve dabbled in other colors at times, it’s always been a staple in my beauty bag. I rub my lips together and smack them once as I look at myself in the mirror.

  My skin’s looking flawless with the Dior Airflash makeup and just a hint of blush I’m wearing. My lashes are thick and long. It’s a timeless look, classic and clean. And it hides everything. My reddened skin and the dark circles under my eyes are nowhere to be found.

  I don’t look like the person I’ve become. This woman in the reflection, she’s who I used to be. A very large part of me wants this woman back. I want to smile like I used to and hear the sound of a genuine laugh from my own lips.

  My heart pangs at the thought though.

  He’ll never laugh again. It’s as if any small moment of time that passes where he’s forgotten for even a second is a disgrace. My eyes fall and I slip the cap back onto the tube of lipstick, tossing it into the pouch on my vanity.

  No matter what I do, every little thing reminds me of him.

  Trivial things, like the color of the granite he insisted we purchase for the remodel. The knobs on the bathroom drawers he hated and never failed to mention. Or the change he left in the cup holder in the Bentley. The small pile of dimes and pennies that clink together when I drive over speed bumps or a pothole. The same coins I refuse to touch. He put them there, and I can’t bring myself to move them.

  So stupid. Fucking pieces of copper renders me useless.

  It may seem pathetic, but not to me. From my perspective, I’m being as strong as I can. I face the New York City judgement every day, putting my smile on and taking care of my life the best I’m able.

  All the while I shove everything I’m feeling deep down inside. That’s healthy, right?

  I won’t let them see me crumble. They want to. Oh, do they want me to. I can practically hear them licking their lips.

  It was all over the papers when it happened.

  Julia Summers, born into wealth and raised on the Upper East Side. She always did everything by the book and married young to her high school sweetheart, Jace Anderson. With a loving family, a handsome and doting husband and the social life every young woman in Manhattan dreams of, Jules had a perfect life. Until her husband suddenly passed away at the young age of twenty-eight, leaving the twenty-seven-year-old woman widowed and alone for the first time in her life.

  Twenty-eight now.

  They’re waiting to see what I’ll do next. Pens to the papers and cameras ready. There’s nothing better for the gossipmongers.

  They’d love to see me fall and I have, but not in front of their eyes. I’ll keep my hair pinned up and my makeup flawless.

  I know what they say though. They don’t need to see the truth to figure it out themselves. There are whispers of alcohol. I don’t have enough money for discretion; all my employees have sold out to the papers for a hint of what goes on behind these walls. When you live on the Upper East Side, every single person who struts in front of my home is looking for a crack in my veneer.

  What’s ironic is that there’s no glamour here. Nothing noteworthy in the least. Just a woman who cries herself to sleep still. A woman who’s struggling to move on. I suppose it’s what I get though. I loved the cameras and lived for that spot in the gossip sections. This is what I deserve.

  Days turn to weeks and weeks to months. Now that my husband’s been gone for nearly eight months, I have plenty of cracks in this so-called perfect life. I’m fucking shattered.

  I look back at myself and think, I won’t let them know it, as I tug my dress down just slightly and smooth out the black lace.

  I clear my throat as I turn off the light, snatching my phone and checking the text again.

  Are you sure you don’t need me to pick you up?

  Kat’s a sweetheart. She’
s always looking out for me. Of all my friends, she’s the one who still texts me religiously, which is insane because she’s constantly working and I have no idea how she finds the time.

  My fingers tap tap tap away an answer. No thank you. Leaving now.

  The Penrose is only twenty minutes away if there’s no traffic. Seeing how it’s 9 p.m. on a Friday night, I’m prepared to sit in the back of the taxi for half the night.

  A light sigh slips past my lips as I bend down to pick up my Louis Vuitton heels. They have a row of spikes up the back and a hot pink underside. They have exactly the touch of color and attitude I would’ve worn back then. I almost second guess the simple black dress I’ve picked out. It’s a nod to Audrey Hepburn. But looking over my shoulder in the darkened bathroom mirror, all I see is an option for the funeral.

  But I would’ve worn this back then. Back when I was happy and everything was how it was supposed to be. And don't I want to be that girl again?

  I grit my teeth, holding the heels in one hand and the iron banister in the other as I descend the winding staircase.

  I’m not that woman any longer, I’ve changed. I accept that, but I don’t fucking like who I am now. Eight months of a pity party and being stuck in a rut is quite long enough, thank you. I’d like to say that Jace wouldn’t want to see me like this… but I don’t even know what Jace would want for me. I’ve quit wearing my ring, although it still sits on his nightstand. I’m ready to move on. I’m ready to find out who I really am.

  Before I open the door, I glimpse out the large stained glass window in the foyer. It’s all grey outside, and the hustle and bustle below is only a fraction of what it could be.

  A faint patter of rain greets me when I step outside. I don’t bother with an umbrella, simply tossing a trench coat on and quickly taking the steps to the street out front and hailing a cab. My heels click as I quickly wrap the belt tightly around me and tie my coat.