Unforgiven: Sins and Secrets Series of Duets Book 2 Read online

  This is a fucking mess.

  I grip the banister and wait a moment for her cries to cease and then slowly ascend the staircase. A tic in my jaw starts to twitch nervously as I try to figure out what the fuck to do with Jules. I need to explain and calm her down. I need time or a fucking miracle. It’s too late to deny it. I was too rash, too caught up in the moment. All I could see was red.

  The door opens with a gentle push. I didn’t bother to lock it since she’s tied to the bed.

  My eyes latch onto her the second I step into our bedroom. She’s barely clothed, her gorgeous pale skin on full display, although most of it is flushed from her struggling and screaming.

  “What do you need, sweetheart?” I ask her calmly, completely ignoring the current situation.

  Her eyes narrow as she sucks in a breath, and I can feel the anger rolling off of her in waves. I nearly smile from the thought. Anger I can deal with.

  “Let me out,” she demands although her eyes flicker down, and her voice wavers.

  “I can’t do that if you’re going to run.”

  “Just let me go, Mason,” she pleads softly. She licks her lips and attempts to push herself upright. She winces from the binds cutting into her wrists, and I can’t fucking stand it.

  My hands ball into fists, but I stay put. I can’t risk her trying to escape.

  “You need to stay here with me until we figure this out,” I tell her in a placating tone as I step forward, rounding the bed to get closer to her. I can hear her breathing pick up, and I’m not sure if it’s due to fear or anger. “We need to talk about this,” I say as I sit down. I don’t fucking want to, and everything in me is screaming to lie. But she’s mine, and I won’t do that to her. It was one thing to withhold the truth about the past, but it’s another to outright lie about it.

  She should know the truth, even if she doesn’t like it.

  “Ask me anything.” I look her in the eyes as I speak. Her baby blues are red-rimmed, and her cheeks tearstained. She’s fucking gorgeous even like this, but not when she misbehaves. She presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head. It seems fear is the dominant emotion.

  I look past her as the thick grey velvet curtain sways slightly with the click of the heater turning on. I watch it for a moment, steadying my breathing and trying to come up with a solution.

  “Every question,” I start to say and then pause to look back at her. She’s wary and when she realizes I’m offering her something, her entire body noticeably stiffens. “Every question you ask, I’ll answer you honestly and untie you a bit.”

  It’s not the best solution, seeing as how there are only four knots total, one on each wrist, keeping the rope in place. And two keeping her to the bed.

  “You can’t fight me, Jules.” I harden my voice just before she can answer. “I’ll let you go, but I won’t let you run. Do you understand?”

  She swallows and then licks her lips. “Yes,” she says just above a murmur. I can tell it hurts her to speak at all, because she withdraws the moment the word slips into the tense air between us, a look of pain evident on her face.

  The bed groans as I sit, resting my hand on her bare thigh. Like a good girl she doesn’t move, but she does close her eyes as if she can’t stand my touch. I gently rub my thumb in soothing strokes. I stare down at where our skin meets and wait for her.

  She’ll forgive me, I know she will. It’s only a matter of time and I’ll let her lead. But only if she moves in the right direction. Closer to the two of us regaining what we had only hours ago. I only need time and given the fact my company is now dissolved; I have plenty of it.

  “Why did you do it?” she asks.

  My head lifts at her question, and I meet her gaze. There’s nothing but sadness in those gorgeous doe eyes. “He was responsible for a woman’s death.”

  Before I’ve even finished, she’s already shaking her head. Already in denial. “No, I don’t believe you.” She looks away as more tears fill her eyes.

  “I’m not lying to you, Jules.”

  “You lied,” she practically hisses at me. She screams, “You’re a liar!”

  “I never lied to you,” I answer, correcting her and ignoring her outburst. I have to wait a moment for her to calm down before reaching up and slowly untying the knot on her left wrist. Her tender skin is bright pink, and it makes my chest feel tight with guilt. I never wanted to hurt her. Never. I retake my seat as she whispers, “You didn’t tell the truth.”

  “You think you’re perfect?” I ask her out of anger. I don’t like being called a liar, and especially not by someone I love. I don’t have many memories of my mother, but the ones I do, the ones that are clear, are the ones where she calls my father a liar. The images flash in front of me, and my body goes cold. “You’re not,” I tell her.

  “I could never do what you did,” she insists.

  Everyone can kill. I keep the thought to myself, hating how true it is.

  “Another question?” I ask.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she asks me.

  I look her in the eyes as I answer, “Never.” It makes my blood race in my chest that she thinks it’s even an option. “I told you I’d never hurt you.” Of all the things today that have me on edge, that right there is the most distressing. The thought in her head that I’m someone else who doesn't love her, who could hurt her is unacceptable.

  I lean forward to hold her and to comfort her. To rid her of the bullshit she’s concocted in her head, but she pulls away from me.

  I still at the sobering sight of her.

  Her blue eyes have never looked so cold as she looks up at me and says, “No, you never get to touch me again.” Her words carry so much conviction, so much hate.

