Beautiful Ruin (The Enemies Trilogy Book 3)

by Piper Lawson

  My abs clench as I follow him onto the yacht.

  Is this how my brother feels about talking with law enforcement? He acted nervous when I put him in touch with my contact, but he promised to share what he knew. Whatever insights he refuses to share with me.

  I’m still angry Sebastian wouldn’t tell me—there seems to be a lot of that going around—and that I had to act on good faith. But he didn’t give me much choice.

  I pull up short when I see the young woman sunbathing.

  She rolls over and spots me. “Harrison!” She sits up, pulling a towel across her bare chest.

  “Sylvie. I hope you’re well.”

  A man—boy?—lies next to her, frowning protectively.

  “I finished university,” she says. “Papa said my boyfriend could come on holiday with us.”

  The man-boy’s face relaxes a little at this reinforcement. I hide my smile.

  “How nice for you both.” With a nod, I follow Christian across the deck.

  “He’s immature and impulsive and dotes far too much,” Christian mutters.

  “He’s perfect for her.”

  We take seats at a table at the far end of the yacht, and an attendant immediately brings Christian a cold drink, offering me one as well. I wave him off. From here, we have an uninterrupted view of the sea in one direction and the harbor from the other, white and blue and dotted with color.

  “What do you have for me?”

  Christian sips his drink. “Advice. I want Mischa gone too.”

  I arch a brow. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you.”

  “What happened last summer was unfortunate. Ivanov threatened Sylvie.”

  My hands fist under the table. Since LA, I’ve wondered if that might’ve been why he changed his mind so quickly about selling La Mer to Mischa.

  Christian adds, “At one point in my life, I might have gone toe to toe with him. But I’m too old for a war and too old to risk what I’ve made on one.”

  Sylvie’s laughter carries on the breeze from the other end of the boat. Evidently the man-boy is serving his purpose.

  “So, it wasn’t because of my parents. Who they were.”

  My host sighs. “No.”

  I shift out of my chair and cross to the railing. “Then I found out they were liars and criminals for nothing.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he follows, leaning both elbows on the railing next to me. “Not for nothing, Harrison. You are strong enough to know the truth. To make your own way.”

  I turn toward him. “I was making my own way.”

  “You were making theirs. Doing what you thought they wanted, needed. You reinforced that lesson for me when you turned down Sylvie last year. Young people need to find their own way.”

  I bark out a laugh. “I’m not young.”

  “Because you never let yourself be. When they died, you took on a challenge they never asked you to.”

  My next breath is harder than the last despite the fresh air. “I needed to provide for my brother. To prove that I could be the man they hoped.”

  “You were. They wanted better for you. By choosing to stay away from Mischa’s company when they pursued you, you chose the right path. You didn’t owe them a single thing after that.”

  “I need to fight him.”

  He shakes his head. “If you’re going to fight, don’t fight for something ugly. Fight for something beautiful.”

  I think of Kings, a hollowed-out shell. “I don’t have anything beautiful to fight for anymore.”

  “Don’t you? How is your lovely American?”

  My head snaps around.

  “Sylvie pointed out that you two are no longer together. She reads the papers,” he explains. “But then, my wife and I had a period of separation. All it accomplished was proving two things: that she was right and I was lonely.” His eyes crinkle at the corners.

  My fingers flex on the railing. I still don’t trust Christian, and having Rae and I publicly linked is a bad idea for her safety.

  “She’s playing in Ibiza this summer.”

  Christian nods. “He understands many things, but not love. Keep it from him.”

  “Then help me end this fast.” I can’t keep the urgency out of my voice. “I need information.”

  He hesitates, glancing toward the laughter of his daughter and her boyfriend. “I still have much at stake.”

  In that moment, I realize the truth. Christian is an old man who likes to talk, to feel important, but when it comes to doing important things, he’s a coward.

  I shove myself off the railing.

  “Where are you going?” Christian calls after me.

  “What I know about war is this—most people don’t have the luxury of choosing whether they’re involved. They can’t sell their stake and disappear with their families.” I gesture pointedly at the yacht, and he folds his arms.

  “I can’t help you the way you would like.”

  I turn my back on him. “Call me when you can.”

  10

  Rae

  Of the things that have changed since I got big, one hasn’t: Working on a song doesn’t get any easier.

  Back at the hotel, I’m trying to prepare for my set at Bliss tomorrow night and experiment with new material. I keep reworking the melody, but it doesn’t have the vibe I want.

  Last year, my tracks were moving towards a more joyful sound—stripped down harmonies, major chords.

  Now, it’s more minors, but when I’m done, it feels thin rather than atmospheric.

  Ash has gone out for a few hours, promising he’ll stay out of trouble. But now that he’s gone, work is harder because I keep thinking of someone else.

  Harrison told me that his parents weren’t trying to get out of Mischa’s family’s business after all.

  Harrison spent years deifying his parents only to watch the pedestal he’d put them on crumble. Learning that would fuck up a person. Especially when, that same day, Mischa burned down the club Harrison had spent months building.

