by W. Winters
My skin feels like it’s on fire; I try to contain my rage, but it’s useless.
“Never,” he says on the other end. “I would never hurt her. She’s yours, Mason. I’m very aware of that,” he tells me, and he sounds so sincere.
I don’t respond, thinking. Trying to think who would want to hurt her. Or maybe me. Maybe the asshole was after me. He didn’t shoot her. He could have, but he didn’t. Maybe the syringe was meant for me. Maybe the man was hired by whomever left the note. For all I know, that man is the one who left the note.
“Scare her, yes. Yes I would and if she ever did anything to hurt you, she’d be there on my list, Mason. But I would tell you. It would be your call.”
My father disgusts me. Just the thought of what he’s done and what he’s willing to do is sickening. But he’s saying this wasn’t his doing. If it wasn’t him, I have no clue where to look next. Nothing but a note with no name and this syringe.
“Who then?” I finally say and as I do, I hear Jules’s faint steps as she comes down the stairs. I turn in my seat in the dining room to watch as she walks down slowly and then freezes when she sees me.
Her large eyes plead with me, and I instantly rise to meet her.
“Upstairs, sweetheart,” I tell her as my father speaks.
“Has she upset anyone? What was she at the station for? You need to be honest with me.”
I place my hand on the small of her back and lead her up the stairs. Her eyes dart to the phone as my father talks, and I know she can hear.
“No, she hasn’t upset anyone,” I tell him. “Her going to the station was a mistake.”
“Well, someone knows something, Mason.” He says it like it’s obvious. “What about Liam?” he asks me. “He knew we’d be having the conference about the division of the assets. He has a motive.” Jules nearly trips on the stairs. She shouldn’t be listening to this shit.
I grab her hip to keep her from falling and almost drop the phone.
“I have to call you back,” I tell him, content with the fact that it wasn’t my father.
Someone knows what I did, and they’re after me. They may also be after Jules. Especially now that she’s seen this. We both saw his face. She’s woven so deeply into my mess.
My father continues speaking into the phone but his words turn to white noise, and I simply end the call. My focus is entirely on Jules.
Her grip on me is tight, and she lets me hold her as I drop the phone to the ground and simply pull her into my lap to sit on the stairs.
Maybe it’s the shock, maybe it’s something else.
But I don’t want to let go of her.
I don’t want her to let go of me either.
“I’ll find out who did this, Jules,” I whisper. “I’ll find them, and I’ll kill them.”
Jules
The stars are always present,
Even though we cannot see.
The clouds will block them out,
And leave us with a plea.
Sometimes it takes the darkness,
And the coldest, purest lights.
To see what’s always been there,
And cherish those stars at night.
“Mason.”
He’s silent as he sits on the chair in the corner of the bedroom. It’s a reading chair that I bought a while back and tucked into the corner of the master when I moved in with Mason. He seems to prefer it now when he’s thinking about what to do. Or maybe it’s when life is breaking him down to the point where he can’t stand on his own any longer.
“Mason?” I call out his name, my voice soft and again he doesn’t seem to hear it. There’s a comfortable groove and warmth that surrounds me since I haven’t moved from my spot on the bed since we came back in here after he talked with his father. Silence sits between us, with both of us letting our thoughts run wild. His chin rests in his hand and his eyes are staring straight ahead at the armoire, unblinking.
Someone attempted to kill one of us. Or at the very least, inject whatever is in that syringe… Closing my eyes, I calmly breathe out, my fingers tightening on the blanket huddled in my lap.
“Mason, please talk to me,” I say, raising my voice even louder. I want to know what he knows. I can’t be left in the dark. This time his gray eyes look back at me, smoldering the moment he sees me. As if I’ve lit a fire, and the intensity of it stops me right where I am.
The only thing I can think in this moment is that he’s going to eliminate the distance between us, to push me back on the bed, to take me like he used to with that look. My breath halts and my body stays frozen, but not with fear or denial. This is lust. I want him to take me, to feel my body and for me to feel his. Right now I need to be held. Just like I did all those months ago when Mason first took me home.
I want to forget it all.
Mason doesn’t do any of that. The chair scoots back against the hardwood floor as he rises from the corner. He walks past me leaving a trail of coldness in his wake as he stands in front of his dresser, his back to me for a long moment.
Leaning back on the bed, I attempt to push down the wave of rejection that flows through every inch of my body. A hollowness presses against my chest. Does he no longer want me?
Isn’t this what I wanted not so long ago? Why does it hurt so much, why does it hurt even worse?
Mason drops to a crouch in front of the dresser, pulling out the third drawer down and not stopping until it’s completely removed from the dresser.
“What are you doing?”
“You need protection when I can’t be here.” It takes a moment to register what he said, but only until he reaches inside the dresser where the drawer was and pulls out a case. It’s thin and silver, obviously a gun case. My gaze never leaves the brushed satin metal as he carries it to the bed.
A numbness pricks its way to my fingers at the very thought of touching it. I’ve never shot a gun before. I haven’t ever even seen one in person until today. Until the sight of one was trained on me.
I scoot back slightly and keep my eyes on Mason, ridding myself of the thoughts of the gun that was here only hours ago.