  I clench my jaw and hesitate. This is too much. Too far, and too much. I’m quick to untie all the remaining binds, my heart hurting worse and worse. I drop the rope and it pools into a puddle around her, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t do anything but scoot farther away from me to the opposite side of the bed.

  Her mouth opens as I push off the bed and stand to leave, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “You may hate me now, Jules,” I tell her as I walk across the room. “But I still love you, and you’re not going anywhere until you believe me.” I look over my shoulder and see her pull her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and glaring at me with equal amounts of hate and fear.

  The door closes behind me with a loud click and I don’t stop walking until I get to the office to retrieve the house keys. I’ll lock the door. I’ll keep her here until she understands.

  There’s no fucking way I’m letting her leave. She’ll figure it out eventually; she’s always been mine. It was only a matter of me finding her.

  Chapter 3

  Jules

  * * *

  I was raised to be weak,

  They wanted me that way.

  I didn’t see the truth,

  Until I didn’t have a say.

  * * *

  Too trusting and naïve,

  Leaving my fate in other’s hands.

  I’ve learned my lesson thoroughly,

  Now there’s been a change of plans.

  * * *

  In this moment, I’m so fucking aware of everything. It's as if I’ve lived my life under the warm silk sheets of the most welcoming bed, only to be kicked out of it and land face first on the cold, hard and cracked concrete floor.

  More than anything, one word keeps coming to mind. Unprepared. I have no fucking idea what to do, or even what to think.

  Other than the fact that I need to get the fuck out of here and away from Mason.

  I can’t focus on anything else other than that one truth.

  The bedroom door’s locked from the outside. I already know it is without even trying to turn the knob. I heard the telltale jingle of keys and then the loud click of the lock. I suppose that’s better than having to face him. To my left, the curtain sways and draws my eyes.

  My throat closes at the thought of seeing him again. I loved him. My heart feels like a vise is tightening around it, squeezing it each time I think about what I’ve done and who Mason really is. I fell in love with my husband’s killer.

  The shock is still there, but it’s not enough to keep the sickness of my reality at bay.

  My head feels dizzy--from exhaustion maybe, I’m not sure. But I don’t have time to think. I don’t have time for anything but to try and get the fuck out of here.

  I glance at the window again. I know it’s a foolish notion to think I can climb down from the second story and land safely below, but I have no other choice and I refuse not to try.

  I have to get away from him.

  I don’t have keys, a phone or a wallet and there’s snow on the ground given it's December in New York City. If I make it down there alive without breaking my damn neck, he’ll be able to see where I’ve gone. But I only need to flag someone down on the road or bang on a neighbor’s door. And I have to try, and I’m not waiting another second.

  I can barely breathe as I scoot off the bed. The floor in the bedroom is creaky. I know he’ll be able to hear me from downstairs if he’s listening. I’m careful with each step and do my best to limit the noise as I move around. I need clothes first. I inhale deeply through clenched teeth as I open the dresser. It’s loud as fuck as I slowly pull on the drawer. I’ve never noticed it before, but right now every single noise is too fucking loud.

  My heart thumps loud in my chest. I’m only getting dressed, I tell myself over and over. If he comes up now, if he hears me and storms into the room, I’m only getting dressed.

  My eyes burn, and my chest feels tight thinking about Mason coming up here. Realizing the fear I have of a man I once loved.
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  What would he do to me?

  What will he do when he’s realized I’ve left?

  What if he catches me?

  I swallow the insecurity and fear down; I can’t be paralyzed by them. I can’t wait here in this damn room for him to decide what to do with me. I’m stronger than that.

  I pick up the first shirt I see and grab a pair of leggings from the drawer below plus jeans to put over top of them. It’s fucking freezing outside. I don’t have a coat, because they’re all downstairs in the hall closet, but I layer another sweater over my shirt.

  My hands tremble as I pull down the long cashmere sleeves. If he came up now, he’d know for sure that this is more than me just getting dressed. I’m dressed to leave. But I don’t give a fuck, and I don’t stop. I can’t. I’m fueled by both anxiety and desperation to save myself.

  I can barely breathe as I kneel and tie the shoelaces on my sneakers. My hands won’t stop shaking and my vision keeps going in and out. I sway as my lightheadedness becomes too much, and I have to close my eyes.

  I try to swallow, but it only hurts my dry and sore throat. I’ve never been so terrified in my life. I need water. I also need to calm my breathing, but right now I don’t have time for either.

  Instead I stand on shaky legs and walk as quietly as I can to the window. I look back over my shoulder and lick my dry, cracked lips as I unlock the window. The lock on the left is easy to turn, but the one on the right is tight and I need both hands to loosen it. Each second that passes seems too long, like he’s going to come up here any second.

  The sound of my heavy breathing and the blood rushing in my ears are all I hear as I push the window up as high as I can. I manage to lift the heavy thing up about two feet, and I hope it'll be enough. I know there’s a way to somehow angle the window and get the screen out, but in my haste and nervousness, I can’t figure it the fuck out.

  I look over my shoulder again at the door and try to figure out how this screen moves.

