You Are My Hope (You Are Mine Book 2)

by W. Winters

  I told him the red brought out his eyes.

  I clench my teeth as I tear the shirt down. The fabric feels like nothing in my fisted hand.

  I told him how handsome he looked in it.

  A scream I don’t recognize as my own joins me when I grab the others, tearing them off the hangers and tossing them onto the floor.

  He whispered that he wanted to see me in nothing but the jersey.

  I kick the pile of jerseys aside and then dump the suits onto the floor, screaming as the memory washes over me.

  I smiled, I wore it just for him and made love to him for the first time in that fucking jersey.

  “I hate you!”

  I blushed with innocence and handed everything I had right over to him. “I’ll never forgive you!”

  I don’t stop until every last garment is littered on the floor. I take a shaky breath, not knowing if it’s him I hate or myself.

  My gaze searches the closet for something, anything to validate my rage. I tear open shoeboxes looking for little black books. Ripping through the drawers of a small watch armoire I tear them all out, flinging the cold metal behind me.

  Each is a moment I wish I could take back.

  Support that I’d given him blindly. The trust. Our marriage vows that meant nothing to him.

  There’s nothing that overtly makes him a bad man in this closet. No evidence that he deserved to die. There’s nothing here. Nothing but ghosts of the past and memories I haven’t suffered through in a year.

  My shoulders rise and fall heavily as I move from one post to the next, focusing on taking it all down. I can’t stand to see his things hanging there.

  It’s all the memories and the details he hid from me. They don’t deserve their place anymore. I can’t stand it and I want them gone.

  I know deep in my gut that everything Mason told me is true. I always go with my gut, and it led me here. Crying in the middle of a trashed closet, with my prick of a dead husband's clothes scattered around me.

  I’m searching for anything. Anything at all that would tell me it’s okay to hate Jace and be done with him forever. That everything Mason said is true, and therefore it’s okay to love him. That it’s okay… for him to have murdered Jace.

  I use the sleeve of a suit to bury my face. The cool material makes my heated face feel even hotter. I’ve finally lost it.

  “I’ll hate you forever, Jace Anderson.” Exhaustion makes my legs shaky and I just want to lie down. I want to wake up and forget it all. I push the hair out of my face, taking in a deep breath.

  My eyes close, and I see Mason. His gorgeous smile, and those deep gray eyes full of so much emotion.

  I wish I could smile. I wish I could go to him and beg him to take me back. That’s how far gone I am. I open my eyes, promising myself to be strong, but I can’t walk another step.

  My body tingles with awareness and fear as I look straight ahead.

  The balcony doors are closed, but unlocked.

  I know they were locked. My body feels frozen as I look to my left, the gun still in plain sight on my nightstand.

  I look back to the balcony, staring at the lock and knowing without a doubt that someone else is in this house.

  Mason

  Dressed in all black, I’m certain I’ll slip into the night for most people as I casually stroll along the sidewalk to William Street Towers, my father’s office building. It’s late and although the building is unlocked, the offices inside are locked up and most of the lights are off.

  Opening the main door, my blood heats with anxiety as it swings open. The cameras are on. I don’t have to look up at the little red lights to know they’re recording.

  My posture is relaxed, and I’ll act like I belong. I won’t appear out of place in the least. It’s silent in the building as I rock on my heels and hit the button for the elevator. Someone coughs to my right, and I chance a look at a woman in a pencil skirt walking quickly to the narrow hallway where the restrooms are. A lone soul, working late.

  This is how men go to prison for life for crimes they committed, but didn’t get caught for.

  This is how you fuck up and drown in your past mistakes for something so damn stupid.

  An arrest for trespassing, or breaking and entering? They could charge me with that, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have happened to me.

  But they won’t stop there. If I get caught, then my father will find out. He’ll know what I was doing. He can push, and the powers that be will sentence me harsher than justice would allow.

  This is how men are taken down. For doing stupid shit, rather than keeping their noses clean. But I don’t give a damn. I need to know what’s in that safe. I need answers.

  It’s been itching at me, an irritating thought in the back of my head, over and over ever since I left. A nagging that won’t stop and a whisper that tells me everything is there, right there.

  He had information on Liam… what else does he have in that safe?

  The elevator dings as it arrives, the doors parting for me and sealing my fate.

  Miss Theresa Geist has a bad habit. I’m not sure if anyone else knows, but growing up so close to her, spending so much time with her, I’ve learned that she sometimes forgets her keys. She takes the subway to work, and it’s happened more than a time or two.

  Because of this, she leaves the main office key tucked in the drawer of the reception desk in the hallway. It’s hidden in a false bottom to the drawer. Or at least she used to hide it there. I swing the large glass door open and my heart races as I commit the first crime tonight, knowing it’s being recorded. Knowing it’s capturing my face.

  It doesn’t matter. It won’t matter unless the cops or security have to pull up the tapes for a reason.

  I swallow thickly, picking up the tray of paper clips and collection of pens and thumbtacks.

