Beautiful Ruin (The Enemies Trilogy Book 3)

by Piper Lawson

  I watch him head inside, grab the man’s wrist, and drag him down the hall. Conflicted feelings collide in my chest. I want to see Ash happy, but with someone who deserves him.

  Sex is one thing, but if he’s trying to hide feelings behind it…

  Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe this guy won’t hurt him again, or maybe Ash can keep physical separated from the emotional.

  Before I can decide what to do, my phone rings on the table. I lunge for it, my stomach flipping as I see it’s an unknown number.

  Possibly Mischa.

  “Yeah?” I answer.

  “Rae. It’s Leni.”

  My brows shoot up as I close out of the Ableton Live software on my computer. “Oh, hey.”

  “We’ve had a little problem at Debajo. I need you.”

  I’m already visualizing flames like the night Harrison was dragged from his bed to find Kings a pile of smoldering char. “What kind of problem?”

  “Our talent for tonight isn’t going to make it. He’s too stoned to play.”

  Disbelief rises up. Not because it’s the first time in history a DJ has been inebriated on stage, but because Harrison could’ve had the decency to call me himself.

  Just because I told him to back off pursuing me doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have enjoyed him asking me to come back to Debajo. A little begging would have been nice.

  Now that I picture it, him on his knees, looking up at me like I’m his entire damned world, even as he prepares to wreck me...

  Focus, dammit.

  “Listen, I know Harrison has a problem with people using substances, but you might have to compromise this time—“

  “No, Raegan, I mean he’s too stoned to play. Like, I’m looking at him, and he’s a mumbling pile on the floor.” Pause. “Here. I’m waving his hand at the phone. ‘Hello, Little Queen. Will you cover my set? I’m a fucking mess.’”

  I press a hand to my face, already feeling like crawling back into bed. “It’s my day off.”

  “That’s going around. Tag, you’re it.” She laughs. “I promise it’ll be more fun than the place you’re playing all summer.”

  “Bliss has been great,” I argue.

  “But it’s not home.”

  Home. As I remember the stage, the VIP room, the staff, a familiar longing tugs at me.

  “Is there a theme?”

  “The future is you.”

  I make a face. “Sounds like a bad yearbook title.”

  She laughs. “You got something better? We have time to change it and let everyone know.”

  Leni’s someone I respect independent of Harrison. Plus, it’s not her fault he didn’t call me himself, and I’m not going to give another woman shit for asking for help just because her boss should’ve done it.

  I consider the highly produced shows I’ve been doing at Bliss and my lips twitch. “I have an idea.”

  I fill her in, sending an image to go with my description.

  She’s quiet for a long time but finally chuckles. “Let’s do it.”

  After hanging up, I head down the hall.

  Groaning and panting drift through Ash’s closed door. I don’t bother telling him where I’m headed.

  I go to my room and pull the closet door wide.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say, leaning forward from the back seat.

  “My pleasure, señorita. You need to come visit.”

  “I will,” I promise. “Tell Natalia I’m making her a crocheted doll.”

  I shift out of the car, the trench coat wrapped around me mostly for Toro’s benefit.

  There’s a line around the block, and the marquee reads: “COME AS YOU ARE.” As I approach the string of patrons, I get a look at some of the outfits. There’s more skin than clothing.

  For once, it’s not fancy lingerie-inspired outfits. It’s simple. Nude bandeau tops and miniskirts for the women. A few even have nipples drawn on. The men are in shorts or speedos, a few painted flesh tones.

  I can’t help grinning.

  Leni, what did you do?

  I head in the back, headphones and drive in my bag. Security’s stoic faces break as they spot me. I fist-bump one guy.

  “You’re overdressed,” he comments as he holds the door for me.

  “Not for long,” I toss over my shoulder as I head to the VIP room.

  Leni’s waiting for me at the VIP bar. She’s dressed more like security in head-to-toe black. It’s early, and a handful of staff are back here, including the bartender, who nods at me in recognition. I return the gesture.

  “Cam, can I get a—“

  “Vodka soda coming up.”

  I grin, turning back to Leni.

  “See? Like coming home,” she says.

  Maybe she’s right. It already feels better. As if parts of me are waking up. I remember how hungry I was only a year ago, how every show was shiny and new and a chance to do what I loved.

  “How’d you get a thousand people to wear skin with three hours’ notice?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Convincing young, beautiful, drunk people to get naked? Not that hard. And I told them Little Queen would be here to show them the way.”

  I reach for the belt of my trench coat and shrug out of it.

  Cam the bartender is at my side with the vodka soda, but he freezes when I toss the coat on a nearby chair. “Jesus.”

  “Venus,” I correct.

  “Birth of Venus, actually,” Leni goes on, scanning me admiringly.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the bar. The custom lace bodysuit matches my skin tone. I bought it to wear under another costume, but I figured tonight called for something simple. The effect is definitely provocative.

