The Bad Boy’s Woman: Hidden Masks Book 2

by Arthurs, Nia

“We didn’t ditch. We—well, James was asked to leave.”

  She whipped around. “Why? Did he do something wrong?”

  “No. There were reporters at school, demanding an interview.” I tilted my head as I remembered. “It was really weird. I’ve seen news vans around when there was a burglary or assault in my neighborhood, but they were never this intense.”

  “Maybe it’s because he’s the son of Darius Sawyer.”

  Was it just me or did a smirk play on her lips when she said that?

  I leaned forward. “Is your husband that important?”

  “He’s a great man.”

  For the second time in the scope of five minutes, I was speechless. Mrs. Sawyer—Natasha—couldn’t be referring to her abuser with such love, could she?

  The same curiosity I had when I saw the red curtains at The Greasy Monkey unfurled in me as I watched her. “Would you tell me how you and your husband met?”

  “Of course.” Her eyes lit up. “I was very shy as a teenager and I wasn’t very bright either. My parents were constantly disappointed with my grades, but they believed I could do better. Which was why they forced me to go to college even when I didn’t want to.”

  “Is that where you met Mr. Sawyer?”

  “Yes. I met Darius while I was studying out of state. It was my first time in a big city. I grew up in a small town so it was very overwhelming.” She sighed happily. “You can imagine how secure I felt when a dashing gentleman started paying attention to me.”

  “Had you dated before you met him?”

  “Not seriously. Like I said, I was very shy, so the thought of having a conversation with someone outside of my small circle of family and friends was terrifying.”

  I smelled something burning and pointed. “The eggs!”

  Natasha’s eyes widened. She spun and clicked the stove off. A moment later, she brought the pan over to the counter. I peered over the rim and saw the black splotch in the middle.

  Both of us burst out laughing.

  “I’m sorry,” I said between giggles. “I didn’t mean to distract you.”

  “It’s okay. Talking about the past is far more satisfying than food. My, my.” She leaned her elbows against the counter tops. “If you would have seen him back then. Darius was the most romantic man I’d ever met.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He bought me chocolates and roses. Wrote me romantic notes. Walked with me in the evenings.” She flicked me an amused look. “I know that must sound boring to you in this exciting, digital age, but to me, it meant everything. He was the first man that went out of his way to make it clear he wanted me. I was swept off my feet.”

  “It sounds… perfect.”

  “Oh, it was.”

  “Did he ever get angry? When you were dating?”

  Natasha stiffened.

  I observed her closely, ready to jump in and change the subject if her expression soured.

  She straightened and turned away, heading for the refrigerator. The machine buzzed as she opened it and pulled out a mug of lemonade.

  “Are you thirsty, Monique?” she asked.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  Natasha removed two tall cups from the cupboard and poured. The sound of the juice rolling against the glass was the only sound in the kitchen.

  “Thank you,” I said softly, pulling the cup toward me when she offered it.

  I shouldn’t have mentioned Darius’s temper.

  The last thing I wanted to do was make James’s mom uncomfortable. Obviously, the fact that her husband abused her was not something she wanted to discuss.

  Natasha sipped the drink. Her lips lingered on the rim of the cup and her eyes met mine. She smiled. “Darius always had a temper. Unfortunately for him, he fell in love with a woman who was rather inexperienced. I was always doing or saying the wrong thing. So yes, he occasionally got angry.”

  I blinked in surprised.

  Had Natasha just opened that door? To me?

  “He’s a… passionate man.” Natasha’s manicured fingers played with the condensation falling off the surface of her glass. “His love for me was overwhelming. It hurt him to hurt me. I never held it against him.”

  You’re threading on thin ice here, Monique. Be careful what you say next.

  I lowered my voice. “Natasha, when was the first time he hit you?”

  She didn’t seem surprised by the fact that I’d asked so directly nor did she shy away from it. “It was a few months after our first date. I’d said something embarrassing in front of his friends and made things awkward. I understood.”

