Page 66 of Sins & Secrets

I give a small grin as I twist off the cap to the whiskey and slowly pour it into the tumbler. No one can hear her but me while we’re in here.

I’m the only knight in shining armor she’s going to get.

I bring the glass to my lips and the smile vanishes, my eyes drifting to the lit fireplace. She turned it on earlier, claiming it brings a warmth to the darkness in the dining room.

Downing my whiskey and then raking my fingers through my hair, I let out a frustrated sigh over the sound of her screaming.

She’s going to be sore and angry, and the marks on her wrists will need time to fade, but she’ll survive. She’ll get over it.

Whoever wrote that note though, whoever tried to tear my sweetheart from me, that fucker won’t survive this. I grit my teeth as I slam the glass down and feel the burn of the liquor spread through my chest.

The thought prompts me to head to the entryway. The rug is crooked from when I dragged Jules up the stairs, and the lamp on the hall table is on its side, but at least it’s not broken. My keys and wallet are still on the floor from when she knocked them off the table in her frantic attempt to hold on to something, anything to keep her from being taken upstairs.

My eyes dart up to the wall behind the iron banister. A low hum of admonishment leaves me as I bend down to pick up the scattered items.

The dents and scrapes on the walls are going to be a bit more difficult to fix. Recalling the feel of her struggling against me stirs an unrecognizable emotion inside my gut. I close my eyes and picture how I held her tight against me, forcing her still and pushing her against the wall, trapping her. She never stopped fighting, though. I count every little mark. Her nails scratchedagainst the drywall, desperate for something to save her. It’sevidencethat’s not so easy to clean up.

I did what I had to do, I think although the justification sounds hollow in the back of my mind.

The keys jingle as I toss them onto the table, scooting it back into place and then I snatch up the crumpled piece of thick cream parchment.

The note that destroyed what I had.

I clear my throat, willing the images and memories to go away as my chest tightens with unbearable pain. I had her. I had my sweetheart and she loved me, I know she did.

The letter crinkles as I focus my eyes on it and turn my back to the staircase, resting my shoulder against the doorframe of the dining room and listening to the crackling of the fire.

It’s handwritten and leans more toward feminine penmanship. My eyes narrow as I look over every inch of the paper attempting to recognize the curve of a letter, something, anything. Not a damn memory comes to mind. There’s no name. No way to identify who it came from.

Dear Julia,

It painsme to tell you this, but I can’t stand to watch from a distance as you fall into a trap. Your husband was murdered. I know this is going to shock you, but I have proof. You may not believe me, but I pray that you do.

Mason Thatcher murdered him. Don’t trust him. Don’t let him know that you know. If he finds out, you won’t be safe.

All I can tell you is that you need to run. Stay far away.

I can’t say any more. I hope this letter finds you safe and you take every word for what it is, the truth.

Truly yours,

X

Proof.My narrowed gaze focuses on the single word, my heart racing faster and faster. There’s not a single possibility that someone has proof.

There were no cameras around. There’s no fucking way anyone saw. Her prick of a husband was leaving his apartment after screwing his mistress, and on his way back home. Back to Jules, his wife he didn’t deserve. My chest rumbles with a low murmur of anger at the memory. His arrogance was one of the things I hated most about him.

My eyes whip to the stairs as I hear Jules call out again. Her voice is cracked and so uneven I can’t make out a damn word she’s saying. I grit my teeth and resist the urge to burn the note. I need it and the envelope it came in.

This is a fucking mess. But I make a solemn promise to Jules: I’ll fix this.

Gripping the banister, I wait a moment for her cries to cease and then slowly ascend the staircase. A tic in my jaw starts to twitch as I formulate a plan. I need to explain why I did it and calm her down. I need time or a fucking miracle. It’s too late to deny any of it. I was too rash, too caught up in the moment when she confronted me. 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.

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