  He needed somewhere to put that anger, and turning it back on the man who caused all of this probably seemed a reasonable plan.

  I wish he’d talked to me instead of leaving.

  But it has me thinking that part of why he left was the man who has everything on paper still thinks he doesn’t deserve love.

  Once, it was because his parents died and he felt responsible somehow. Now, he thinks he’s cut from the same cloth as they were.

  I wish he could see that they must have loved him. Whatever they did and didn’t do, I’m grateful for that.

  A text comes through, and I frown at it.

  Annie: Has he shown yet?

  I hit her contact on my phone, and she answers immediately on FaceTime.

  “Hey.” Her gold eyes blink, faint circles beneath them hinting at long nights awake.

  “Hey. Where’s Rose?”

  “Uncle Beck’s putting her to sleep. He’s magic. If I’m lucky, she’ll be down for an hour.” She moves around her house. “Haley told me to document every moment because Rose will grow up so fast, but I don’t know how she found the time.”

  “Maybe Jax took the pictures.”

  Annie laughs silently. “Can you picture it? My dad, the paparazzo?”

  I shift my notebook computer off my lap and lean forward, thinking back to her text. “How did you know Harrison would be here?”

  She tucks a piece of hair behind her head. “Why would you think—“

  “Because you’re a romantic and you basically outed yourself already,” I tell her. “So fess up.”

  Her nose scrunches. “Fine. Tyler and I saw Harrison in New York a few days ago, and I miiiight’ve shared that amazing photo of you and his brother in London.”

  I huff. “That’s why he showed up jealous as hell.”

  “Did he?” Her lips part, her eyes glazing over dreamily. “I want to know it all.”

  “You don’t have enough testosterone-fueled bullshit
in your life, you’re welcome to some of mine.”

  “Please. Having a three-month-old isn’t great for your sex life. Or any life,” she admits.

  “I could understand if you don’t want to have sex.”

  “It’s not me. It’s Tyler,” she whispers. “He’ll stay up and rock the baby all night. Won’t complain once. Then he fell asleep on me last night.”

  “On you.”

  “On. Me,” she emphasizes.

  “Huh.” I’m sure it’s temporary, because Tyler has seemed one heartbeat away from jumping his wife the entire time I’ve known them. I fill her in on Harrison’s arrival, giving more detail than I normally would.

  “He hit him and then he kissed you?”

  “Hit who and kissed who?” A familiar voice comes from out of speaker, and I sigh.

  “Hey, Beck.”

  The screen rotates, and a moment later, they’re both in frame.

  Beck grins. “Hey, Little Queen.”

  “Harrison hit his brother and kissed Rae,” Annie informs him.

  “Damn. Serves that snotty prick right.”

  “Who?” Annie asks.

  “The brother. Pretty boy has no chill.” The derision in Beck’s voice is laced with something else, maybe from when Ash slammed Beck’s reality TV show the weekend we were all on the yacht last year for my birthday.

  I think of Ash’s issues with drugs—if Beck only knew—but say nothing.

  “He’s had a tough season. It’s a lot of pressure,” I hear myself say. “You’d like him if you gave him a chance.”

  “Fortunately, I’ll never have to.”

  Annie lifts a brow. “Anyway, Harrison’s back and you guys have made up.”

  “Not quite.”

  “I thought he kissed you,” Beck interjects. “Then things escalated from PG and you faded to black for our benefit.”

  “Please don’t fade to black,” Annie begs.

  I roll my eyes. “There might’ve been some mature situations. In the bathroom,” I go on when Annie makes a “give me more” motion with her hands. “Except things are complicated.”

  Annie’s smile broadens. “Tyler and I did complicated. Your damage can’t be any worse.”

  “He’s trying to bring down Mischa Ivanov, this business rival of his. The one who burned down his building. The problem is, I’m also trying to play Ivanov’s prize club.”

  Beck whistles, and Annie’s jaw drops. “Rae, I agree with Harrison on this one.”

  “But La Mer is everything I’ve dreamed of playing.”

  “You could have fun playing other gigs, couldn’t you?” Annie asks.

  “I don’t know. It hasn’t been fun lately,” I hear myself say without thinking. “The last six months, it’s felt more like phoning it in. Which is a fucking awful thing to say, but I wonder if I’ve done everything there is to do. Except La Mer.”

  “So, once you play it, you can check it off your bucket list and take cover?”

  Except when Annie says it, it doesn’t feel right.

  I shake my head. “I don’t believe in revenge, but I agree this guy needs to be off the streets. Ibiza would be better off, his patrons would be better off, the music industry too. I’m playing other clubs. I get up in other peoples’ businesses in a way Harrison can’t.”

  “Because you’re still hoping you two can ride off into the sunset on a yacht together?”

  “He doesn’t like boats.”

  “When he got you the yacht last year…”

  “He thought I wanted it.”

  Annie sighs, and even Beck’s brows pull together.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask. I don’t usually solicit input, but next to my cousin, these two are my closest, most trusted friends. And unlike Callie, they understand the complications of living life in the spotlight.