  Horror iced my veins but I refused to let the expression show. “You understood?”

  “You’re young yet, Monique.” She looked into the distance. “But when you love someone, no matter how hard things get, running away isn’t a choice. Living without that person is… unimaginable. It’s a beautiful thing.” She sighed. “To be chosen.”

  My heart thumped. I wanted to correct her so badly that the tip of my tongue burned.

  That was so wrong. So, so wrong.

  Couldn’t she see?

  I studied her pale face. The fluffy brown hair. The brown eyes ringed with thin lashes. She was a beautiful woman caught in a trap.

  No wonder James was so against telling me he loved me. No wonder he was so reluctant to embrace his feelings in the first place. If this was my closest example of love, I would have run like hell from it too.

  The front door opened.

  Closed.

  Natasha jumped. “That must be James.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled.

  Together, we twisted around to see who had arrived. Footsteps thumped closer. The nerves in my stomach tightened. Learning Natasha’s story and hearing her thoughts firsthand made me frustrated.

  And scared.

  Natasha and Darius were James’s parents. They nurtured him and trained him from a child until now. Did he buy the shtick his mom was selling? Had his father’s thoughts about women rubbed off?

  Who the heck was the real James Sawyer?

  Last year, when I was almost kidnapped by Orlando Goya’s thugs, I saw a side of James that terrified me. His eyes were cold, calculating. He looked ready to kill those guys. That darkness… it was a part of him.

  Was the sweet, romantic James Sawyer just a screen saver hiding his true, violent nature?

  Would he morph into a different person, a terrifying person, when I was too busy loving him and being romanced by him to notice?

  The footsteps faded into silence.

  I looked up and my gaze collided with James. He stared at me, shock playing across his deep brown eyes. His gaze darted to my face and then his mother’s before it landed back on me.

  “Monique, what are you doing here?”

  Natasha spoke up before I did. Cheerily, she explained, “She was looking for you, dear. I heard you had quite an exciting day at school this morning.”

  Silence swiftly filled the room.

  James just stood there, eyes slowly narrowing.

  And, at that moment, the doubts in my mind found fertile ground.

  19

  THE END OF MYSELF

  James

  I urged Monique into my room. She looked at me with a question mark in her big brown eyes. My throat went dry. I wanted to tell her everything—my suspicions about Mom, Dad’s innocence, and what it would all mean for my family.

  But I couldn’t. Not until I’d made sense of it myself.

  I closed the door and let out a breath. “What are you doing here?”

  She brushed a curl away from her face. Today, she wore half of her hair up while the rest of her curls fell freely to her shoulders. The T-shirt and tight jeans were nothing special, but somehow she made it eye-catching. Her dark skin begged to be touched and those slightly parted lips demanded a kiss.

  Now’s not the time to get distracted.

  I turned away.

  Monique remained in place. “James, what’s going on? Why do yo
u look so stressed?”

  “I asked you first,” I said, struggling to keep my tone level.

  “You want to know why I’m here?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  She turned and walked over to my bed. The sight of her on my mattress would have been far more tempting if my head wasn’t so messed up. Monique leaned over and meshed her fingers together.

  “The reporters came for me too,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know why. I didn’t tell them anything.”

  “Why would they come after you? Unless…” I rubbed my temple. “Tony.”

  “Tony?” She scrunched her nose.

  “I called him earlier. He said the police chief threw the reporters a bone to get them out of the station. They must have leaked the fact that you were at the fire last night.” I licked my lips in frustration. “They used you as a shield to get the reporters off their backs.”

  “The jerks.”

  I silently agreed.

  Monique tilted her head. “Wait, why did you call Officer Tony?” Her eyes widened and she slapped the bed as she shot questions at me. “Did they discover the cause of the fire? Was it an accident? Is Lauren okay?”

  The knots in my stomach tightened all over again.

