Mine Read online

  Mine

  A Deadly Sins Novel

  Rachael Tamayo

  Tangled Tree publishing

  Also by Rachael Tamayo

  Deadly Sins

  Break My Bones

  Carnal Knowledge

  Mine

  Contents

  The Sin of Greed

  Part I

  Prologue

  1. ~Justin~

  2. ~Justin~

  3. ~Justin~

  4. ~Justin~

  5. ~Justin~

  6. ~Justin~

  7. ~Justin~

  8. ~Justin~

  9. ~Justin~

  10. ~Justin~

  Part II

  11. ~Britney~

  12. ~Jennifer~

  13. ~Jennifer~

  14. ~Madison~

  15. ~Abby~

  16. ~Abby~

  17. ~Madison~

  18. ~Jennifer~

  19. ~Jennifer~

  20. ~Madison~

  21. ~Abby~

  22. ~Madison~

  23. ~Abby~

  24. ~Jennifer~

  25. ~Abby~

  26. ~Jennifer~

  27. ~Abby~

  28. ~Madison~

  29. ~Jennifer~

  30. ~Jennifer~

  31. ~Madison~

  32. ~Abby~

  33. ~Jennifer~

  34. ~Madison~

  35. ~Jennifer~

  36. ~Abby~

  37. ~Jennifer~

  38. ~Abby~

  39. ~Jennifer~

  40. ~Madison~

  41. ~Jennifer~

  42. ~Jennifer~

  43. ~Abby~

  44. ~Abby~

  Part III

  45. ~Justin~

  46. ~Justin~

  47. ~Justin~

  48. ~Justin~

  49. ~Justin~

  50. ~Justin~

  51. ~Justin~

  52. ~Justin~

  53. ~Justin~

  54. ~Justin~

  55. ~Abby~

  56. ~Abby~

  57. ~Abby~

  58. ~Abby~

  59. ~Jennifer~

  60. ~Jennifer~

  61. ~Abby~

  62. ~Abby~

  About the Author

  Also by Rachael Tamayo

  Acknowledgments

  About the Publisher

  Discover

  Mine © 2022 by RACHAEL TAMAYO

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Mine is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information, contact the publisher, Tangled Tree Publishing.

  www.tangledtreepublishing.com

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Designer: Booksmith Design

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-922359-98-8

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-922359-99-5

  To anyone who was ever just crazy enough to stand up and refuse to give up. Don’t hide that crazy. Let that flag fly.

  The Sin of Greed

  “Avarice begets more vices than Priam did children and like Priam survives them all. It starves its keeper to surfeit those who wish him dead and makes him submit to more mortifications to lose heaven than the martyr undergoes to gain it.” —Charles Caleb Colton

  Part I

  Prologue

  I hang up the phone, clicking the End button with a finger that leaves a red smudge on my screen. They’ll be here soon.

  I look around, just to be sure it’s all where it needs to be. Everything seems to be in its place. An organized chaos of sorts, I suppose.

  Knowing I don’t have much time, I start to work the buttons on my shirt with steady fingers, then slide it off my shoulders, taking it into the kitchen. Standing in my bra and jeans, I use the wet dishcloth I find in the sink to scrub the stain, groaning at my stupidity as I struggle to clean the satin top. I should have known. I wasn’t thinking straight. The water runs red, just like it did when I washed my hands moments ago. I used the Dawn dish soap on the sink, thick blue liquid mixing with the red as I soaped and lathered, using a veggie scrubber from the counter for my nails. The stain won’t come out. I whimper, remembering how expensive the blouse was. I contemplate using the brush on my shirt, but it will ruin the delicate fabric. I bought this blouse special for tonight. It was our anniversary, after all.

  I hold the shirt up. It's dripping. The deep purple top is now marred. Mocking me, bright and red, now simply smeared by the soap, deepened into the delicate fabric by the scrubbing. Ruined. I frown.

  I should have taken it off. But they would have known if I did that, so maybe I should have worn something else. I roll my eyes, squeezing the top out, then leaving it hanging over the counter. Oh well, I’ll buy another one. I head to the bedroom and find an old T-shirt, slipping it over my head. I look down at my jeans. The stains there aren’t so bad that I need to change. Surely it’s in my hair too. I frown, needing to shower. But there’s no time, and it’ll cause too many questions.

  In the living room, I find him where I left him, lying on the couch. I bend and kiss full, damp lips. Still warm. I wipe the blood from my lips with the back of my hand.

  There’s a knock on the door: the police, the ambulance. I start to cry again before I move, unlocking and opening it.

  “Thank God you’re here.” I sniffle, a sob breaking from my lips as I glance over my shoulder at the aftermath. “I… he….” I’m on the verge of hyperventilation.