  A small smile curves my lips up as I find the key. I stare at it a moment, watching it gleam in the lights from the hallway. It’ll only get me into his practice’s section of the building, but his office lock can be picked now that I’ll be completely out of sight.

  Open from 7:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. The white letters look back at me as I slip in the key and unlock the door.

  With the soft click, all I can think is that I should have done this weeks ago. I prop the door open with a desk chair and return the key to where it belongs. No one will be the wiser. I should have come in here the moment I knew about the safe and the combination to its secrets.

  But Jules was still with me.

  She was still in my house and in my bed. Still a target if something were to happen to me. Everyone knows she’s left me, thanks to the article in the morning paper.

  Everyone is very aware that she left me after the incident that occurred at the gala. Or at least that’s what’s being read in black and white.

  My heart clenches and I grit my teeth, kicking the chair back as I head straight for my father’s door in the back. I slip my hand into my pocket, feeling the bent paper clips there. My fingers travel up and down the thin metal.

  She would never do something like this. Jules isn’t capable of it. I smile and a rough laugh slips through my lips as I stop at his door and slide the paper clips into the lock. Back in the day, I was damn good at this.

  Jules would hate to know all the shit I did years ago. My pulse slows at the thought, turning cold, beating in time with the lock clicking and then the knob turns. I push open the door slowly, ignoring the memories.

  The room is brighter than the hall was. The city lights pour through the blinds, creating alternating stripes of light and shadow throughout the room.

  I don’t waste any time, letting the door shut behind me and moving to his desk, to the cabinet. It swings open easily as if there’s no challenge at all presenting itself.

  I hesitate only for a moment, realizing whatever’s in the safe may tell me more than I ever wanted to know.

  There may be evidence of him murdering my mother. It’
s the first thought that comes to mind, and inwardly I curse myself. It’s been twenty years.

  Slipping on leather gloves first, I press the buttons slowly, mimicking my father’s movements although the safe itself looks typical and ordinary. My lungs still, and my blood rushes in my ears as I wait for the light to flash and the small click that tells me it’s unlocked.

  It was far too easy.

  Piles of paper lay in the safe. Stacks of photographs are the first that I remove, right where he kept the ones of Liam’s wife and Jace Anderson. The photos are still on top. I flip through them, still in disbelief. How the hell did she even know him?

  The stack directly underneath the one my father showed me makes me do a double take. I grab the photo of Jace and Cecile together and hold it next to a photo of Cecile alone. As I compare the two, my anger rises.

  I’ve always known he was a liar.

  It’s altered. The photo is faked. My shoulders rise and fall with a tense breath.

  Why set her up? They’re already getting a divorce. It’s for you, a soft voice whispers in the back of my head. It was all to convince you it wasn’t him. He’d let anyone else take the fall.

  I slip the photo back into place and scan through the others, searching for shots of Jules or myself, or anything else that proves what a conniving bastard my father is.

  The next print is of someone I don’t know. I’m confused at first because I have no idea why it was even taken. There’s nothing remotely scandalous about it. I stare at the man in question and try to place him. It takes me a moment before I realize it’s Jules’s CPA, her financial advisor. The prick she went to go see months and months ago. I make it a habit to know who she interacts with. Why him? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe he blackmailed him into doing something. I’m not sure.

  I stop short at the next stack. It’s a letter.

  I stare at the photograph of Avery’s blackmail letter. Her signature is there. I remember how she used to sign her name. Her handwriting was distinct when she signed documents. All I ever saw was her signature. The curves though, the curves of her writing are so familiar.

  My blood runs cold. It’s not possible.

  It’s her handwriting in the notes. I turn to the next photograph and it’s another letter from Avery. No it’s not. It’s just a list of what looks like groceries.

  I flip to the next, and that’s when I realize what these are. Photographs of her handwriting. My skin pricks with an unforgiving chill. I set the photographs down after searching through several more stacks, but not finding anything at all that makes sense.

  I lay them on the seat of the leather chair before looking back into the safe.

  There’s cash stuffed in the bottom. I take a stack of bound hundred-dollar bills and look behind them, shuffling the money to be sure that’s all that’s at the bottom. There must be over a million here. Although the safe is small, most of it is stacked with nothing but the bundled hundreds. So much money, it reeks of wealth.

  I shove it back into place, not giving two shits about it, and that’s when my eyes are drawn up to the top shelf. A thin, brown leather-bound notebook leans against the upper compartment of the safe where the photos were. I take it out, wondering what he’d confess in a bound journal, or if it’s even his. I expect to find names and dollar amounts. Or names and account numbers, something of that nature. Information that’s irrelevant to what I’m after.

  The list of addresses I see first, I recognize immediately. They’re ones Anderson bought, the ones my company wanted. But next to them are columns of figures. Dollar amounts of what they sold for at the time of purchase, and what they’re projected to be worth after the surrounding properties are developed.

  My forehead pinches not understanding why he’d give a shit. He doesn’t own them, and they aren’t for sale. They never were. Next to the dollar amounts are dates. A word has been repeatedly scribbled in tiny cursive next to some of them, but it’s hard to make it out. I squint, my lips moving as I try to figure it out.

