Betraying Beauty (Sons of Lucifer MC): Vegas Titans Series

by Celia Loren

  We stare at each other for a long moment, at an impasse. Finally, Dad’s shoulders soften. “Harper, you’re an adult. I can’t tell you what to do with your life or force you to confide in me.”

  “I know, father.”

  He seems to pick his words carefully. “You don’t know how concerned I’ve been, these last months, with everything going on in your life: the horrible business with Danny dying, you disappearing and then showing up again with that lawsuit out of left field, hearing from your brother about this new man in your life.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “I know I’ve gone a little off the approved Sinclair path.”

  At this Dad surprises me again. “Your mother and I raised you the way we knew how, preparing you for the kind of life we understand. But clearly, that’s not what you want. All of this you’re doing is out of my experience, Harper. We always wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. I still want to protect you. But I don’t know how to protect you if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

  Inside, I’m in turmoil. Is he really willing to loosen the grip my family has held for generations, willing to let me choose my own way?

  “Harper,” Dad says, “Tell me how to help you.”

  “You mean you want to help us? Me, and Dominic? We’re together, Dad.”

  Dad frowns, his jaw tightening, but he nods. “Fine. Yes. I want to help you, and…Dominic.”

  “No matter what?”

  “No matter what.”

  I stare deep into his eyes, eyes that look so much like mine that I melt a little. The man behind those eyes must be more like me than I realize, must have some of the spark and passion for justice, for truth and freedom that has burned inside me all these years, the hunger for love and warmth and realness, the frustration with a gilded cage. He must have loved my mother the way I love Dominic, once. He must be able to understand.

  Maybe I can reach him, maybe I can make him see.

  “Alright,” I say. “I’ll tell you everything, Dad. But promise me this stays between us—and let me finish the whole story before you say anything.”

  “I promise.”

  Taking a deep breath, I dare myself to trust him. I dare myself to let my father in the biggest secret I’ve ever kept, to let him really see his daughter for the first time.

  “Well Dad, Dominic and I are in a little trouble now. And I’m not sure what to do next. But you’ve got to know the whole story to understand what’s going on. It actually started almost ten years ago, when you let me go to that camp in the Adirondacks…”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dominic

  When my eyes open I feel like I’m pulling myself up out of the grave.

  Bed. IV line. White sheets.

  I see a clock on a clinical wall, all beige, and my body feels heavy. The next sensation is awareness of extra pressure over my calves. When I lift my neck to look down the length of my body, my head thrums dully and I groan.

  “Fuck.”

  “Dominic?”

  It’s Harper. She was asleep, her head and arms spread across my ankles, her face turned toward me. But at my slight movement and curse, she stirs and jolts upright. Now she’s standing and leaning over me in a second.

  “Oh, baby, am I glad to see your eyes open. Just lay down and relax, try not to strain too much. You had surgery on your shoulder and thigh.”

  “Where am I?” I rasp.

  “Oh, right, don’t worry, there were no cops or anything. Your club guys showed up right when you passed out and I called my Dad, he was the only one I could think of. We came straight to his office.”

  Her rapid-fire explanation comes to a grinding halt and she stares down at me, her eyes welling with tears that she’s fighting to keep back. I want to comfort her, but I can barely move and barely speak.

  “Hey,” I whisper, “It’s ok.”

  I try to reach a hand up to brush her cheek, but my arm seems to be in a cast.

  Harper pulls her chair closer to the head of the bed and sits, lacing her fingers in mine and giving my hand a kiss. I can feel her tears on my skin but the next minute she’s beaming at me.

  “I’m so glad you’re awake,” she repeats.

  We just sit there like that a while, waiting for my consciousness to return. Licking my lips, I hazard another sentence. “Your Dad?”

  She sighs. “He’s just outside. Baby, I know you’re tired, and you just woke up, but I need to say something ok? Hear me out.”

  I try to nod but regret it. Wincing, I say, “Shoot.”

  Harper stares at our hands, her eyes going cold. “I killed a man, yesterday.”

  Her words sink through me, making everything heavier.