  Mom.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, struggling to hide my feelings from Monique’s probing eyes. “Tony said they’re still investigating but I didn’t get the details. He refused to discuss an on-going case with me.”

  “I see.”

  My eyes darted to the door.

  Mom was downstairs.

  As much as I enjoyed spending time with Monique, a more pressing matter weighed my mind. “You came to see me? About what?”

  She ducked her head shyly. “Last night…when we were in the couch—”

  “Monique,” I squeezed my eyes shut, “can we not have this conversation now?”

  “I just wanna talk.”

  “James!” Mom called from downstairs. “I’m getting salad from that restaurant you like. What will you and Monique have?”

  “Anything, Mom!” I yelled back.

  “They don’t have ‘Anything’ on the menu, dear. Can I get another order?”

  I gritted my teeth.

  “I’m not hungry,” Monique said. She folded her arms over her chest and glanced away.

  Great. I’d pissed her off too.

  It was all too much. I wanted to tear my hair out.

  I took a calming breath.

  One thing at a time.

  “Monique, can you just give me ten minutes?”

  Her eyelashes flickered. “Why?”

  “Just…” I glanced around to suggest something she could do to pass the time and keep her inside my bedroom. I didn’t want her sneaking off and overhearing things the way she did the night of my father’s dinner.

  My gaze landed on my school bag. Monique must have brought it with her after I barged out of her place last night. I dove for the bag, unzipped it and pulled my laptop out.

  “What are you doing?” Monique asked.

  I knelt in front of her and used her lap as a stand while I opened the laptop and quickly punched in my password. Grabbing my headphones from the nearby guitar stand, I gently placed it over her hair so I didn’t mess up the style.

  Monique put her hands over mine.

  Our gazes met.

  I resisted the urge to kiss her temple. Instead, I explained. “You can do homework, surf the web, listen to music. Whatever. I’ll be right back.”

  She yanked the headphones off. “James!”

  “It won’t take long,” I promised, running backwards. “I swear. Just… stay here.”

  Monique’s mouth opening was the last thing I saw before I closed the door and barreled down the stairs. I’d pay for that later, but I shoved the thought from my mind and focused on my mother.

  She stood in the foyer, cell phone lodged between her cheek and her shoulder blade. She saw me coming and her brown eyes sparkled. “James, you’re just in time. What did Monique say she wanted?”

  “We’re not hungry.”

  “Alright.” Mom spoke into the phone. “Well, that’ll just be a salad for me. Do you deliver?”

  I hung back, waiting until she finished her call.

  At last, she dropped her hand and turned to me with a calm smile. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? You usually love their food.”

  I nodded and studied her.

  Is that the face of an arsonist?

  Mom’s skin looked better than usual. Her eyes were bright, alert. She seemed energetic and happy. If she’d done something as insane as light a bookstore on fire—if she knowingly put a person’s life in danger—she’d be jittery and anxious. Right? Anything else would make her a monster.

  And Natasha Sawyer was not a monster.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  She glanced up, her gaze frank and honest. “About what?”

  “About…” The words refused to roll off my tongue. I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “Where were you last night?”

  She laughed. “What kind of question is that? I was home. As I always am.”

  “So you didn’t leave at all?”

  “No.” Mom stepped forward and her silky nightgown swept her thin feet. She reached out and placed a hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

  A memory flashed to mind.

  Dad had just brought me back from The Greasy Monkey where I got a birthday lap dance and… whatever else Cherry was supposed to do to me.

  Mom was waiting at the front door, eyes aflame. “What the hell, Darius?”

  “Move, Natasha.”

  “Where did you take my kid at eleven o’clock on a school night?”

  “I took him to be educated,” Dad said with a sly smile. He pushed Mom aside and stalked into his office.

  Mom shot him a dark look and then stood in front of me. “Baby, are you okay?” She ran her hand over my head, tilting it from side to side. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

  “I’m fine.” I pushed her hands away.