  Acquired.

  He bought them. They’re investments. He had a plan, and everyone played a role. But Anderson had no intention of selling. He’d made that clear in the single meeting I had with him. Maybe he knew the properties would go up in value. Or maybe he wanted more money.

  I run my fingers over the list of numbers as I try to piece together what corrupt business transaction the two men had together, but that’s when I come across something familiar. Something I’ve become intimately acquainted with these past few weeks.

  In the back of the notebook, there are several sheets of paper. Paper I’d consider elegant under other circumstances.

  But this paper almost made me lose everything.

  The thick cream parchment is unmistakable. My hand clenches into a fist as I fall onto my ass. My back hits the cabinet door as I picture my father writing the letters.

  Practicing Avery’s handwriting. Planning his next move. I was a target, and so was she.

  It was him. It was always him. It’s that moment when an alert sounds on my phone. Jules.

  Jules

  Emotions will trap you,

  You have no choice.

  Those bitter words?

  That’s not your voice.

  They play with your mind,

  And take over your will.

  Anger is deadly, and

  Fear can kill.

  The gun is heavy and it slips in my hands as I slowly walk down the steps, careful not to make too much noise. I cringe each time the stairs creak. So much noise. My hands are sweaty and my heart races as I move down the stairs with my back against the wall.

  Thud, thud, thud, my heartbeat is loud in my ears. Too loud; I can barely hear anything else beyond the constant rhythm.

  Barely breathing, my gaze flickers to the front door and then back up the staircase as light creeps in through the stained glass. I hold my breath until my feet land on the cold tile of the foyer. The front door is only feet away but as I get there, footsteps sound from the other side. The knob rattles, and my heart attempts to climb up my throat.

  Whoever it is doesn’t knock or ring the bell. I wait for a moment, trembling as I grip the gun for dear life, praying they’ll prove to be someone I know, but there’s only silence on the other side.

  My heart is pounding harder now as I quietly race down the hallway, looking ahead and checking behind me every few seconds. I need to escape out the back.

  The closed-in backyard won’t do me any good, but I can climb the fence and slip through the thin veil of a forest straight to the crowded sidewalks of the city.

  So close to protection, so close to safety. Just run.

  I pause, my back pressed firmly against the wall as I get to the edge and peek around the corner and into the living room.

  It’s empty, and only fifteen or so feet to the sliding doors.

  I’ll run. The moment the thought occurs, I take off. But a sudden clatter in the kitchen startles me and I scream out, fumbling the gun and falling on my ass. I cover my mouth and turn quickly to face whoever’s there. My pulse races and my body trembles.

  The gun landed behind me and I struggle to reach it, my arms propping me up. I keep my eyes forward, though. I’m shocked to find I’m staring at Liam Olsen.

  “Whoa,” he says easily, a smile on his face. “There you are,” he says like he’s been waiting for me. Like he’s been expecting me. He takes two steps forward and my fear intensifies as he bends down, picking up a magnet that was on the fridge.

  “It fell,” he says with a shrug.

  “What are you doing here?” I barely get out the question as I stand slowly, bringing the gun up behind my back and placing my finger next to the trigger.

  “I was told you wanted to talk about something very important?” Liam’s tone is playful, teasing and with a grin, he starts loosening the tie around his neck. “That you wanted—”

  I bring the gun out in front of me slowly and steady my hands.

&
nbsp; Liam’s hands go up instantly, his eyes wide with shock.

  “I don’t want to talk about anything,” I tell him and my voice shakes. My body is on fire, and the only thing pumping in my blood other than adrenaline is fear. The memories of the other night come back full force. His hands on me, his lips so close to my neck. “Stay away from me!” I scream at him, and the force of my emotions makes me tremble.

  “All right now, you need to put that down,” he says with more authority than he has, although his expression is still riddled with worry. He takes a step forward, arms still raised.

  “I said stay away!” I cry out as if I’m scared and powerless, because that’s how I feel. “Get the fuck out!”

  “I’m going, I’m going,” Liam says quickly. “I came in through the front and I’m headed out the front door, okay?” He says the words quickly, his own breathing ragged. “There must’ve been a misunderstanding,” he tells me quickly, rushing out the words. Just then, his gaze rises just a touch higher, his focus no longer on me, but instead trained on something behind me. I didn't hear the back door sliding open until it was too late, and my skin pricks with the realization that I’m trapped. There’s someone behind me.

  I scream and as I do, the gun slips again in my sweaty grip and goes off. My eyes dart to it and it’s like I’m watching in slow motion as it happens.

  The sound of the bang.

  The kick of the gun, making my arms jerk.

  Large hands settle on my shoulders as the scream tears up my throat.

  The bang still resonates in my ears as my body shakes and I try to push the man behind me away, but he holds me close as he says, “It’s okay!”

  I can hardly breathe, let alone recognize the voice.

  Fear is what guided everything. I swear. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.

  I look up and into the eyes of Mason, only it’s not him. It’s his father, looking down at me with sympathy, with sadness and horror.