Beauty (A Midsummer Suspense Tale) (15 page)

Donna went back to the bedrooms and returned with another case—Bryar’s. Jesus, she’d already packed up her goddamn bedroom?

“Lora’s out getting a van,” Aunt Donna continued, as if Bryar had said nothing. “She’ll be back within the hour, and we’re leaving.”

Bryar pulled back from her other aunt, her gaze darting between them. “What in the hell is going on? You want to go away for a couple of days, I get that. But this,” she indicated the boxes of nearly everything they owned in the cottage, “this is overkill.”

“Bryar—” Merry started, reaching for her.

But Bryar backed up, nearly knocking over a stack of boxes. “No! What is going on?”

Merry sighed and looked at Donna, who had stopped moving herself. Instead her eldest aunt stood there silently, staring absently at the suitcases at her feet, and for the first time she wasn’t the severe, authoritarian parent Bryar knew.

She was scared.

Donna’s shoulders were turned inward, her hair askew. Her clothes were wrinkled like they’d been tossed on and forgotten while she worked all day. And her hands trembled, even as she balled them into fists as if trying to calm them.

Dread sank in Bryar’s gut and she knew whatever was going on, it was much, much worse than just the paparazzi outside.

“We have to tell her,” Aunt Merry said softly.

Aunt Donna nodded but said nothing. When Merry took Bryar’s arm, she let herself be drawn to the sofa, and sat there in silence while she waited.

“If I can find the kettle, I’ll put on some tea,” Merry offered, but Donna shook her head.

“Get the bourbon,” she said instead.

Bryar blinked. Aunt Donna
never
drank. She didn’t even know they had hard liquor in the house. Of course if she had, she probably would’ve stolen it as a teen.

She waited there on the couch, still in her jacket with her purse and bakery bag in her lap. The cottage was warm and sweat slicked down her spine, but she was too nervous to even move.

Aunt Donna sat wearily in the armchair across from the sofa. Aunt Merry returned with a pair of glasses of bourbon, handed one to her wife and kept the other while she perched on the arm of the couch.

“Bryar, your parents are alive,” Aunt Donna said immediately.

Bryar stared at her aunt, the words slowly processing. “Um...what?”

Donna wouldn’t meet her eyes, instead sipping at her bourbon and staring at her knees. “They didn’t die. They’ve been in hiding. As all of us have been as well. At least until
now
.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There was a threat on your life,” Aunt Merry said gently. Her bourbon rested on her knee—she hadn’t touched it, and in a moment Bryar thought she might grab it for herself. “And we had to hide you.”

“But...that was twenty years ago. Who would be threatening me?” Bryar looked from one aunt to the other. “Seriously, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Your parents are Stefan and Angelina Perrault,” Donna said at last. “And your real name is Talia Bryar Perrault. Which means nothing to you, I know. Hasn’t meant anything in twenty years now. They are...
were
, I should say...involved in organized crime.”

Bryar’s throat went dry. Mouth, too, like her tongue was suddenly sandpaper. “What?”

“They’re not bad people,” Merry said swiftly.

“
How
involved in organized crime?” Bryar bit out.

“It was a small group but they ran it,” Donna said matter-of-factly. “Merry is right—they aren’t terrible people. But they had their rivals and they were not kind to them. There was an accident, just after you were born. The son of one of these rivals—was killed. The Dragon swore revenge.”

“Dragon?” Bryar whispered.

“That’s what she goes by,” Merry said. “We don’t know her real name, no one does. Perhaps your father, but he’d never say. She only had one son. He died. She made it known she was coming after you.”

“She would never stop,” Donna continued. “Your parents committed crimes, yes. Many of them. But this woman...for years people thought she was a myth. But The Dragon is very real and she threatened you and we all knew what she was capable of. So we made a decision, the three of us and your parents, to get you to safety.”

“This is why we moved around when I was a kid,” Bryar said. Her lips were trembling and she clamped her mouth shut, tried to stop it.

Merry nodded. “This town seemed safe, though. We kept you offline. Kept ourselves offline. Stayed far from anywhere The Dragon might have influence.”

