Tied to His Betrayal Read online

  She’s talking about breaking habits, but she’s breaking me. I had the touch of an angel again, and now the darkness is sucking her away, reminding me I don’t deserve such a bright light in my life. I want to speak, defend myself somehow. Though the distance and coldness between us tell me that whatever I say now is too late.

  “You’re the only person in the world who can turn me upside down, the one guy who I can never shake.” I hear the tears in her voice, even if I can’t see them. “But this has to stop, because in the end, I know you’ll destroy me. I know this, because you have a power over me that no one has ever had. I feel so alive when I’m with you that it becomes addictive. I wait for your call, and then I hang on your every word. Why do I do this? Why do I need you so much?”

  She’s asking these questions, but I don’t have any answers, because I need her the same. All I can do is feel like I’m free-falling into the shadows as she goes on, “I can’t let that happen again. I can’t let you send me into a place of darkness that takes me years to crawl my way back out of.” She pauses. Then, “When I do crawl out, I find myself in messy relationship after messy relationship, somehow trying to fix all these broken men, because, somehow, I think that if I do, I’m vindicated.”

  I shut my eyes, the air is thin, missing the oxygen I need.

  She sounds so done with me, so very final. I want to say something. I want to scream at her that she can’t push me away and I’m sorry and I’m falling without any net to catch me.

  But the words don’t come.

  “You never made me any promises,” she continues, voice softer now. “And you’ve given so very much to me. Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am right now. I wouldn’t have my confidence back. I wouldn’t have a job. I wouldn’t be in a better financial situation. I wouldn’t feel beautiful and sexy. And I don’t want to mess that up. I want to look at you and be thankful for all that you’ve done for me. But I know that means walking away now, because, today, I felt it.” The pain echoing through her voice shatters me. “I felt that same feeling I experienced all those years ago. It’s the emptiest, darkest feeling that I know I can’t free myself from. It’s scary and raw and so very dangerous, because it’s the darkest place in my soul that I can go. And only you can send me there.”

  I’m shaking, vibrating with something inside that needs to be unleashed. And yet the punishment I’m sure I cannot survive continues.

  “You do something to me,” she says gently. “You can bring me so high. Yet you bury me completely. And I know it’s because you astound me. Your confidence overwhelms me. I’ve never seen anything like it. You walk into a room and you own it. You never ask for anything, you take it. Your intensity sizzles across me in a way that I must absorb it. You take me to a place so addictive that I forget how combustible we are together. But today, I was reminded that we just can’t be. Not because we don’t love each other. I know you care deeply for me. But because I need more to survive than you can give me. And somehow when I’m with you, I become so desperate, like I’m clawing for the attention that you can’t give me. Then when I don’t get it, I spiral into a darkness that cripples me. That’s not your fault. It’s not mine either. It’s just simply a truth that lies between us.”

  I’m empty standing there. I have no voice, no words to fix this.

  “I love you, Darius,” she continues. “God knows I love you with all that I am. But today, in that second when I realized you purposely shut me out, instead of sharing whatever is going on with you”—her voice cracks—“I can’t go through that again. It makes me feel so weak. And that vulnerable woman I turn into is a woman I hate, because I feel so lost.”

  I’m lost in the truth she’s laying at my feet, and I want to scream at her that I can fix this. That’s what I do: I fix. I can walk into any broken business and turn it around. I can overpower the most influential businessman. But with this woman, I am bare.

  And I realize she doesn’t even know it when she adds, “I wouldn’t be where I am right now without you. I’m really, truly grateful to you, Darius. You will never know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done, but this, us, it has to end now.”

  Why? screams in my mind.

  She answers my unasked question, “Because I’ve realized you’re right—I deserve the world and it’s about damn time I go out and get it.”

  I want to give you that world, my heart roars. And yet the words don’t come. I need to run. I can’t endure this anymore. When I turn to the door, my throat tightens and tightens more. Words I don’t know how to say won’t come out. I want to go to her and beg her to have me as I am, yet it feels like I have to cross the most dangerous ground to get there.