  Mom collapsed and let out an audible breath. Squeezing her hands to her chest, she cried. “Thank God! I was so scared. Where did he take you?”

  I knew enough back then not to tell her anything. “Just out for a drive.”

  Mom lifted her head.

  I avoided her gaze. If she stared me in the eyes, she’d see the truth and I didn’t want to confess that Dad had taken me to prostitutes.

  “I’m sorry you were worried,” I whispered.

  Mom stood and gave me a strained smile. “It’s okay. I’m glad you and your father had some bonding time.” She craned her neck. “Look at you, my tall boy. You’re just fourteen, but you’re already so much bigger than me. Soon, you’ll be the same size as your father.”

  “I guess.”

  Sensing my unease, Mom clapped. “Hey, the day’s not over yet. Do you want some birthday cake?”

  I grinned. “Yeah!”

  Mom led me into the kitchen and that night, we feasted on cake and soda. Then, she tucked me into bed and watched over me until I fell asleep.

  That woman would never hurt someone. It just wasn’t in her.

  “James?”

  I startled. “Yeah?”

  “I asked if you’re feeling alright.”

  “I’m fine.” I grabbed her wrists and put her hands down. “I’m just… thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Nothing.”

  Mom tilted her head.

  I cleared my throat. “Did you hear about the fire downtown?”

  “Yes.”

  I stopped short, stunned by her frankness. “You did?”

  “Monique mentioned it when she stopped by earlier. She said you did a brave thing by rescuing that girl.” Mom pulled her lips in but it was near impossible to hide the smile that trembled there. “I’m so proud of you, James.”

  “T-thanks.”

  “You mus
t have been so frightened. I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” She narrowed her eyes. “But the next time you encounter a near-death situation, I’d like it very much if you would just let the authorities handle it. Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Is my interrogation over or am I still in trouble?”

  My body started to relax.

  Yeah, there was no way my mother was behind this.

  “You’re not in trouble, Mom. I had a stupid thought for a minute, but it’s passed now. Sorry for wasting your time.”

  She nodded and returned to the kitchen. I followed her. She turned and saw me coming. In a level voice, she asked, “Did the police say anything about the fire?”

  “Anything like what?” I asked, my gaze catching on the two glasses that were on the counter. “Is this Monique’s?” I pointed.

  “Yes.”

  I picked up the cup and knocked the lemonade back in one shot. Now that my suspicions about Mom had been cleared, it was time to face Monique and apologize for last night.

  That wouldn’t be awkward.

  “Do they suspect anyone or have any evidence...?” Mom asked.

  I froze.

  Mom was wiping the counter like her life depended on it.

  No, Mom. Don’t try so hard to sound innocent.

  “The police? No.” I swallowed. “But Alex…”

  Her hands stilled. Fingers curled into the blue rag. “Alex? Is he... did he survive?”

  “He wasn’t home yesterday,” I said slowly. “So he wasn’t hurt at all. His sister and her cats were in danger, but thankfully, no one got hurt.”

  Mom went pale.

  Tension lay thick in the air.

  What kind of reaction was that? Shouldn’t she be happy that no harm had come to anyone?

  “Alex wasn’t home?” Mom asked in a slight wheeze.

  “He was in a meeting with Dad,” I said. “They were talking about—”

  The rag slipped from her hand and plopped to the floor. Mom’s eyes turned hazy. With a deep sigh, she massaged her forehead. “James, I’m suddenly not feeling well. Could you excuse me a minute?”

  I rushed around the counter. “Do you need medicine or something?”

  “I’m fine.” Her smile warbled. “I just need to lie down for a minute.”

  I watched Mom stumble away. Then my gaze moved to the counter where she’d left her phone. My fingers twitched. I knew her passcode. It was my birthday. But there was no need to check, right? I’d already decided that Mom wasn’t guilty.