SEVER

by Melissa Jane

  “Listen!” I choke, closing my eyes, feeling like I’m being strangled. “You have no idea how much I love you. You’ve taken my heart and shattered it into tiny pieces. I can never trust you again, and without trust, you and I are nothing.”

  My husband wipes my tears with his thumbs, dropping his forehead to mine. A few heartbeats pass and I feel his own tears falling down my cheek, a moment of weakness I’ve never seen from him. He shifts his weight off me and releases his hold. I move to the edge of the bed and straighten my clothes, trying desperately to swallow the hard lump lodged in my throat. Heaving a heavy sigh, I blink the tears away and square my shoulders. Reaching the bedroom door, I turn back when Shawn’s voice stops me.

  “Blythe, you will always be the only woman for me. When the time comes for you to know everything, I hope you can still see me as the man you once loved.”

  Once? You stupid fool. I still love you.

  11

  “Mrs. Cooper, Mr. Burton is ready to see you.”

  I stand, giving a small smile to the receptionist, and walk down the corridor to what could be the biggest showdown of my life. With my heels clicking on the marble floor, I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat, reminding myself not to leave before I’m given some plausible answers.

  The door opens before I reach it. A gentleman fifty-plus years of age greets me, with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a gold canine tooth catching the light. His features aren’t attractive, but his face is tight and plump, revealing his obsession with looking young. It seems incongruous to the rest of him. First impression is that he’s a glorified, and slightly wealthier, used car salesman ready to lie through his teeth ensuring he comes out unscathed. This isn’t a great start.

  “Mrs. Cooper, please come in,” he says flatly, gesturing for me to pass. I get the feeling I’m interrupting something totally unimportant, but he’d still rather be doing that than seeing me. Shrugging it off, I take a seat opposite him.

  It’s not you, it’s him.

  His dark, beady eyes dart around the room, reluctant to settle on mine, a tell-tale sign he’s uncomfortable in my presence. His ringed fingers drum on the mahogany desk as he leans back in his leather chair. “So, what brings you here today?”

  Someone in your bank is a fucking criminal.

  “Well…” I start meeting his indifferent gaze. “Mr. Burton, I’ve banked with East State since my mother set up a super saver for me when I was just a little girl. As an adult, my husband and I share joint accounts and our hefty mortgage is here also. A mortgage that was only one-year shy of completion. A mortgage I contributed substantially to. A mortgage that has my name on it.”

  “And we thank you for that, but I’m uncertain with where this is going.”

  “I don’t need your thanks, Mr. Burton. What I want is an explanation as to why my house has been re-mortgaged without my consent? And I want an explanation as to how this could ever have been allowed to happen?”

  Mr. Burton shrugs his wiry brows. “Well, Mrs. Cooper, such a thing would only have happened if you co-signed.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “You must have.”

  I lean forward, struggling to tame my annoyance. “Mr. Burton, I can assure you, I would never have done any such thing, and I would appreciate it if you took this matter seriously.”

  “I understand your frustration—”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes… but perhaps signing the papers simply slipped your mind. You’re both very busy people.”

  “I’m a million percent certain I would have remembered such a thing.”

  “Well, here at East State, we follow procedures—”

  “Then your procedure is either broken or someone within this building has been helping my husband commit fraud. I don’t think I need to remind you that such a thing is a criminal act, and I will get to the bottom of this. In fact, I would like to see the papers I’ve supposedly signed.”

  Burton’s eyes narrow in challenge as my threats of legal action sink in. For someone who has a corrupt member of staff, he sure is defensive. He leans forward and presses a button on his phone.

  “Mr. Burton?” the receptionist asks.

  “Bring in the files for Mr. and Mrs. Cooper.”

  For a full minute, we sit in stony silence, the wall clock a reminder of each passing second. This is certainly not how I saw the meeting going. The office door opens, and the receptionist hands over a manila folder. Burton rifles through some paperwork before finding the adjusted mortgage papers. He holds them in his meaty hand. If eyes could smirk, his are doing it right now.