  I hear her breath hitch, and I assume tears flood her cheeks when I open the front door and step into the hall. I shut the door behind me and press my back against the wood, somehow able to breathe again, yet feeling more empty than any other moment in my life, when the dinging of my secured phone snaps me into the present.

  I grab it from my pocket on the second beep, finding a text from Ryder:

  Memorize the lines that follow this text. Tomorrow, be ready at 0800 for a 4-way call. Meet at the pub at 0900.

  Chapter 18

  Darius

  Wednesday morning, I arrive at Gabe’s pub right on time, exiting the backseat of my Jag, spotting Micah, Ryder, and Gabe waiting outside by the pub’s door. The sun is shining and its rays warm my face, but my mood is cold.

  When I reach the group, Micah gives me a long, hard look, finally asking, “Have you even slept?”

  “Not much,” I admit. It’s also not something I want to talk about either. I’m raw, and there’re wounds bleeding in places I didn’t know were ever cut. “Are you ready to do this?” I ask, focusing on a task that I know how to control.

  Ryder examines me too, but keeps quiet on my appearance, and asks, “Ready?”

  I nod, having memorized the entire conversation that Ryder had scripted for us.

  He waits for Micah and Gabe’s nod before he says, “All right, let’s do this.”

  After he opens the pub’s door, Micah enters first, then Gabe, and I follow behind Ryder, thinking of all the things I have to say. Today has a purpose, and that’s to get any remaining heat off Taylor and also to provide whoever is hunting us down with a new story. But at the same time, we have to ensure that we can easily prove the story false if need be.

  Today, Gabe’s bartender McKenna is nowhere in sight, and I assume it’s because it’s so early. Too bad, I decide, settling into my seat at the round table. I could use a shot of something hard right about now, and I eye the bottles behind the bar from across the room.

  Ryder takes the seat next to me, giving me a quizzical look. “Everything all right?”

  I nod, not explaining. The last thing I need is more recordings of all the things I don’t want in the goddamn tabloids. Right now, even I can feel that I’m hanging on by a very thin thread. I need to get out of here and go run, shedding some of this tension pulsing through my veins. But I need to do this first. For Taylor.

  With thoughts of her weighing heavily on my mind, as well as all the things I never said last night, I watch as Ryder waves Micah on and he begins, “I called you all here today, because I need some help,” Micah says, voice heavy with concern. “A source close to the police department has received news that I’m going to be investigated for electronic money laundering and tax evasion.”

  A long pause follows, and it’s a prepared pause. We’ve already gone through this scripted conversation on the secured telephones once today to ensure we have it right. When I said I wanted to keep all the heat on me, Micah refused. You’ve had the heat enough. Let one of us take it for a while. And that ended the conversation.

  “You cannot be serious?” I finally ask, aghast.

  “Sadly, I am,” Micah replies.

  I have to give it to him; worry echoes off his voice.

  Gabe asks, “Are you sure this source knows what
they’re talking about?”

  “It’s a solid source,” Micah confirms.

  It’s my turn now. I clear my throat and add, “I hate to be the one to ask this, but is there any truth behind these allegations?”

  Another pause. Then, “Yes, if the police looked into this, it would be troublesome for me,” says Micah.

  “Jesus Christ.” Ryder slams his hand against the table, kicking his chair back to crash against the wall behind him. “What in the hell were you thinking, Micah?” While his voice sounds angry, the twinkle in his eye gives his amusement away.

  “I know, I fucked up,” Micah breathes. “Tell me how to fix this.”

  It’s hard not to laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Micah ask for anyone’s opinion. “Lay low,” I offer. “And hope to hell the media doesn’t get ahold of this. If they do, you’re fucked, buddy.”