“If someone ever comes in here again, you’re going to shoot them. Do you understand me?” Mason asks.
My heart races and my body heats with an anxiety that’s nearly paralyzing. I don’t know if I can kill someone.
“Who was that man?” I ask Mason rather than answer, but he merely flicks his eyes to mine before turning the case around and ignoring my question.
“The combination is my mother’s birthday: ten, fifteen, fifty-seven.” I blink up at him, waiting for more, but he simply pushes the box closer to me, rattling it to get my attention until my fingertips slide to the cold silver metal of the combination lock.
Ten. Fifteen. Fifty-seven. Click. The loud noise of the case opening doesn’t startle me as much as I thought it would; I’m still waiting to learn who the man was and why he was here. I need to know what he was searching for and what was in that syringe.
Mason swallows thickly, opening the case and revealing a shiny handgun.
“It’s a nine millimeter. It—”
“Mason,” I say, cutting him off, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. “Who was that?” I ask him when I have his full attention.
“I don’t know,” he answers lowly, holding my gaze.
“Why…” I can’t finish my sentence, my blood rushing in my ears and my body heating.
My throat goes dry as Mason gives me nothing. His expression is unchanging, and I know right then he’s not going to tell me a damn thing.
I lick my lips and push the case away from me. I didn’t choose this, and I don’t want it.
“You need to know how to use this, Jules,” Mason says, grabbing the gun by the barrel and passing it to me handle out, insisting I take it. I stare at it, but I don’t really see it. Everything’s a blur.
“I can’t describe how absolutely terrified I was,” I say, swallowing down every fear as I rush to get i
t all out. “Not for my own life or what was going to happen to me, or what could have happened…” Chancing a look in his eyes, I know he hears me. I know he understands what I’m saying.
I was worried he’d never come back. I was worried Mason was going to die.
“I need you to talk to me,” I tell him as my eyes burn with the emotions finally surfacing. Scooting closer to him on the bed, I lean closer and plead, “I need to know what’s going on.” I take a steadying breath, surprised at how even my cadence is. At how strong my voice sounds although I feel as if I’m on the verge of collapsing with hopelessness.
“I don’t want to tell you more than you need to know, Jules,” Mason says and looks up at me with sympathy, his strength and dominance ever present. He reaches out to cup my jaw but I flinch and move away, scooting backward slightly as I shake my head.
“No, you don’t get to decide that,” I tell him with a voice much louder than I anticipated. A small bit of anger seeps into the firm statement.
Mason’s gaze narrows, but he doesn’t respond.
“I need to know.” My voice cracks, and I hate that it does, but I am truly desperate and there’s no way to hide that. “You need to tell me.” Without a response, I lick my dry lips and shamefully look away, down at the patterned rug on the floor. I wish my voice held the strength I feel. I wish I were stronger overall. I’m trying, I’m truly giving everything I can not to be the meek woman I was raised to be and praised for being.
“You don’t need to know.” His answer is short but he keeps my gaze as if he’s ready to cave to me, to give me what I want. I know that look well. I only need to ask.
“I want to know, Mason,” I tell him honestly. “Please,” I add as I lean forward slightly, almost reaching for his hand. Almost.
With a heavy sigh, he puts the gun back into the case. He shoves it to the side and finally tells me, “I think he was a hitman. I think there’s a hit out—”
“A hit?” I blurt out, not quite picking up what he’s saying at first, but then the realization floods through me, along with a coldness that cracks my composure. “Someone wants to kill you?” How I have any voice at all is beyond me.
His expression softens as he shakes his head once. “It could be either of us. But I would think that the killer knew I was downstairs in the office.”
“Someone tried to kill me?” I manage to get out, but then immediately have to fight back the need to vomit. The shock is just too much. “Why?” My hands shake without my conscious consent. Someone’s trying to kill me.
“Your father?” I can only surmise it’s him. “He warned me. He… he—”
“I don’t think so. I think he’d rather use you to get to me than kill you.”
“Then who?” The question is torn from me. “Who the hell would try to kill me if not him?”
Mason doesn’t answer me.
“Mason.” I whisper his name, my face crumpling with pain as I beg him, “I don’t want to die.” I’ve thought about death so much this past year, ever since Jace died. It often occurred to me that it would be so easy to just end the pain. But I don’t want that. I want to live. I want to be happy. Like I was with Mason, before I found out all the lies.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” Mason states with finality in a voice so full of confidence, I believe him. His white T-shirt is pulled snug across his broad shoulders and as he leans forward, looking me deep in my eyes, my heart flips and everything else but him blurs around me. “I’ll always protect you, Jules. I promise,” he tells me. I think he’s going to reach out and touch me, that he’s going to kiss me and hold me in that comforting way I’ve grown used to. But he doesn’t. He’s only inches away, so close I could touch him, but the distance between us is still there and I know I only need to give my consent to let him in. To let his touch soothe the pain that’s suffocating me.
“Please hold me.” I hate myself in this moment for needing Mason, for forgiving him enough to give in to my own weakness and desires. I close my eyes tight, willing my conscience to go away so he can comfort me. It’s not the first time I’ve had to do this. And the last time sent me spiraling into a darkness I couldn’t control.