  “Hopefully this answers your question and puts your accusations to rest.” He hands me the paperwork, opened to the signing page.

  What the actual fuck?

  Indeed, my signature is right there next to Shawn’s, accepting the terms and conditions of re-mortgaging our beautiful home. A home we’ve worked so hard to pay off.

  My heart pounds painfully against my rib cage and I grow lightheaded. The bastard’s actually done it. I study the curls and swishes of my signature and how they perfectly align as if it were done by my very hand.

  Except, it wasn’t.

  Irritated Shawn has gone to these lengths, I drop the paperwork back on the desk. “Which member of staff authorized this?”

  Burton slowly sits forward, lacing his jeweled fingers. “Mrs. Cooper, that would be me.”

  “WE HAVE an ETA on the velvet textured wallpaper for Mr. Alexander’s project. Apparently, it’s being made in Amsterdam so there will be some delay. The chandeliers, however, should be arriving…” I zone out for a minute or two, when I hear, “Blythe? Did you hear a word I said?” Amanda drops her fork in the salad bowl. Her gaze moves around the lunchtime crowd at Effie’s Café before settling back on me. “Blythe!”

  “What?” I ask, sighing. “What did I miss?”

  Her eyes widen a fraction. “Nothing, it can wait. What’s going on? You haven’t touched your lunch, and you don’t look… your usual vibrant self.”

  “Do you ever get the feeling those closest to you are the ones conspiring against you?”

  She chews slowly, weighing up how to respond. “Well…” she starts, swallowing her mouthful, “when I was seven, my brother convinced me to steal a twenty-pack of colored connector pens. You know… when they became all the rage? Anyway, he convinced me it was a good idea, and who was I to know better, I was only eight. So, I did it. I went to the corner store newsagency. Mr. Chang knew my family well, but I didn’t take that into consideration. He greeted me by name when I walked in, and when he was busy serving another customer, I went to the stationary aisle and found the markers in question. I remember feeling a sense of adrenaline and nerves. The packet was huge but flat, so when my aisle was clear, I was able to stuff it up my sweater. I walked back down the store with my arms folded tightly across my chest, holding the markers in place.

  “I think back and realize how obvious it would have been, but back then, I thought I’d become an expert thief. What I didn’t know, and what my brother failed to tell me, was that the store had those round security mirrors hanging up in the ceiling corners and Mr. Chang had watched the whole event unfold.

  “I was halfway over the threshold with my foot still in the air, thinking I was home free. Watching my brother sitting on his bike in the parking lot smirking, Chang grabbed me by the hood of my sweater and yanked me back inside, the markers slipping out and onto the ground. I’d been caught red-handed, yet I still pleaded my innocence because my big brother had also failed to tell me what to do and say in the event of getting caught. I was such an idiot to believe him.

  “Anyway, Chang called my dad. Back in those days everyone was listed in the white pages. Minutes later, Dad arrived all humble and apologetic for my behavior. I remember we both stood at the counter talking with Mr. Chang and my dad had a firm grip around my neck. It took all the strength I had not to wet my pants.

  “When w
e got home, my father did the one thing I wasn’t expecting. He didn’t punish me, and trust me he wasn’t shy in delivering heavy-handed beatings, but this time was different… this time he ignored me. I’d hurt him, and his disappointment in me was worse than receiving the usual punishment. When I tried to apologize, he acted as if I weren’t even in the same room as him. For a week, he didn’t speak or even glance at me. All while my brother, the one who’d convinced me to become a thief in the first place, walked around the house still wearing the same obnoxious smirk knowing Daddy’s little girl had fallen from grace and he could be the favorite child for at least a week.

  “So, I mean… with that in mind, I know what it’s like to have had those closest conspire against me before.”

  I purse my lips together, humored by her story. I guess she could relate in a way. It’s all relative.