  Three officers look past me, seeming to calmly observe the scene behind me on the couch from their vantage point just outside the front door.

  “Are you hurt?” The older female officer reaches for me. “Is this your blood?”

  I shake my head and am detained immediately. Dragged aside, cold metal clipped around my wrists behind my back as I sob. “I had to get him off me. He was going to kill me. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted him to stop. Can you help him?”

  I watch the other two officers. One moves to the body on the couch, carefully bending over him. A gloved hand reaches for his neck to check for a pulse. The other turns, taking in the room, glancing at me as I stare back with wide, wet eyes.

  The officer holding me leads me out the door in silence, leaving the others inside. The ambulance pulls up, red and blue lighting up the area as the officer closes the door.

  Now standing just outside the front door, I break away and rush to the entry, only to be pulled back. I release a wail. “Is he going to live? I didn’t mean to. I was just so afraid.” I try to shake free of the handcuffs that have me detained, from the strong hands that gently squeeze my arm. “I didn’t want to kill him. He just wouldn't get off me. You have to save him. Please don’t let him die,” I beg. “It’s my fault. I should have known better. I should have backed off, but I’d caught him with that woman, and—”

  I’m pulled gently yet forcefully away, down the steps and across the driveway, then placed in the back of a police cruiser. I meet the eyes of a woman, big and brown. She feels sorry for me. She does a poor job of hiding her sympathy.

  “Can you help him? He’s really not so bad.” I sniffle. “It was all my fault. I didn’t mean to make him so angry
. He told me to leave him alone, and I didn’t listen. Please. You have to understand.”

  “I’ll see what can be done. Just sit tight.”

  She shuts the door, but she doesn’t go far. I can't be left alone, you know. Suspect in a murder and all that.

  1

  ~Justin~

  I swerve to miss the pothole. It’s been there for two years, ever deepening and growing wider. I imagine that one day someone will hit it, and a great cavernous sinkhole will open up and swallow the street, house by house. It’ll take my ex-wife and her new husband with it, leaving me and Abby, my seventeen-year-old daughter, to live in peace.

  I drive into the oncoming lane to get around it, barely catching it with my back tire. Abby bounces, dropping her phone to the floor, and glances at me with annoyed teenage eyes. “Drive much, Dad?” She bends, reaching for the iPhone wrapped in a lavender and white Otter Box with a screen protector that keeps me from seeing just what she’s doing unless I’m looking directly at the phone. Not something I like, but her mother got it for her. She grabs it with nails that were manicured just yesterday, painted in a pale shade of coral. The color is bright against her tanned skin after a summer at my house.

  Smirking at her, I pull my Dodge into the driveway of her mom’s house. Not the house we shared but the one she bought with her new husband just before they got married. I park behind her mother’s Toyota and shut off the engine, turning to Abby. “Do you have all your stuff? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I got everything. Daddy, I have something for you before we go inside.” She bends over, reaching for her expensive designer purse. Not one a teenage girl should have. Again, her mother’s doing. After a short search, she pulls out a box wrapped in plain black wrapping paper with a white ribbon around it tied in a bow. “Happy birthday.” She smiles at me, shoving the package into my hands.

  “Honey, you didn’t have to do this.” I take it, tearing at the wrapping.

  “I know. But it was your money, so….” She shrugs with a smart-ass smile on her face. My smile. She looks like her mother, except when she smiles like this. This is when I see myself in my daughter’s face.

  I raise an eyebrow, chuckling as I wad the paper up and put it into the cupholder. I lift the lid to reveal a surprisingly nice watch; my daughter has my taste. It’s black and silver, no numbers, just hands ticking around a black face within a heavy metal band. I slip it onto my wrist.

  “Wait, look.” She takes it, turns it over. She had it engraved for me.

  Damn. Now I’m all emotional. No wonder she was blushing. “To Daddy, love Abby. Oh, honey, it’s perfect. I’ll treasure it.” I throw my arms around her and take in the sweet scent of her perfume and shampoo as I plant a kiss on the top of her head. “Thank you. You made my whole day.”

  She laughs, hugging me back. She probably thinks I'm just saying that because it’s what a dad is supposed to say, but I mean it.

  My daughter breaks out of my hug, and I put the watch on my right wrist, being left-handed. “It looks great. Thank you, honey.”

  She nods, grabbing her purse. “Can you come in? Mom told me to ask you. She wants to talk to you for a minute.”

  I blow out a heavy breath. I avoid Jennifer when I can. We parted on the worst possible terms. I didn’t ever imagine there were things worse than infidelity in marriage. Turns out I was wrong. Really wrong.

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll get your bags.”

