The Legacy (Rivers Wilde Book 1)

by Dylan Allen

  A loud roar comes out of nowhere and cuts through the ringing in my head and then, I’m falling. His body is yanked free of mine, and I land with a thud on my ass, and look over to see Hayes on top of Barry. His fists are flying and making contacting with sickening thuds and crunches of skin and bone. “You motherfucking piece of shit!” he yells in between his arm’s wild swings.

  I run to him, to try and make him stop. I’m afraid he’ll kill him. But he’s in a rage and doesn’t hear me. I run back to the top of the alley and scream for help at the top of my lungs before the tsunami of emotions overwhelms me and I faint.

  HELPLESS

  HAYES

  “I wanted to talk to you before you went out there. Confidence is waiting,” Amelia says.

  “What is it?” I ask and finish buttoning my shirt. I’m being released from the courthouse jail where I’ve spent most of the day.

  She sighs and leans back against the wall. “Well, I have good news and bad news. What do you want first?” she asks.

  “The good, please,” I say. “Maybe the sun will explode as soon as you’re done with the good news, killing us all in the process. And you’ll never get a chance to tell me the bad news.”

  “Are you drunk?” she asks after a beat of silence.

  “I’ve been in jail. The only thing I’ve had to get drunk on is the clusterfuck juice of my life. Give me the good news first,” I repeat.

  “The DA isn’t pressing charges against you.”

  “I wish he would,” I snap.

  “Hayes, that is your anger talking,” she says like I’m being tedious.

  “I want as many opportunities to tell the world what a piece of shit Barry Jimenez is. And if standing trial for defending my woman would give me just one more chance to tell everyone, I’d do it.”

  “A trial would be a disaster for you right now. All of the rebuilding of the Rivers name will go down the drain,” she minds me.

  “I don’t care,” I say.

  “You should,” she snaps. “Here’s the bad news. Your uncle has petitioned the board for your removal, without regard for the DNA results,” she says.

  “The fuck he did!” I shout and spin around to face her. “What? How? Can they do that?” I ask in alarm.

  “Yes. They can. There’s a clause added by your grandfather about thirty years ago that gives them the right to do this.”

  “What does it say? This clause?”

  “In the event that the actions of the chairman materially damage the social standing of the organization or cause a negative light to be cast on the family’s reputation that their ability to lead the board could be questioned or challenged. Your uncle and stepmother are doing that.”

  “Is this about that asshole who attacked my girlfriend?” I ask angrily.

  “This is about you having to be pulled off him after breaking his ribs, his nose, and knocking out one of his teeth,” she explains.

  “Well, the DA hasn’t pressed charges,” I say.

  “But Mr. Jimenez is suing you civilly, Hayes. For a lot of money,” she says.

  “I don’t really give a shit about the money. You think I was going to stand there, watch him put his hands on my woman, try to rape her, and just kindly ask him to stop? You’re out of your mind, and he’s lucky I didn’t fucking kill him. If I ever see his ass again, I might,” I tell her.

  “Don’t say that out loud. Because if he ends up dead, whether he had a heart attack or died in a plane crash, you won’t be able to stop the rumor from suggesting you had something to do with it. You have extraordinary power. Access to an almost limitless amount of money. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to think you’d dispose of an enemy and try to make it look like natural causes. So, do not talk like that to anyone,” she says.

  “Fuck that motherfucker and the law that allows him to turn himself into the victim here,” I spit out.

  “Well, now he’s cooperating with your uncle. And they are coming for you hard. I’m going to file for a temporary restraining order on the action to remove you. I don’t expect it will be granted, but at the very least it will force them to present whatever evidence they have against you in their little coup d’état. That is what this is. It is whole out war. They want you gone, and they’ll do it by any means necessary,” she says.

  “I think you’re overreacting. They want money, not my life,” I brush her off.

  “Don’t dismiss it. It’s not just money. It’s control of the entire Rivers family line and future. They want it. I want you to keep your head down. And you’re going to like what I have to say next even less,” she says.

  “That is a very high bar you just set. What could be worse?”

  “I want you to put some distance between you and Confidence,” she says.

  “Fuck. No,” I say immediately. I feel a flush of guilt when I remember that I had even considered the same thing myself. I close my eyes to push down the rage that threatens to consume me when I remember the scene I walked in on. Her against the wall. Him between her legs. Hurting her. My stomach roils.

  “No way. Are you kidding? You want me to stay away from my woman so that punk ass uncle of mine can have what he wants? No fucking way,” I say.

  “No, I want you to stay away from her, so he can’t use her to get to you. He knows she matters to you, and that makes her a target. Make him think you’ve broken up. Just until it goes away. The petition he filed has rules. I’m filing the TRO today. It’ll be denied. We’ll have seven days to respond. Just think about it,” she urges me in that intense whisper she does when she’s trying to be persuasive. But I don’t need persuading.

  “I’m sick of this, and I’m ready for it to be over,” I tell her.

  “Good. We’re going to need to spend all week getting our response together. Now, the DNA results will come back before then, and depending on their outcome—”

  “Why do I get the impression, Amelia, that you’re worried about the results?” I cut her off.