  Colt. She means Colt. I remember him standing over me, I remember seeing Harper jump on his back. She killed him.

  Fuck. I wish I could take that away from her, wash away what she must be feeling. “My fault,” I whisper. “Should have protected you.”

  “No, don’t be crazy!” She shakes her head. “Dominic, I’m only alive because of you. You did protect me. But I have blood on my hands now. I can’t stay here.”

  Shit. She’s right. If she killed Colt, people will be after her. She can’t stay here in Las Vegas. I failed to protect her, failed to keep her safe, and now I’m going to fail at keeping her with me. Of course she wants out.

  Choking down my self-pity, I grit my teeth. This makes sense. She needs to be safe, and I can’t give that to her. I failed. I wasn’t enough. Never enough.

  Biting back my plea for her to reconsider, I let my grogginess mask the emotion and pain in my voice. “Ok.”

  You’re not good enough Dominic. You’re not enough.

  Fuck. No, not those lying, shitty voices again!

  I’m better than that. I’m not a weak lost kid. I’m not trapped on the reservation. I’m not going to be beat down by this. Goddamn it, I survived losing her before and I can do it again. I can do this. I have survived worse.

  I am Dominic Thorne. I am Mohawk. I am white. I am two worlds and two people in one. I am a fighter, a survivor, and need no charity.

  I can let her go.

  “It’s ok,” I whisper. “I understand.”

  Harper sighs and leans back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. She looks so tired. That’s my fault, too. If I hadn’t kidnapped her in the first place, she wouldn’t have gotten involved with my club’s problems. There would have been no tricky lawsuit, no blackmail, and no attempted murder from Colt. Now she’s here on the other side of it and I can see the toll it’s taken on her—the mark I’ve left. And there’s nothing I can say or do to fix it, especially not laid up like I am.

  Fuck. I can’t remember ever feeling more powerless. One by one, the people that have loved me have slipped away. Heath, and Harper. Now she’s going to leave and I can’t do anything about it.

  Nor should I, I think, gritting my teeth. I want her to be safe, happy. Obviously I can’t give her that. If I love her, and I know I do, I have to put her first—right?

  I should have realized this ten years ago: the right thing to do is let her go.

  My body goes hot, then feels lighter than air as my tension diffuses. It’s simple, actually. Not easy, but simple: I do love her, and I have to set her free.

  But I’m curious. “Where will you go?”

  “That’s what I want to talk with you about,” she says.

  Before she can get into it, there’s a knock at the door and a man I don’t recognize walks in. Nevertheless, he’s familiar: same eyes as Harper, same build as Haden, but older and sharper looking as if he eats only lettuce and reads Latin at night. He frowns at me through his glasses.

  “Ah,” he says, “The hero awakens.”

  Brr! So much for a friendly bedside manner!

  “Dad can you drop the sarcasm,” Harper scolds. “Dominic, this is my father, Dr. Augustus Sinclair. Dad, this is Dominic Thorne.”

  “Hello,” I rasp.

  “Yes, well, I’m somewhat acquainted wi
th the man, Harper, having performed his surgery.” The doctor ignores me, turning to Harper. “Well?”

  “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “Ah.”

  “I was just about to.”

  “Alright.”

  They stare at each other.

  “Dad, can you please…are you gonna stay?”

  “Harper, dammit, we haven’t got all day. Tell him and tell him now so that we can make all the arrangements. This concerns me too.”

  “I was hoping for some privacy, Dad.”

  “Ahem,” I interject, drawing two pairs of startled blue eyes my way. Clearly they forgot I was here. “Tell me what?”

  It might be my imagination, but Dr. Sinclair seems to give Harper a little push in my direction before folding his arms across his chest and glaring over his glasses at her, eyebrows raised. She seems awkward, uncomfortable. But with both of us staring at her, waiting, she has little choice and clears her throat.

  “Well,” she stammers. “Dominic, it’s like this. Don’t be mad.”

  How could I be mad when all I am so far is confused?