  I grab her things out of the back of the truck and follow her up the steps. The front door has one of those big wreaths made of ribbon and sunflowers on it; my ex changes it with the seasons and holidays. Abby opens the unlocked door. The strong smell of plug-in room fresheners slaps me in the face. Fresh linen or ocean breeze, or something similar. I remember her spending a fortune on the things even when we were still married more than eight years ago.

  Vacuum trails cover the cream-colored rug. Abby kicks off her shoes in the entryway. No shoes are allowed in the house, of course. Memories of getting bitched at for stepping on the carpet in my “outside shoes” pop up in the back of my mind. I watch her, then step onto the thick, expensive carpet with my heavy boots. I don’t give two shits for her rules. Turning to the left, I set down the bags at the foot of the stairs.

  Abby implores me with wide eyes after watching me. “Daddy, can’t you—”

  “Nope. Take your stuff upstairs.”

  She sighs and picks up two bags. I shake my head at how Jennifer is spoiling her.

  “Mom, I’m home. Dad is here,” she calls, heading up the stairs.

  My ex-wife appears from the direction of the kitchen, teal-colored dishtowel in her hand. She glances down at my still-booted feet but remains silent. She doesn’t smile but tucks an invisible black hair behind her ear, despite the perfectly groomed loose bun on her head. Her brown eyes tell me all I need to know. Trepidation, a little hate, and a fake smile drifting in and out of those eyes I know way too well as she wrings the towel in her hands—also manicured, of course. “Hi, Justin. Happy birthday.”

  “You remembered. I’m surprised.” I cross my arms. “I know that’s not why I was invited inside.”

  “Come have some coffee.” She moves as if I’m going to follow her. I have no interest in spending the time it takes to drink a cup of coffee with this woman.

  “No, thanks. Look, I have a long drive back home. What do you want?”

  I note how she didn’t rush to say hello to Abby, who she hasn’t seen since May. It’s now the end of August.

  “Well, I guess I'll just get right to it, then. Jake is stuck out on the job for several weeks, and I’m having issues with the plumbing. He said he would take care of it, but I can barely get any hot water, and then when I do get it going, the shower in the master bathroom is scalding. I had a plumber come, and the estimate….” Her eyes move to mine. “I don’t have the money yet. I was hoping….”

  I sigh. She’s always tried to take advantage of the soft spot I have, despite what happened. I feel obligated to make sure the mother of my child has what she needs, but that went away when she walked down the aisle with her now absent husband. Now that’s his job, and I only worry about Abby. “Have him send you the money. It’s not my job to fix your plumbing, Jennifer.”

  I don’t know anything about her finances anymore. I remember how she was, how much she hid from me. Now, she may or may not have the money and just be hoping I’ll give in to her today because the man she married is never here. She’s never shied away from trying to take advantage of me. Not to mention that she was also always a stone-faced liar.

  “What about Abby? I mean, she—”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “She can come stay with me if it's that bad, but it doesn’t sound like it is. A cold shower never hurt anyone. Maybe if you didn’t blow all your money on shopping and manicures—”

  “Hey, you don’t know—” Her eyes flash the way they used to when we would fight. When she was getting mad.

  “I don’t know?” I laugh out loud. “You’re kidding, right? It took me years to un-fuck my credit after what you did. You’ll live. Cold water won’t kill you. Make your new man take care of it.”

  “You never suffered. You had plenty of money.”

  I can’t get sucked into this argument. I won’t. I struggle against the words fighting to get out of my mouth, to shut her down, but instead I turn on my boot and head for the door before we get into a fight, or she can talk me into paying for the repair, knowing I won’t get the money or the time back. Before Abby comes down and whines about cold water and I can’t say no to her.

  By the time I pull out of the driveway, I already feel guilty for just walking away. I roll my eyes at myself as I drive. Sucker, that’s what I am. But I’ll be damned if I spend all that time and money knowing she won’t appreciate it, that I won’t ever get it back. She’s not my wife anymore. Let it be Jake’s problem.

  I can’t see myself ever getting married again. Not unless it’s to someone I’m sure I k
now really well before going in. The trick is you can’t really know anyone, can you? I thought I knew Jennifer well when I married her, but it was several years before I found out the truth about who she was; we had a nine-year-old, for God’s sake. So here I am, forty-one years old, and I know I’m done. Date, yes. Live with them, sure, why not? Marry, no thanks.

  Not falling for that one again.

  My cell phone comes to life in the truck, attached to Bluetooth. My brother’s name lights up the touch screen on both the phone and the truck console to the right of the steering wheel. I hit the green button on the console, and his voice comes through my truck speakers as I pull onto the highway for the two-hour drive home.

  “Hey, fucker, happy birthday!”

  I laugh. “Thanks, David. What you up to?”