  She stares at the floor. Her silence is alarming.

  I press her.

  “Tell me. Now,” I say. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing, Hayes. I don’t know anything. But I’m worried because Swish told me something before he died—right before he died.”

  “What?”

  “He said, ‘Hayes is his …’ and that was all. I don’t know what ‘his’ meant. I didn’t even make anything of it because he was so close to the end, and he’d been in an out of consciousness for two days. I have always thought they were the words of his dying mind. Until …”

  “Until my uncle brought this up.” Understanding dawns. “Shit. You think somehow, he raised me as his own, but I’m not?” I ask her.

  “Honestly, until today, I did think just that. I was sure that the test would come back proving you were not your father’s son. But him filing this second motion, to have you removed, says he’s not one hundred percent sure of his position. Otherwise, he would just let the DNA test results take you out. That’s why I want to try and buy you as much good will as possible. If you are his son, then I want you to be able to fight the other charges. It’s important that you maintain an unimpeachable public reputation.”

  “No, I need to focus on maintaining my unimpeachable private reputation. The woman I love and who I plan on asking to spend the rest of my life with was almost raped today. I don’t care if I get to be the chairman of the board of a company that would turn its back on people who have been harmed by its negligence. I don’t. That will not be my legacy. I have my own money. I have my own fucking name. And I have a woman who I love more than anything that I need to keep safe. I need to focus on that right now,” I tell her.

  “I think distance could keep her safe. And you, too.” I dismiss her and decide to end the conversation because I’m desperate to get to Confidence and see how she’s feeling. I take my keys, phone, and wallet from the small envelope they brought in with my clothes.

  “Let me know what the DNA test sa
ys, Amelia. But honestly, I am about done with this family and its shit. I’m not the head of it. I’m just the next in a line of men who have been puppets controlled by the whims of a man who has been dead for a hundred years. That doesn’t make me a ruler or king or leader. I’m just filler.”

  “Hayes, don’t make hasty decisions.”

  “I’m not making any decisions. For once in my life, I just really don’t give a shit,”

  I tell her and walk out.

  She’s waiting on a bench by the back door that leads to the exit. She’s curled up, her legs tucked underneath her, her hands wedged between her thighs. Her head is bent. She looks so small, and as I get closer I can see can see a bruise on her arm. My gut knots. The door slams shut behind me and she looks up in my direction, her eyes wide at first and then softening with relief when she sees me.

  “Hey, baby,” I say as I start toward her. She jumps off the bench and runs toward me. Her arms are pumping, her hair flies behind her, and her face is a mask of determination as she launches herself into my open arms.

  “Hayes,” she breathes my name into my neck. She’s trembling and squeezing my neck so tightly that I almost can’t breathe. But I would rather die than let her go. My heart is in my throat as I stand there with her in my arms. Her heart thuds against my chest and she cries quietly. Her tears soak my t-shirt and I feel frustrated at my powerlessness.

  “I’ve been so scared, Hayes,” she whispers against my neck.

  “I’m so sorry, Tesoro.” My ribs feel two sizes too small for my body.

  She’s been alone all day. I hate that she felt a moment of fear. I hate that she had to worry about me on top of all of that.

  I walk us out just like that to the SUV that Amelia ordered for me. It’s nearly two in the morning and the few reporters who are still hanging around waiting for me to be released are snoozing when we step out. They all wake up when the door closes, but the driver has the door to my car open and we’re inside before more than a few camera flashes catch us.

  As soon as the door closes, I raise the privacy screen. I try to put her down on the seat next to me, but she won’t let go. She’s trembling. I cup her face and find her cheeks wet with tears.

  Cold dread fills me. I thought I’d gotten there in time.

  “Baby, did he …?” I can’t bring myself to finish the question.

  “No.” She shakes her head. In the dark of the car, I can’t see her face, so I reach up to turn on the overhead lights. She puts a hand on mine and says, “please, don’t,”

  “Why?” I bring my arm down and cup her cheek. She nestles her face and her breath brushes my skin in warm puffs. “I’m just so happy to be with you. That you came for me. It was fucking awful. I haven’t been that scared in a very long time,” she whispers.

  “Oh, baby.” I feel so fucking useless.

  “So, thank you, Hayes. You’ve saved me twice now,” she says and then climbs down from my lap. She rests her head on my shoulder and by the time we’re pulling up to the valet at The Ivy, she’s fast asleep. I carry her up to her apartment.

  She doesn’t stir as I put her in bed. I lock her door behind me and tell the doorman that no one should be allowed up without her okay. Then, I get into the back of my waiting car.

  In the dark of the car, I cry. Like I haven’t since I was a boy. Not a sobbing cry, but hitched breaths and watery, greedy gulps of air, while my chest heaves under the weight of everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours. By the time I get home, I’m spent.

  WOUNDED

  CONFIDENCE

  Since the terrible incident in Rivers Wilde, my life has been lived in hectic, noisy spaces that fall between crying jags, snatches of fitful sleep, police interviews, and worry. I went to work that Monday, despite my bruises and aches. I had nothing to be ashamed of, and I had a lot of work to do.