  “So, that explains why our stationary budget is always maxed out.”

  “Ha-ha, very fucking funny,” she says through a mouthful of lettuce. “For the record, my father never quite forgave me for it. May have had something to do with the fact I committed the crime on Father’s Day. So, what’s going on with you? Why do you think people are conspiring against you?”

  I push my salad bowl away, my appetite long gone. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

  Amanda waves her fork. “Are you going to leave me guessing?”

  I decide not to delve into my marital woes. That’s something purely reserved for my attorney appointment. “What do you know about Charlotte Street?”

  She frowns. “I know you should probably go with a loaded wallet.” Amanda narrows her eyes and studies me closely. “What specifically do you want to know?”

  “Well—”

  I’m interrupted when my cell chimes. An email from Kane lights up my screen.

  DINNER TONIGHT AT 8. I’ll pick you up.

  Yours,

  Kane.

  I HIT REPLY FEELING that familiar thud in my chest.

  DEAR KANE,

  I may already have plans.

  Blythe.

  IN A HEARTBEAT, he responds.

  CANCEL THEM. You’re mine tonight.

  I SHIVER and my stomach butterflies. Amanda notices and grins. “Now there’s the Blythe we all know and love. What just got you all hot under the collar?”

  “It’s nothing,” I lie, not wanting the hundred questions that will follow if I tell her. “But I do have a task for you.”

  “Good deflection. What is it?”

  I scroll through my cell and find the photo I took of the red door in Charlotte Street and show Amanda. “I need to know what this place is, and how I can get in.”

  “YOU LOOK LIKE A FUCKING GODDESS,” Kane says, wrapping a hand around my waist and pulling me into his body. He kisses my cheek and I lean into him, relishing the feel of having him so close, the roughness of his cheek teasing and tempting.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself.” And that’s an understatement. The man is a fucking God and every hot-blooded woman in the restaurant shares the same sentiment. Dressed in dark blue Armani pants, and a crisp double-collar shirt with the sleeves rolled to just under his elbows, he looks like every woman’s wet dream. This could be considered casual dress for him, and yet, he still manages to look thigh-clenching worthy.

  “I would have picked you up,” he says, pulling the chair out for me to sit. I do so and wait for him to take his own seat.

  “I know… I had a few things to get through this side of town, so it was better I meet you here.”

  I’m not lying. Before I left work I borrowed Amanda’s car once more and followed Samantha home from the gym. I was torn between whether I was becoming an awesome amateur sleuth or a certifiable criminal. But once again, my sister had evaded my calls, but couldn’t evade my tail. I kept a good distance and paid my dues with Beast, by offering more peanut butter protein bars in exchange for me occupying the spot on the other side of the fence. I would even go so far as to say old Beast was rather happy to see me, his chubby head poking through the gap and resting by my thigh. Samantha repeated the same process—gym, home, shower, looking like perfection, picked up by a driver in a Mercedes and driven to the unsigned building with the red door in Charlotte Street.

  Kane waves away the server—who doesn’t seem at all fazed—and pours our champagne.

  “You know that’s what they get paid to do?”

  “I don’t like the interference. Besides, I prefer to be the one who looks after you.” He holds up his glass and I do the same, clinking, as his eyes narrow with a hooded lust. “To looking more fucking delicious every time I see you.”

  The blush burns my cheeks, and I feel my chest rising and falling heavily under the heat of his gaze.

  “And I thought we were here to discuss business,” I half-joke, somewhat impressed I’m able to form a coherent sentence.

  “I guess as two consenting adults, we can make up the rules as we go.”

  The next line comes out shaky because not only is his stare making me quiver, he’s also downright intimidating. Kane Alexander is a man who gets what he wants, no matter the cost.

  “And what rules might they be?”

  “If I tell you my rules, you may not want to play by them.”

  And there it is… confirmation that whatever he has in store for me is going to hurt, and maybe not necessarily in a good way.