  Which is, of course, a complete lie. This is the perfect story, because there’s absolutely no truth behind it. And if the tabloids run this tale, Micah can easily get in contact with the police department and prove the story is without merit. But it’s juicy enough that it might keep the tabloids from the truth for a little while longer until we figure out who’s the mole.

  “Yeah, yeah…okay,” Micah says.

  “And,” Gabe adds, “you know we’ll help you, no matter what comes your way. You’re not in this alone.”

  “Thank you,” Micah responds, sincerity in his voice.

  I raise my brows, fighting a grin, as does Ryder next to me. Micah being sincere? That’s a first.

  Gabe interjects before laughter exposes us all as terrible actors, “Oh, and before we go,” he says to me, keeping a straight face. “Did I see that your ex-girl…what was her name?”

  I pause for dramatic affect. “Taylor Erickson?”

  “Yes, that’s her,” Gabe says, as if surprised, leaning back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “I heard recently that she donated a large sum of money to a women’s shelter in the Bay Area. Is that you’re doing?”

  “No, I had no part in that,” I reply, echoing his surprise. “Did she really do that?” And, of course, she hadn’t. I had donated $250,000 in her name, with clear instructions to keep my name out of it. I can only hope that if she’s viewed as a Good Samaritan the tabloid won’t pick apart her life. The public will crucify the tabloid if they do. I asked for this life, Taylor didn’t. I knew what fame would get me, I knew the cost I would pay by choosing business over personal, and I decided on that life. I can’t pity myself now. It’s the price I paid.

  “Wow. That’s very generous of her,” Ryder states. “Why didn’t you know she did that?”

  I don’t like the way my lungs squeeze, nearly refusing the air to let me breathe, because what I say now is all too true. “Because we’re done.” The line is scripted, but it doesn’t feel that way. It’s real, all too real, and it pains me to say it.

  I stay quiet, listening to the men finish playing out the conversation, and I’m only too glad my part is over. The walls seem like they’re moving, slowly closing in on me. I don’t know what do now, and I always have a plan. I lived without her before, but now it seems harder.

  “You will keep us in the loop?” Ryder asks Micah.

  “Of course,” he replies. “I can’t imagine this getting out there too quickly. As far as I know, it’s being kept private.”

  “Good,” says Gabe. “Let’s keep it that way. We don’t want the tabloids getting a whiff of this. It’s the one story that could bury you.”

  Micah sighs. “I know.”

  My thoughts aren’t on the tabloids. My head is throbbing and my body feels tight with coiled tension. I need to get outside and breathe in the fresh air, and my job is finished here. “Sorry, I have a meeting.” I lurch to my feet. “I must go.”

  I see the confusion on every face here at my brash move. This isn’t part of the plan, but I can’t do this anymore. I also don’t care. Everything is closing in on me, and I need to go. I’m up and out the door as quickly as I entered the pub.

  The second I open the Jag’s door, a firm hand grips my shoulder. “Darius,” Ryder says. “All right?”

  I blow out a deep breath, composing myself. “Yes, I’m fine. What do you need?”

  “I’ve got an update for you.”

  I release the door handle, reminded I had asked for his help. “Right.” I turn and face him. “What have you got?”

  Ryder’s studying me intently, getting a read on me, I’m sure. “We couldn’t find much on the case of abuse against your mother. Your father did press charges, but the arresting officer and the therapist wrote in their notes that they didn’t see any signs of abuse. Which leads me to believe the charges were without merit, and we’re dealing with corrupt cops. But I did find out something interesting.”

  My heart is thumping, hard and rapid. “What?”

  “Three years ago, the lawyer who represented your father in the divorce was disbarred and sent to jail for fraud, taking bribes, and hiding evidence.”

  A sick feeling weighs in my stomach. “So, then, it’s quite likely that what Allison is telling me is true?”

  Ryder nods. “From the records I could find, your mother filed bankruptcy in the same year you said she left you.”

