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And I am forever consumed in every element of them.
He slows his lips, inhaling deeply, as if bringing himself around. Holding his mouth on mine, his eyes closed, he takes a moment for himself. ‘How did you do it, Hannah?’ he asks as he opens his eyes, and I can tell, simply from the softness in his voice, that this is something burning his curiosity. ‘The fake papers, the death.’
This is a secret, along with so many others, I never ever thought I would tell. ‘The dying part was easy,’ I begin. ‘The new identity, not so much. Jarrad thought I was as oblivious to his business dealings as he wanted me to be. I overheard a conversation between him and his associates discussing the downfall of one of Jarrad’s biggest competitors.’
‘Quinton Brayfield?’ Ryan asks.
I nod. ‘They wanted him gone so they could buy out his business. I also discovered that Brayfield had a spy in Jarrad’s corporation. Jarrad found out, but Brayfield was one step ahead. The guy, the mole, was protected by a false identity, making it impossible for Jarrad to track him down and protect whatever data and information he’d stolen. My husband isn’t the kind of man to risk being beaten. And he would never let anyone get one over on him. So . . .’ I fade off, restocking on strength.
‘Hannah, what did you do?’ Ryan asks.
‘I went to old man Brayfield,’ I say quietly, not surprised when I see Ryan’s eyes widen. Because why would I do that? ‘I figured if he planted a ghost in my husband’s company, he could help me become one.’
‘Fucking hell, wasn’t that a bit risky?’
‘Maybe.’ I shrug. ‘But I’d always been fond of the old man. He was ruthless, but he wasn’t cruel. Loyalty meant a lot to him, and since I knew Jarrad was plotting a hostile takeover with his son, I figured he’d appreciate that information and help me.’ I’ll never forget his face. His compassion. The fact that I was sitting in the chair opposite him at his desk sporting a broken nose and two black eyes probably helped. ‘I didn’t ask him for anything other than the name of someone who could give me a new identity. He gave it to me. And a gun. I didn’t see him again.’
Ryan’s cheeks puff out, his palm rubbing at the back of his neck. ‘But you know Jarrad killed him.’
‘He came home late one night. He told me if the police asked, he was home with me all night. The next morning news of Quinton Brayfield’s suicide broke. He’d hung himself.’ I notice for the first time since I started talking that I sound a bit robotic. I’ve not replayed any of these events in over five years. And yet I recall every single detail as if it happened an hour ago.
‘Hannah.’ Ryan rests his palms on either side of my waist, leaning in. ‘Why didn’t you just go to the police? Have him locked up.’
I smile, but it’s in sympathy. He has no idea. ‘Do you think my husband’s power and influence would shrivel up just because there were bars between us?’
‘He wouldn’t be able to hurt you.’
‘Jarrad always fell in shit and came out smelling of roses, Ryan. He would have gotten himself out of it in one way or another. I would have still been a prisoner. He would never let me go, Ryan. His ego would never allow it, and neither would his obsession with power. Jarrad didn’t see me as his wife, he saw me as a possession. He never lost his possessions. He told me endlessly that only death would ever take me away from him.’ I swallow, feeling my throat thickening. ‘So I had to die.’
Ryan turns away from me, as if he can’t look at me anymore. ‘I want to kill him.’
My head drops, the energy it’s taking to keep it together waning. This is exactly what I feared. ‘I need you not to do that,’ I say, with almost humor in my voice. ‘It’s taken me a long time to reach this point in my life, and I don’t need you ruining it for me.’
He swings around in utter disbelief. ‘This point in your life? Hannah, at this point in your life, you’re being spooked by every little thing that reminds you of him. At this point in your life, you’re constantly looking over your shoulder. You should let me kill that motherfucker slowly so you can have your life without those constant worries.’ He slings his arms into the air in frustration. ‘And then maybe I won’t live in fucking fear that I’ll wake up one morning and the woman I love will be gone because she saw a fucking Mitsubishi drive past.’ He takes his fingers to his temples and wedges them there, closing his eyes tightly. ‘So don’t fucking tell me I shouldn’t kill him.’