  The heater clicks on again and I nearly have a heart attack, my scream barely contained as it tries to get out. I can’t wait any longer. As the heat drifts up and mixes with the frigid December air, I grab a shirt from the hamper and wrap it around my hand. Then I take one more look back at the door before punching through the screen. It breaks surprisingly easily and I nearly fall forward, the mesh scraping against my arm. I contain my gasp and ignore how my heart seems to leap up my throat as I look down two stories to the cold hard ground below. It’s a sobering sight.

  There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground and although the weather has let up, the air is sharp from the biting wind. I take a deep breath, pulling the ripped screen back and tearing it open farther, protecting my hand with the clothing. Somehow that’s more difficult than making the initial gap.

  My breathing comes in faster, and the lightheaded sensation returns when the hole is large enough for me to climb through.

  All the sharp spikes of the broken screen are going to catch on my sweater, I already know. Once I get footing out on the sill, I’ll have to try to grip onto the pillar to my right and slowly climb down while balancing myself on the stones that line the house. It’s fucking impossible. I shake my head at the thought, refusing to feel defeated, refusing to cry. I have to do this. I have no other choice.

  I get my upper body out, the threads of my sweater snagging on the screen like I knew it would, but I press forward. As my right foot finds purchase on the windowsill, the wind blows so forcefully that I cling to the inside of the window with my left hand and think about abandoning the idea completely. My nose and cheeks burn from the biting cold, and I have to close my eyes.

  I refuse to go back in there. The second the wind stops, I finish crawling out and balance myself on the ledge, my knuckles bright white from holding on so tightly. Each time I have to readjust, I’m filled with a renewed sense of terror. Only the balls of my feet are balanced on the thin sill, and my hands already hurt from clutching the window.

  I make the mistake of looking down, looking at how far I’d fall and how there’s nothing to break my drop if the wind were to blow too hard. Or if my grip loosens, or if something else happens and I fail. I don’t want to die.

  A few moments pass where I simply can’t move. The wind whips my hair around my face and I close my eyes tightly, frozen by the vision of me plummeting to my death.

  This is taking too much time. I need to move. My left foot moves first, all the way to the edge of the sill and as far as I can get with both of my hands still gripping the window.

  I have to let go in order to lean over, and I do it so quickly and with so much force that I nearly push myself off. My head spins from the height, but I keep moving. My right hand grips the window and my left reaches for the brick closest to the pillar. My nails scratch at the rough stone, but my grip is solid.

  I feel stuck for the longest time. The cold is making my hands feel numb and the wind is coming and going so frequently that I’m afraid the second I move, it will violently rip me away from the pillar, but I manage the move in a single leap.

  A scream is torn from my throat as I fall an inch or two until my sneaker hits the decorative carving in the pillar and I’m able to wrap my arms around it. I look back up at the window, praying he didn’t hear me. Praying I’m going to make it out alive.

  My heart slams against my chest, and my lungs feel like they're starting to freeze with the cold air. Slowly, ever so slowly, I climb down inch by inch. The only places I look are directly in front of me and up to the open window. I watch the curtains sway inside of the bedroom as I slip down the pillar at a snail's pace, relying on the tread of my sneakers against the carved marble pillar for purchase.

  I don’t even realize I've made it safely until I try to slide farther down and can't.

  Astonished and still very much consumed by fear, I look around, seeing the fog of my breath and finally wiping under my nose and getting the hair out of my mouth. My sweater is torn with pulls everywhere, and I’m so cold I can hardly move my limbs. I look up once more at the open window and realize it’s only a matter of time before he realizes I’m gone.

  Run. I don’t hesitate one more second. My sore limbs come to life as I take off down Mason’s driveway and I don’t look back.

  Chapter 4

  Mason

  * * *

  When something is mine,

  I won’t let it go.

  She’s with me forever,

  That she should know.

  I made a promise to her,

  Now she wants to go free.

  She’s blinded by anger,

  But she belongs to me.

  * * *

  I need to make two things clear to her.

  I love her, and I always will.

  And she’s not leaving me.

  We’re going to work through this one way or another. Even if I have to drug her. I know the chances of a roofie working at this point are slim to none, but depending on her reaction, it’s the only thing I can think of. The only easy out to make things right again. That, and figuring out who the letter is from and tying up that loose end.

  As I draw closer to the top of the stairs, I feel a cold draft. At first I’m confused, then fucking furious.

  I shake my head as my pace picks up and I bang on the bedroom door. My knuckles slam against the hard wood door and I yell out, “Jules!” How fucking long has it been? Maybe a half hour at most since I locked her in there. My heart hammers in my chest. She’s gone. She’s left me.

  It’s no use. I can already feel the cold air seeping from under the door. I nearly break the door down, but I have the keys already in my hand as I pound my fist against the door again like a fucking fool. They rattle as I find the right one and shove it into the lock before throwing the door open. I’m greeted with an empty bed and the biting cold blowing in through a torn window screen.

  I stare at the window for only a second before taking wide strides across the room, pulling the curtain back to look down at the ground outside.