  Which had been the reason I had shut out the world yesterday. I’d spent most of the day on the phone with Ryder and Alex, telling them everything and anything my father told me growing up. But I just didn’t want to tell Taylor that. I didn’t want her to worry. “I take it that could mean that she fought as hard as she could against the charges and to get custody, but my father railroaded her?”

  He nods and sighs. “It looks like that, yes. I would imagine that if your father had the means to pay this lawyer, he would have used that to his full advantage to corner your mother in a battle she could never win.” He pauses as a couple passes us on the street before addressing me again. “And believe me, where there is a corrupt lawyer and cops, there is usually a corrupt judge, too.”

  That thought burns red-hot anger into my veins, making me clench my fists. “Where is this judge now?”

  “Dead, last year.”

  “And the cops?”

  “One is in jail for covering up his son’s DUI. The other one passed away five years ago.”

  Meaning I can’t go after them in the ways I want to, either having them charged or crippling them financially. I offer my hand to Ryder. “I appreciate you looking into this for me.”

  He shakes my hand and places his other on my shoulder, squeezing it tight. “I don’t know what demons you’re fighting, Darius, but I hope this information buries them.”

  With that echoing in my mind, I get into the car and shut the door.

  “To Bennett, sir?” my driver asks.

  “Yes.” I lean my head back against the headrest and shut my eyes, driving toward a very uncertain future.

  Taylor

  My belly is stuffed full from Mom’s famous meatloaf, when I return to the kitchen table after refilling my glass of milk. I sit down next to Allie, who’s been my sidekick through the tough conversation over the last hour. “So, that’s really all there is to tell you about Shawn.” All throughout dinner I told my parents every single detail of Shawn’s past sexual abuse by a hockey coach and his alcoholism and the reasons behind his violence. “His life hasn’t been particularly easy, and because of that, I’ve decided to give him one more chance to prove he wants to get help before pressing charges.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell us this about his past?” Mom asks, sitting across from me.

  “Because it’s not my story to tell.” I take a quick look at my dad and find his expression thoughtful while he’s sipping his beer before I focus on Mom again. “It’s Shawn’s story, and it’s a really terrible one.”

  Dad lowers his beer bottle and finally addresses me. “You know we trust you and your choices, honey, but I need to know that you are thinking clearly about this. He could be
a danger to another woman, and it would be irresponsible of you to know this and not ensure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

  “Yes, I agree completely,” I say, acknowledging his worry with a soft nod. “But Darius can use his connections to ensure that Shawn follows through on this promise. If he doesn’t, I’ll return to San Diego and press charges.” I pause, collecting my thoughts, scooting my chair a little farther under the table. “Shawn isn’t a bad guy. He makes really bad choices. I can’t feel good about me without giving him a chance to make his life better.”

  I see Mom’s eyes soften. She’s the one who taught me to always give people a second chance. But as I look at Dad’s eyes, I also note the tightness in his. He never shared Mom’s view. One chance, that’s all you got. Unless you were me, my chances would never run out.

  “He’s never been violent toward you before?” Dad asks.

  I shake my head. “He usually directs his violence toward walls, not me.”

  “And his violent side only shows when he drinks?”

  “That’s right,” I reply. “When he was sober, I only saw his depression, not the anger.”

  “And his drinking only picked up again recently?”

  I nod.

  Mom asks, “Do you know why that is?”

  I draw in a deep breath before answering. “The night he hit me was the anniversary of when his abuser was arrested.” I’d been with Shawn for two years. The first year, he dealt with the anniversary fine. This year, not so much.

  “So,” Mom says, placing her fork back on her plate. “For whatever reason, this year the blow was harder to take.”

  I nod again.

  Dad sighs and gives a firm nod; obviously, he’s decided to support me and my choices like I knew he would. He takes the last sip of his beer and rises. “If this is the way you want to go about this, kiddo”—he moves around the table and kisses the top of my head—“then, of course we’ll support any decision you make. If you need me, then you’ll let me know?”