  The server brings out food I didn’t order, but I don’t protest because it just so happens to be my favorite. I meet his stare once more and point to the chicken cordon bleu. “How did you know?”

  “The same way I know almost everything about you.”

  “And how is that?”

  Kane leans forward and I swallow hard. “I research everyone who comes into my life. Particularly those of interest.”

  Of interest!

  “Including what my favorite meal is?”

  “Right down to what makes those nipples hard and panties wet.”

  Fuck me!

  Goddamn him.

  I hope to hell this isn’t the case because he’ll know the filth that goes through my mind on a daily basis, and the erotic dreams that plague my sleep.

  “You’re so sure you have that effect on me?”

  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  I’d love too, just so it takes some heat off me, but I’m the worst liar and he’ll see right through it. So instead, my silence gives him the response he wants.

  “I’d be happy for you to prove me wrong,” he says.

  If my traitorous vagina could talk, it would be screaming, ‘It’s on!’

  “So, what would I discover if I were to research you?” I ask, becoming the master of re-direction.

  “Are you telling me you haven’t already tried?”

  Good one. Now I’ve dug myself a hole, I may as well bury myself.

  “Of course. But purely for work purposes. I wanted to know more about this secret project of yours, and if you weren’t going to tell me then I needed to find out on my own.”

  There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something inexplicably dark. One I’ll remember for later.

  “And did you find anything?”

  “It seems you have yourself securely locked up.”

  “Fort Knox.”

  “Even Fort Knox was penetrated.”

  I wince as soon as the word leaves my mouth and Kane’s eyes flicker in humor.

  “I’m not much into penetration myself, except if I’m the one… doing the penetrating.”

  I cough, creamy, wine-infused sauce shooting down the wrong way. I have no doubt whatsoever that Kane Alexander will be great at performing penetration.

  I look around the room, keen to avoid the intensity of his stare, only to find every woman either subtly glancing over their wine glasses at Kane, or not-so-subtly ignoring their dinner dates so they can ogle the man sitting across from me. He draws attention everywhere he goes, and I wonder if he ever gets tired of it.

  “Yo
u seem to shy away from my desire for you, Blythe. Why is that?” He pulls a piece of steak off his fork and sits back in his chair doing what he does best, assessing my every move, my every breath.

  “Um… I guess I’m just not used to it anymore. It almost feels foreign that someone thinks of me like that.”

  He frowns, confused over the words he wasn’t expecting to hear.

  “Are you telling me you don’t know what it’s like to be lusted after?”

  “Not for the last year. No. It actually feels strange to suddenly have that kind of attention again.”

  Kane sits forward, eyes narrowed. “If I told you every dirty, kinky, fucked-up thing I’ve imagined doing to you on a daily basis, you wouldn’t be sitting across from me right now having a civilized dinner date.”

  Fuck…

  “Where would I be?”

  “Getting pounded by my cock while I fuck you back to church.”

  Oh, sweet hell… I shift uncomfortably in my chair, hoping my arousal isn’t obvious to anyone who happens to glance my way. Kane, however, can sense every bit of it the same way a dog would a bone.

  “Come on,” he says, throwing his napkin on the table and downing his glass of whiskey. “Let’s go dancing.”

  Dancing? After all that build up?

  “Oh, don’t look so worried. We’ll get to that,” he says sensing my confusion. “I love the tease, especially if it entails you grinding that ass of yours against my cock.”

  TEN MINUTES LATER, we’re skipping the line to the Ophelia nightclub, the bouncer nodding as we enter. The club’s only a few blocks away from the restaurant, yet worlds apart, strobe lights already flashing before we set foot on the main floor. We dined like royalty, and will now be dancing or grinding to Snoop Dog. Not that I mind, my Spotify account can attest to that. And besides, in my current state—the state that Kane has worked me into—it doesn’t matter where he takes me, everything and everyone blurs in the background, becoming white noise whenever he’s around.