“But I was a baby. And I assume you’ve changed our names, how would she...?”

“Our photos are out there now too,” Donna said quietly. “The Dragon hasn’t been heard from in two decades but this morning we received a call. From your father, my brother.
He
found us. It took just days of this going viral, he saw our photos, and he knew. She’ll know as well. We have to run.”

Jesus Christ. Bryar just stared at the both of them, completely unable to think of what to say.
Oh hi, Bryar, you are actually a mob daughter! And someone wants to kill you! And we didn’t warn you, because reasons. Now you have to leave town. And, fuck, maybe the country.

“I don’t believe this,” Bryar mumbled.

“We can’t risk—”

“I’m twenty-two years old,” Bryar said. “And I’m supposed to just drop everything and go God knows where? For how long?
Forever
? Just run and hide until this dragon lady dies or something?” She stood abruptly, dumped the items from her lap onto the couch, and paced across the living room, raking her hands through her hair as she went. “I don’t believe this. I don’t fucking believe this.”

“It’s for your safety, Bryar—”

“So what, we get fake names? Like witness protection only without the protection part? Flee to the other side of the country? Again,
for how long
?”

“For as long as it takes to keep you
safe
!” Donna snapped.

Bryar stopped pacing and stared at her aunt.

She understood, then, all of the worry, the strict rules, the discipline. Understood what her aunts had been living with all these years.

But she didn’t understand how they couldn’t
tell her
.

She didn’t understand why she was never warned, why they waited until their hand was forced before speaking up. If they wanted her to have a normal life, well, even without this knowledge, she hadn’t. And now? Now everything she
did
have, everything she liked, was about to be taken away again.

“No,” she said sharply.

Aunt Donna blinked up at her. “What?”

“No. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not getting kicked out of my home because some bitch with a hard-on for vengeance against a kid who didn’t do anything wants me dead. You don’t even know if she’s still alive. This could all be for nothing.”

“Your parents would’ve come for you if it was safe—” Merry began.

“How am I supposed to believe that? They’re criminals who foisted me off on relatives and let me think they were dead my whole life. So, uh, no—fuck
that
. I’m not leaving.”

“For once in your goddamn
life
, Bryar, would you just listen to reason?” Donna pleaded, her eyes filling with tears. “We can’t bear if something happened to you. Please, this is the only way.”

Hell no, it wasn’t. She wasn’t sure exactly
what
the other way was, but she wasn’t running, and she wasn’t cowering. At least not at that moment. She couldn’t just go poof and disappear, her life in Midsummer completely gone. If she was leaving town, it would be as she’d always planned it: on
her
terms. Not on someone else’s.

Instead she said nothing, reaching for her purse and stomping for the back door.

“Bryar,” her aunts called in unison.

“You can run if you want,” Bryar returned angrily. “Go ahead. Leave. But I need
time
. You can’t just dump this shit on me and expect me to happily jump just ’cause you say.” And with that she stormed out the door and let it slam behind her.

Chapter Ten

Bryar was at his front gate again.

Sawyer waited inside while Scott went to escort her in—it seemed safer than just randomly opening the gate and seeing who slipped through with her—and he paced back and forth by the door while he waited. Valerie said nothing, seated still at the breakfast bar in the kitchen were they’d been eating dinner. He could already guess what she’d say and really didn’t want to hear it.

The front door opened and Sawyer stopped pacing. Bryar stepped in first and then Scott, who locked the door and keyed in all the alarm codes. He gave Bryar a brief, friendly smile, then his gaze moved pointedly to Sawyer before he exited the foyer for the kitchen.

Sawyer stared down at her for a moment. “Is everything okay?”

“I was going to apologize for barging in again, blah blah, but honestly...” Her eyes swept up to his. “Can you just get me drunk?”

“That I can definitely do.” He slid his arm over her shoulder and pulled her through the house, down the steps to the den. Scott and Val wouldn’t disturb them and they had the entertainment system in the living room to keep them occupied.