  Harper takes a deep breath. “I told my Dad about us, from the beginning at camp up until what happened yesterday. I told him what Danny really was, and about the Depraved Club, and the Sons of Lucifer, and Colt. I asked him for help, because, well, I killed Colt, and you and I are going to be on the blacklist of the Leviathan Corp and the NYPD now. It’s only a matter of time before one or the other catches up with us. So, my father offered to help us…out. Of the country.”

  She pauses to see my response, but I am too shocked to do anything but stare back.

  Now Dr. Sinclair steps in. “I’m afraid my daughter has been rather vague,” he says. “What I propose to do is offer you the family’s Bombardier as a means of expatriation. But it’s best if you leave now. Tonight.”

  “It’s a plane,” Harper explains, seeing my blank look.

  The doctor blinks at her. “Hmm? Oh, yes, a private jet. The Bombardier BD-700 Global Express.”

  “Same plane that Oprah has,” Harper interjects, with an eye-roll.

  “Which is currently on standby,” says the doctor, checking his watch. “Not a moment to lose.”

  Am I on acid right now? Who the hell has a private jet? What are these people talking about?

  “You can fly it wherever you like,” Dr. Sinclair continues. “It is your means to establish yourselves with a new life outside the jurisdiction of the laws of the United States, and out of the reach or awareness of your unlawful enemies. I’ve already transferred a trust of funds to a Swiss bank account to ensure your income.”

  “I don’t need the money,” Harper hisses.

  “I need you to have the money,” her father snips.

  “I’m perfectly capable of working.”

  “That is beside the point.”

  “Guys,” I say, drawing them back. “Let me get this straight. Doc, you want to give us your plane and smuggle us out of the country?”

  He nods curtly. “Correct. But we need to act quickly. From what Harper tells me, there are probably a lot of unsavory people looking for you as we speak. Which is why I recommend an immediate decision.”

  My brain is whirling.

  “Why?” I ask. “Why help me?”

  The older man stares at me, not bothering to conceal his icy dislike.

  “My daughter loves you.” He says this like it tastes bad. “And I love my daughter.”

  I stare at Harper, who is biting her lip, and plops into the chair next to me again. “I’m sorry, I know this is a hell of a lot to process. But my Dad is right; the longer we wait to decide, the more complicated it gets to try to get out. The clock is ticking for both of us.”

  It is a lot to process. But underneath the elaborate escape plan, the private jet, and the rush, the thing that keeps jumping out at me is: “Both of us?” I take Harper’s hand in mine, squeezing as hard as I can—which isn’t very hard. “You’re not leaving me? Running off into the sunset by yourself in your private jet?”

  I know I sound like a pathetic, scared kid, but I can’t help it. I had to ask.

  Harper’s eyes widen. “Of course not! Yes, both of us. Did you think I’d just run off and save my own neck and leave you here?”

  “No,” I say. “Not like that. I’d understand if you wanted out.”

  Her face shifts, softens. She reaches around her neck, unfastening her necklace, and lets the pendant and chain fall into the palm of my hand.

  The swan.

  Closing my fingers around it, she smiles at me. “For life.”

  I smile back, through the pain and the heaviness. “For life.”

  “So,” asks the doctor, “Is this a yes to the plan?”

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  He checks his watch again. “Four o’clock in the afternoon.”

  I nod. “We’ll be ready by six. Harper, I need Grindhouse. Can you find him or call him, whatever. And toss me my phone, if you have it.”

  A few loose ends, that’s all I have really. Now that I’ve set my mind on starting over with Harper, it’s amazing how clear and easy it is to pick up and walk out of my life. The thought makes me feel giddy, like a kid at Christmas.

  Really, there are only two things to take care of.

  There’s the club. Well, I know the guys: they’ll let me abdicate, given the circumstances. I wouldn’t be the first member we’ve sent out of the states for protection. They’ll welcome Grindhouse as the new President, a natural promotion from his current position as VP. I’ll always be one of the Sons of Lucifer, even from far away. I’ll still be a member, just…a nomad.

