“You go out and get some fresh air, maybe get some shopping in and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Nodding in agreement, I answer, “See you tomorrow.”

“Love you, Jules.” Kat’s voice is soft when she tells me she loves me.

“I love you too.” It’s so true. I’d crumble into a complete mess without her.

As I rise from the bed, it groans slightly and I look back to find it in disarray. I take the time to pull the sheets tight and lay the comforter just right. I even fluff the pillows and place them where they’re supposed to be.

As my feet pad against the old wooden floor, it creaks right where I know it should and that chill from earlier comes back to me. I look up at the balcony door and find it unlocked, which is odd. I swear I locked it.

Click. The sound is loud as I stare at the lock, my fingers still on the cold hard metal.

I never did like having a balcony in the bedroom. Jace told me it was a silly fear. I cross my arms, feeling unsteady and colder by the second. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, grabbing my phone and clutch then throw on a pair of faded blue jeans.

Unsteady is the feeling that’s most recognizable. I’m not sure where I go from here. Worse, I don’t know where I want to go.

All I know in this moment, with everything in me, is that I just want to get out of this house.

Mason

Ticktock.

It’s a bomb, not a clock.

Ticktock.

It’s about time to go off.

Ticktock.

Prepare for the shock.

Ticktock.

It’s the truth to unlock.

I stand facing the window in my father’s office with my hands behind my back and don’t bother turning around to greet him as the door opens. I watch as my cold gray eyes narrow in the reflection. The city traffic below is stirring with life, but it’s silent up here. So many people surround us, but not one of them can save me. Not one of them would even give a fuck.

Julia would. My sweetheart. Or at least she would have days ago before she realized she needed to get away from me.

“Mason,” my father says and I turn around, finally facing him and knowing I need to confront him along with everything else I’ve been running from. As much as I want to hold Jules close and pretend just being with her will make this right, I know it won’t.

“Father,” I say, greeting him with an icy tone in my voice, hating that I’m even related to this man. I stare into his eyes and see my own. Everything about him reminds me of what I’m becoming. I fucking hate it.

“We need to get over this,” my father says and gestures between the two of us.

“We do.” I clench my jaw, my pulse rushing faster. I rip my gaze away from his, staring down at my hands. “I don’t think there should be any more ties.” It pains me to tell him that. Even after all these years and everything he’s done, I still feel a gaping hole in my chest at the thought of severing this relationship.

“Ties to what?” he asks.

“Between the two of us.”

My father flinches as if I’ve struck him. But what did he expect?

“Watch your mouth,” he says. I’m surprised he has the nerve to admonish me as if what I’m saying is unspeakable.

“I want to walk away. I don’t want to be tied to this anymore. I don’t want to be associated with you.”

“I’m your father, Mason. You can’t walk away from that.”

The fuck I can’t. I bite down on my tongue to stop from blurting out that answer, gritting my teeth as he walks closer to the left side of the desk. I walk to the right, matching his pace, a careful dance of power that escalates the conversation.

“You need to just forgive—”

“I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Avery,” I say, looking my father in the eye as I say her name for the first time in months. Every muscle in me is wound tightly, waiting for his next move so I can destroy him and let out this rage.

His eyes flash with something—anger, maybe betrayal, I don’t know what.

“I did what I had to do to protect you,” he says, pushing out the words from between clenched teeth, but his nerve is shaken, unlike mine.

“She didn’t deserve to be murdered.” My hands ball into fists. Avery was a mistake. A fiery redhead with long legs and a smile that could kill. She had mistake written all over her.

I met her late one night at an event and I knew she was trouble. I knew it from the start but I needed a quick fuck. She tempted me and I took the bait. But I could never have imagined how it would all end.

“That’s what happens when you blackmail a Thatcher.” My father practically spits. “She decided to roll the dice. She’s the one who came to me with demands and tried to back us into a corner.”

“You could have sent her to me.” My muscles twitch with the need to pound my fist into his face as I take a step forward. “I would have told her the baby couldn’t have been mine.”

“If I’d known then—”

“You didn’t have to know!” I shout, unable to control myself any longer. My throat feels raw as the words are ripped from me, screaming up my chest. “She wasn’t innocent.” I take a step toward my father and grab the edge of the desk to keep from gripping his collar and say, “But she didn’t deserve to die.”

“She did.” My father’s voice is hard, his back straight and his gaze full of confidence.

“She was pregnant!” I tell him. Hating how he could so easily dismiss her existence. He had her murdered. He didn’t even think twice about ending her life.

“With a married man’s child!” my father sneers, his face turning red as he leans in closer to me and I can’t take it any longer.

I can’t take the arrogance and justification of ending a person’s life so easily. I clench my fist until my knuckles are white and punch my father in the jaw. His teeth crack from the weight of the blow. His head whips to the side as he falls to the floor, limp and shocked. My arm stings with the pain of impact.

It feels so fucking good to finally give him a piece of what he deserves.

He lays there for a moment, his hand over his mouth as a trickle of blood leaks from the corner of his lips. I shake out my hand, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I just barely restrain myself from kicking him in the ribs, from letting all this anger and pent-up guilt out on him.

“You ungrateful prick.” He spits blood onto the floor and looks up at me with a menacing glare. “You chose some whore over your own family.”

No, I’m choosing what’s right. I’m choosing to be better than this life I was born into.

My father doesn’t quit with his justification. “Anderson didn’t want that kid. Think about what she would have done to him!”

The mention of Jace Anderson makes my gaze break from my father’s. The memories come back and make my tense muscles spasm. I can’t hear whatever my father’s yelling at me. It’s all white noise.

I may have been born a Thatcher and I’ll die a Thatcher, but I refuse to be anything like my father. Not today, not ever.

“I won’t forgive you.” I force my body to relax. I’ve said what I came to say. This ends now. “I never will.” I start to walk out, accompanied by the sound of my heart racing.