He flipped the den lights on, low as he had the night before, and immediately went for the bar while she stripped off her coat and shoes and dumped her purse on the couch. She wandered over to the glass patio door. “Have you run the hot tub yet?”

He poured two glasses of whiskey, filling them nearly to the brim. “Val and Scott did the first night. Want to go for a dip?” He brought her the drink and she immediately took a long sip of it.

“I was going to say if it’s not too much trouble, but I don’t care if it’s trouble—yes, yes I would like to sit in your hot tub and drink more alcohol.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He still wasn’t sure what was going on but he had to respect a woman on a mission, and he was not opposed to the idea.

He directed her to the stereo with instructions to find music she
liked
—which she snorted at, but didn’t argue—while he moved the cover off the hot tub. For a moment he sent a worried look at the property behind, but there was no sign of anyone, and the lattice-work fence around much of the back deck kept the tub mostly from view. The lights outside were turned down low, the interior of the hot tub glowing blue from lights near the jets. Sawyer stripped down to his boxer’s and stepped into the hot water, which immediately chased away the cool fall air. Steam rose, dampening his exposed skin as he sank down low.

Speakers from the sound system inside were set into the house’s exterior by the door, and soon the low sound of a synthesizer kicked up followed by drums and guitar. Bryar came sauntering out to “In a Gadda Da Vida”, her hips swaying seductively and lips wrapped around the rim of the glass she was polishing off. She set the empty glass down, hips still moving, and peeled down her slacks and panties, then her button down shirt and bra. Soon she was standing completely naked before him and not seeming to care much about it.

Sawyer took a deep breath and leaned back against the side of the tub, his arms stretched out on either side of him and hands in fists, cock growing harder by the second. She was in her own little world, moving seductively but oblivious to what she was doing to him as she climbed into the hot tub.

She let out a long moan of pleasure as she sank into the water’s hot depths, eyes closing and head tipping back—the sound and movement almost seemed orgasmic, and Sawyer’s heart thumped hard as he watched her. Much of her body was obscured by the bubbling water now that crept up to her throat, the outline of her breasts barely visible. Her legs stretched out, brushing his.

“It was not a good night,” she said softly.

“Well, mine’s at least improving.”

The comment was a risky one considering something was up, the anger hanging on her barely by a thread. But instead she grinned at him, her eyes opening and landing on his. He watched for any sign that the alcohol had hit her too hard but it hadn’t—she was lucid.

And sexy as hell.

Her back arched, the dark points of her nipples poking through the water’s surface. “Would you believe I’m the daughter of mobsters?”

Jesus, was she high too? “What?”

“
Exactly
what I said.” She slumped back down in the water with a sigh. “But it’s true. I think. My aunts could be lying—maybe we could google them later. Anyway, they killed a rival’s son, like twenty years ago, so I was stolen away like in some lame thriller movie and raised in secret, and now here we are, with my face and name all over the internet, and apparently The Dragon is coming to get me.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Christ.
The Dragon
. This is so fucking ridiculous, I can’t believe this is my life.”

Sawyer stared at her, unsure of what to say. She didn’t
sound
like she was kidding. And there was a brittle frailness to this laughing facade that seemed ready to crack at any second.

“Bryar...”

She met his eyes then, her irises dark and sad, full of warning and tears about to spill. “Not right now. I can’t right now—I’m just
so
freaked out. I can’t talk right now, Sawyer.”

“What
do
you want?”

Her leg brushed his again, intentionally this time. “You.”

He sucked in a breath as she shifted and surged forward in the water, her long black curls trailing behind her. She moved immediately between his legs, her hands running from his shins to his knees, his thighs. He held his breath and waited, followed her lead as she drew herself up close, pressed her chest to his, and kissed him hard.

Bryar worked his boxers down and off, dropping them over the edge of the hot tub to disappear on the deck, then once again settled between his legs. One hand boldly gripped his cock under the water and he gasped, fighting to remain steady as she began to stroke him. Each touch was bold, purposeful, and he knew for at least the next little while, he was entirely at her mercy. She sat back on her heels, the water lapping at her breasts. He desperately wanted to touch her, to take control, to feel her shudder and moan under his palms.