  Then there’s The Thunders and the halfway house: slower to fix, but just as simple. I’ve always had it set up to pretty much run itself with a manager and the club on the board. Charlie Foxtrot was always the Executive Director. With the settlement Harper got us, they can rebuild no problem. And River will be an adult soon, she’d be perfect to master the helm.

  And that’s it, really. Easy.

  Harper and her Dad are almost out the door to take care of their end of errands when the doctor halts. “Oh, by the way, what destination shall I tell the pilot, so she can charter a course?”

  Harper looks at the doctor, then at me. “Wow, I didn’t even think of that. I don’t know. Dominic? We could even just go to the St. Regis res, couldn’t we? They’re a sovereign nation.”

  “How about Mexico? Nicaragua? Costa Rica?” asks the doctor. “Harper, you’re fluent in Spanish.”

  I smile, the perfect place popping into my mind like the answer in a magic-8 ball. “Nova Scotia,” I say. “Definitely Nova Scotia.”

  When Harper raises her eyebrows, I raise mine back mysteriously. “I know a guy.”

  Harper’s grin is enigmatic. “Nova Scotia, huh? Sounds quaint.”

  The door clicks behind her, leaving me alone with my phone. I pick it up and punch in a number, which I hope is still good. After a few rings, a growly baritone answers. It’s a friend’s voice I haven’t heard in a long, long time.

  “Davies here.”

  “Is this the artist formerly known as Bane The Beast Harme?”

  The voice on the other end of the line cackles in laughter. “Thorne? You son of a bitch, how’d you find me? Wouldn’t have anything to do with a chatty cousin of mine in Jersey, would it?”

  “Let’s just say a lucky guess.”

  “You sound like shit.”

  “I feel like shit.”

  Bane the Beast. One of the first guys I knew in the city to stand up against the Depraved Club, when his own MC was running one. He’s the first guy I know of to outsmart the D.C. and live to tell the tale. A good man.

  A good man to know, right now.

  “Well,” he grunts. “Why the call? Last I heard you were taking on Leviathan Corp, trying to shut down all the Depraved Clubs.”

  “Not taking them on, taking them down. And it’s already halfway done. But listen,
my woman and I, we need to lay low. The war will still be won without us, and we gotta check out. I was wondering if there’s an extra room in that hideout of yours.”

  “Woman?! You got a woman, motherfucker? Since when?”

  I try and fail to keep the grin off my face. At least he can’t hear a grin.

  Bane isn’t letting up. “Seriously. You’re telling me that Dominic Throne, the thunder fucker, fucking lone wolf sex god mystery man extraordinaire, has got a woman. A woman. As in, one. Like, a single woman with whom you are in a relationship. One woman.”

  “Yup. The one.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yup.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yup.”

  “The one, huh? You lucky cocksucker.”

  “Yup.”

  “Dude, you better get your ass up here then. Las Vegas is no place to raise a family.”

  I smile, rubbing my fingers over Harper’s swan pendant. It’s like her: slender, graceful, strong as steel. I can’t imagine drawing another breath without her.

  “Brother,” I say, “You read my fucking mind. We’ll be there tonight.”

  Bane laughs again. “I’ll tell the old lady, she’ll be all about it. We’ll get the guest room ready for you lovebirds. Throw pillows and shit, I don’t even know man. We’re nesting or something.”

  “Thanks brother.”

  “Sure thing. And Dominic? Welcome to the rest of your life. I tell you what, this side of it—the to have and to hold shit? So much fucking better than you think it’s gonna be.”

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice. We hang up and I lay back in bed, unable to knock it off with the shit-eating grin that’s all over my face.

  She’s staying with me. It’s enough.

  It’s everything.

  There’s only one thing left to take care of. Picking up the phone, I punch in a number I haven’t dialed in years, already feeling the lump of emotion in my throat after the first ring. A husky woman’s voice answers.

  “Skennen'kó wa ken,” she says, a Mohawk greeting. Do you have the great peace?

  It’s been so long since we’ve talked.

  “Hen, skennen'kó wa.” I answer. Yes, the great peace. “Ishta? Mom? It’s me.”