  The pro-Barry movement has lost most of its members. But, the few loyal ones who don’t seem to care that he tried to rape me in broad daylight don’t try to hide their contempt. On top of that, we hit a real roadblock in the class-action suit against Kingdom. The class is divided. A lot of them want to settle. And there’s talk about them breaking away to form their own suit.

  Oh, and I’m officially pregnant. I went to see my doctor after getting slammed up against that wall and they did a blood test. It’s official. I’m due on the 28th of May. I’m ten weeks along and I have an ultrasound picture tucked into my purse. Hayes and I have been talking every day, but, that’s it. He’s been busy every time I’ve tried to see him. I thought he needed some space like I did. But, now I’m worried that he’s avoiding me.

  While he had been in custody after his arrest, Amelia had filled me on what happened that morning and why he’d been late to meet me in the first place.

  The memory of that night, knowing that he’s alone while dealing with what happened in the alley as well as the prospect that he is not his father’s son, has torn at me and kept me awake every night since I saw him.

  I was starting to feel frustrated because I had been through an ordeal, too—a big one, and I didn’t have my best friend’s shoulder to cry on. I was pregnant and hadn’t told him because I hadn’t had the chance to. He hasn’t answered his phone all day.

  Amelia called me this evening to say she had the DNA results but couldn’t reach Hayes. She said she was headed to his house, so I asked her to bring me with her. And here we are.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” Amelia says for the fourth time in the last two minutes.

  “Maybe not. But if things go wrong, I’ll handle it,” I tell her.

  “You can’t handle a man that size. What if he loses it again?” she asks.

  I reach up and punch on the overhead light in her car.

  “If you make one more comment about Hayes that implies he’s a danger to me or dangerous at all, I will make sure he fires you,” I tell her.

  Her eyes narrow and she leans forward. “I’ve served this family for years. Swish himself trained me. I’d like to see you try to get rid of me,” she says coldly.

  “No. You wouldn’t,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t hold back when it comes to him. And if you believe any of that shit his ex-wife spewed about him, you don’t deserve to lick his boots, much less to be on his payroll,” I growl at her.

  Her eyes widen and she leans back. “I’m glad you’ve got so much backbone. You’re going to need it. I don’t know what’s in that envelope, but if it’s not good, things could get ugly,” she says somberly. Her eyes are so grave and my heart sinks.

  I glance up at Hayes’s house. There are no signs of life inside. But I know he’s there and I need to get to him.

  “Let me just say this—since you don’t seem to know—he would never touch me or anyone who couldn’t defend themselves against him. He’s not a bully or an abusive man. Sure, he’s an asshole sometimes, but that’s how he’s managed to survive in this cesspool of humanity he was born into. I’m his second chance. He’s mine. No matter what the results say, we’ll be fine because that’s what we do. I’ve been preparing myself, it’ll be okay. You can leave.”

  “Okay,” she says quickly, easily, and with a touch of relief.

  “Okay. Give me the envelope and then get out of here. I’ll find my way back or Hayes will bring me. Either way, tomorrow we get to work on taking that uncle of his down,” I say and wait for her to nod.

  “God help the person who comes up against the two of you. You’re like two sides of the same coin,” she says, her voice full of marvel.

  “That’s right,” I affirm, glad that she finally sees it. “God help them.”

  I open the car door, turn around to give her one last reassuring smile and say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I decide to knock first. But after three knocks, with two minutes between each, there is still no answer. So I use the key and let myself in.

  The house is quiet. The ticking of a wall clock, the hum of subzero fridge, the whir and click o
f the air conditioning coming on and the chirp of what sounds like hundreds of cicadas fill the otherwise still, dark house.

  “Hayes,” I call. There’s no resounding echo, none of the certainty that comes knowing that you’re heard, even if you’re not seen. I feel my first real prick of worry for him. I should have come sooner.

  “Hayes,” I call out again and start up the stairs. The carpeted runner silences my footfalls, but the wooden steps still creak every other step. It’s silent upstairs, too. There’s a light peeking around the frame of the door that leads to his master bedroom. As I get closer, I hear his snores. I push the door open and my anger spikes.

  Lined up along the foot of the bed are four empty bottles of Jack Daniels. I watch him. Even in his sleep, he’s strong and powerful.

  His brows are relaxed, his stubble-covered jaw is still strong, but not so rigid. His lips are parted and soft. For the first time, I see the little boy who grew up without his mother in a house that was managed like a chessboard. Manipulations, lies, and death blows.

  I spend a few minutes watching him and then pick up the glass of water by his bed and throw it at him. His eyes pop open in surprise. I step back when he starts to shake his head back and forth to get the water off and wipes the water out of his eyes before he looks up at me. His eyes are murderous.

  “What the hell?” he yells at me.

  “You tell me!” I give him the full force of my anger, too. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” I seethe.

  “I told you I needed a few days,” he grumbled.

  “I knew you needed some time to think. And I walk in here to find you living like you’re a frat boy on spring break.” I point at the bottles lined up on the floor.

  “Stop screaming,” he moans and cradles his head.

  “I’m not screaming. Even though I should be. You fucking abandoned me, Hayes!” Now, I raise my voice.