“I need more than that, Jules.” Mason’s voice is full of raw emotion for the first time since coming back in here. My eyes open slowly, feeling the sting of tears subside and something else forcing its way through me. His cold gray eyes soften and fill with vulnerability.
Mason reaches across the bed and grips the back of my head in his hand. It’s large and strong and his fingers spear through my hair with a strength that forces my lips up to his. He crashes his own against mine and pushes my body back.
I don’t know how to describe the rush of desire that sparks to life between us. It’s like thunder and lightning all at once, right before a downpour in the middle of an open field with no shelter in sight. It’s hot and drenched between us. That’s what his kiss does to me. It’s a natural storm that I can’t stay away from.
“Mason.” I moan his name as he breaks our kiss, resting his forehead against mine and breathing heavily. His warm breath fills the small space between us, but when I look up there’s nothing but pain etched on his face. Does he not feel it like I do? If I could have anything right now, I’d have him in the field with me, letting the rain soak our skin.
Wordlessly, I reach up and trail my fingers along the stubble of his strong jaw.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers and his voice is low and carries the same agony I’m feeling. I almost tell him I know what it feels like, I almost let the tears come back, but then his lips meet mine in a soft, slow kiss that makes my heart race.
I thought I’d lost him. I thought I was going to die before that. “Just hold me,” I whimper, my voice a strangled plea.
“Always,” Mason murmurs before kissing me long and deep. My back hits the bed and my legs part for him. The tension blisters between us with a passion I thought was long gone. Its intensity refuses to be denied as I cling to him, every bit of me wanting to be pressed against him. He breaks the kiss and I have to tilt my head back to breathe in the cool air as he kisses down my body. Each one takes time, leaving a cool sensation behind as his hot kisses move on to the next spot. It’s too slow, yet it’s just right.
He takes off my clothes as he goes, slowly stripping me for him. With every moment I’m conscious of what I’m allowing him to do. Watching myself give in to baser needs and allow a man I despised to crawl down my body, holding me as if he owns me, but he does it so gently, as if I’m precious to him. I love every second of it and I know I still love him. The swarm of emotions rages, but only one wins out.
My head digs into the mattress as my neck arches and I lift my hips for him.
I may be a fool, but I know what I want and need.
He kisses just below my belly, sending goosebumps to flow across my bare skin before moving lower. I’m hot for him; my body aches for him. His heated breath causes a sweet sensation of desire to travel up my body and harden my nipples.
I let my hands slowly travel from my breasts to his hair, running my fingernails down his scalp as he pulls off the rest of my clothes and lets them drop to the floor. They fall into a crumpled heap and make the only sound that fills the room besides our breathing and the pounding of my heart.
Mason places his hands on my inner thighs and he doesn’t have to push; I immediately spread them wider for him. He stares between my legs and even though my cheeks heat with a violent blush, I can’t tear my eyes away from his as he leans forward and gently sucks on my clit.
I cry out my pleasure. It’s instant and forceful, just as Mason is.
My legs try to close together to force him away, my fingers gripping onto his muscular shoulders and nails digging into his skin, but he doesn’t let up until a wave of my orgasm rises slowly through my toes and fingers. It moves higher and higher and then crashes hard, rocking through my body without any mercy. My head thrashes to the side as I cry out, and
I’m only vaguely aware as Mason kisses back up my body with purpose and need this time. He buries his head in the crook of my neck, biting down slightly as he slams himself deep inside of me. He doesn’t wait for me to adjust. He only takes his pleasure from me as easily as he gave me my own, ruthlessly riding through my release.
He groans deep and low as he pounds into me over and over again. My body begs me to move, but I’m paralyzed by pleasure. By Mason.
It’s fitting really. I’m held beneath him with a passion I can’t fight. With a love I can’t deny. I can try to fight it, but it’s useless.
He braces himself on his forearms to look down at me, never relenting his powerful thrusts. My arousal leaks between us as he lowers his lips to mine.
The dim waves rise again through me, making my body shiver and the rest of me tense. It’s coming fast and strong and it’s inevitable, I know it is. I hold on to Mason for dear life, letting him take from me and crashing my lips into his.
Mason
She’s broken,
Shattered,
Ruined beyond repair.
The truth has destroyed her,
And left her
Choking on the air.
My mother died of an overdose.
This can’t be a coincidence. It’s all I keep thinking as I remember the syringe. I threw it into the fireplace and watched it burn, the thick plastic slowly melting and the liquid boiling into nothing, leaving only a thin needle in the ashes.
I couldn’t take it to the police. It only took an opioid test to prove what I thought. It was heroin. It’s been two days and I only have one answer to all the questions. The syringe was filled with an opioid and I imagine if the killer had done his job, I would have gone upstairs to find Jules dead of an overdose.
I readjust in my seat in the corner of the bedroom, my laptop on the nightstand I’ve pulled over to the chair. The dim light from the screen provides the only illumination in the dark room. My tumbler of whiskey sits next to it, but I can’t drink. I can’t do anything but read the report of my mother’s death and let the doubt and anxiety wash through me.