  “Queen’s gotta help her King,” Beck says wryly.

  “It’s not about Harrison,” I insist. “It’s a public service. Anything I find, I’ll pass on to the police.”

  “But if it gets you hurt,” Annie adds, “I will kill him.”

  Your first night playing a club is partly a crapshoot—the crowd, the weather, all of it can conspire to make your set a party to remember or one to forget. The second night is when you find out if you’ve got it.

  Tonight for Bliss, I choose a white dress that resembles leather but isn’t. It’s fitted, but the fabric has a little give so I can move, and it’s not as hot in the booth. White sandals top off the look.

  “You’re coming with me?” I ask Ash as I put the finishing touches on my makeup.

  “Think I’ll lay low for the evening.” He frowns. “All the talk about drugs… I’d rather keep my distance.”

  Realization hits me. “Understood.” I check the edges of my wig to ensure none of my hair shows beneath. “I get that you didn’t want to tell Harrison you were buying, but why didn’t you tell him what you saw?”

  “I’d rather not say. But it would hurt him if he knew.”

  “I can keep a secret. I can be loyal to you as much as to him.”

  “Yeah. But you shouldn’t have to be.” He comes up behind me, and his gaze meets mine in the mirror.

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Just tell me one thing—are you talking with the police?”

  He nods. “I told them I’d give them all I know. It’s not much, but it’s compelling.”

  The reason he knew he was buying Mischa’s drugs in a London club still eludes me, but I trust him.

  “Fine. Has Harrison said anything about the investigation into your parents?”

  “No. Why?”

  Fuck. That means Harrison’s been shouldering this alone for the better part of a year. “He was looking into it last year, back when he was still trying to buy La Mer from Christian.”

  I brush past Ash and grab my phone, cursing as I realize I forgot to recharge it after my call with Annie and Beck. “Hey, did you do something to piss off Beck? You seem to have made an impression on him on the yacht last year.”

  He shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his mouth twisting. “I seem to make terrible impressions on all men.”

  “That asshole on your team doesn’t deserve you. You’ll find someone who does.”

  Ash smirks. “I want someone I don’t deserve. Like Harry found.”

  My chest tightens as I head to the show.

  I snap a picture in the limo and post it to social. New habits, but already ingrained.

  My fan base has grown and evolved. I can show up at a venue and find hundreds of people, sometimes thousands, there to see me. It’s humbling.

  Sometimes it’s numbing too.

  It’s one of the things I wish I could’ve talked to Harrison about over the past year. My friends understand the fame, but it’s not the same as sharing it with the man who sees me, challenges me, like no other.

  When I get to the club, there’s already a crowd.

  I get the owner in a corner. “The drugs sold in your club. You have to speak out about them.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I blink. “You told me the other day…”

  But then I realize the truth. He won’t say a word. Harrison’s right.

  By the time I take the stage, I’m already frustrated.

  But I play my set, waiting to be swept up in it as I change from one track to the next. This club is twice the size of Debajo, and it’s nearly full. The crowd is loving me.

  I should be loving this.

  Pressed near the stage is a group in costume. A girl meets my gaze and dissolves into delighted screams. My attention pans to a guy dancing near her, who catches my eye and makes like he’s giving oral.

  I turn away, needing a breather that’s impossible while on stage.

  My thumb presses the tattoo on my wrist, the backs of my eyes burning.

  Feel alive.

  Be alive.

  Get it together.

  I turn back and motion to
security. “Vodka soda.”

  Then I throw myself into the rest of my set. I’m finishing the drink when movement in the far corner of the club catches my eye.

  The same guy from before. Selling.

  I look over at the manager at the bar. He knows it’s happening, and he doesn’t even try to stop it.

  The woman from the front of the stage is there, buying.

  I want to stop her. To say he’s bad news. But from here, I can’t. I’m the most powerful woman in the room, and I’m helpless.

  I finish my set and do selfies with fans. I half wish the woman would come up since she seemed like a big fan. But there’s no sign of her.

  Unsettled is the only thing I feel.

  I’m headed out through the side door when I trip over something soft and lumpy. When I realize what it is, my stomach drops.

  It’s a body. A person.

  Horror rises up as I recognize the woman who was buying inside.

  I drop to my knees, feeling for her pulse.

  I should call for the club owner, but he won’t do anything to cross Mischa.

  There’s one person I want to call, and I won’t even question my reasons for calling him.

  When Harrison arrives, Toro driving, I’m still standing with the woman who was passed out near the side entrance of the club. Harrison stalks out of the car and takes in the scene, his expression grim and unusually blank.

  It takes a moment for him to speak, and when he does, his voice is rough. “What the fuck happened? Who is she?”

  “I don’t know who she is. But she overdosed on something.” I hold out what I found in her pockets. “I called for the owner after I called you. Management wouldn’t let me call an ambulance. They didn’t want the overdose traced back to Mischa.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Tourists overdose all the time. Could be the shit they’re dealing is cut with something else. Makes it cheaper to produce and more dangerous to consume.”