  On my feet are nude platform sandals. My blond hair is straight, hanging in slow waves to cover my breasts. My eyes are lined dark, and my lips are sheer.

  It’s more than hot.

  And sure, maybe I wanted to push Harrison’s buttons, to remind him he can’t jerk me around anymore without getting jerked right back.

  Sue me.

  I reach for my vodka soda and take a congratulatory sip.

  “Can I get you anything else, Raegan? Miss Queen? Fuck,” Cam mumbles.

  Leni pinches his cheek. “Sweetie. You’re cute. But if the boss comes down here, you’re gonna have to put those eyes back in, or he’ll rip them out and keep them.”

  Cam gulps and heads back to the bar.

  Leni laughs silently. “You do look fucking incredible.”

  “Thanks. I’m missing one thing.” I reach into my bag, pulling out my headphones. I loop them around my neck, the cord secured. “There.”

  She shakes her head.

  “What?” I prompt.

  “Just deciding if I should call Harrison or wait for him to find out.”

  My smile dies. “He doesn’t know I’m here?”

  Her brows shoot up. “Honey, I didn’t ask the boss. Think he has a business dinner tonight. Maybe he’ll swing by after.”

  Shit. I assumed Harrison was in on this and had his own reasons for not calling me. But he didn’t know…

  I catch sight of myself in the mirror once more.

  It’s too late to worry about what he’ll think about it. Two thousand people in the next room need entertainment. And I won’t let them, or the staff of the place that made me, down.

  15

  Rae

  I take the stage to deafening applause.

  I play some experimental shit. Some stripped down remixes, even the song I was working on that I can’t get quite right.

  The crowd is dancing and loving and living, and I’m in it with them. My hands are in the air, and I’m losing myself in the music.

  Leni’s right. This feels like home.

  I might even know how to fix this track now.

  I’m hearing the changes in my head, committing them to memory when awareness jerks me back to the present.

  The champagne bucket appears at my side, full of waters.

  I
put off responding for thirty seconds. A minute. Even change the tracks once without giving in to the desire to look up.

  When I can’t hold back anymore, I lift my gaze to the VIP.

  Harrison King is wearing a tuxedo, bracing both hands on the railing. His perfect jaw is set, firm lips pressed into a hard line, his hair mussed as if he caught himself running a hand through it.

  His eyes are locked on me.

  In a room full of pagans dancing underground…

  He’s a god.

  And he’s pissed.

  Part of me wishes I could tell him I didn’t do this to mess with him. Even though there’s nothing he can do. He can’t very well drag me from the stage.

  Though the idea makes me shiver.

  We can’t be together in public because I can’t have Mischa thinking we’re an item again.

  And in private, it’s too risky to my heart.

  But like this, I can touch him without touching him.

  We’re surrounded. It’s the most dangerous place to be, and the safest.

  Since he walked into my hotel room, I’ve been a mass of emotions. Wanting, aching, longing, regretting.

  I can wish he didn’t leave me, but I can’t change that he did. But I wouldn’t rewind time and erase what happened between us. I wouldn’t even erase the hurried sex in his bathroom last week.

  The more I stare at him, the more I realize…

  I wouldn’t erase a thing.

  We never should have been, and that only makes me cling more determinedly to what we were. What we are. Even if we’re not a couple and I’m not hoping for a happily ever after with this man, something between us is alive and teeming, now, in this basement.

  So, I play for him.

  I choose the songs, tracks that will move the crowd and fit the stripped-down theme of “Come As You Are,” but that also fit us. I create a new set on the fly, my fingers moving as fast as my mind.

  This set is my own personal mixtape for my fuck-hot ex.

  He watches like he knows it.

  My body is on fire. After a couple of drinks, coupled with the power of this place, I could touch myself right here.

  I could come from it.

  I could beg for it.

  Does he feel the same way?

  He’s still watching. He hasn’t looked away.

  Take no prisoners.

  I flip him off, then run my tongue along the side of my finger. I swear his eyes darken.

  In the VIP booth overhead, he widens his stance, adjusts his pants, then rubs the bulge in the front.

  My throat dries.

  I change the track to the one I made last summer, the one I told him he could jerk off to and think of me.

  His movements stop as if he knows what I’m doing.

  It’s a filthy dare he can’t possibly take me up on.

  Maybe it’s the night or the frustration between us, or maybe I’m just that goddamned good, because the silver on his belt flashes in the light as he flicks it open.

  Holy shit.

  Then his hand is inside. He starts again, slower.

  The expression on his face…

  It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life.

  I’m a live wire now, my skin prickling as heat rushes over me.

  My core throbs. On stage, I can’t slide a hand between my thighs without being seen, but I want to rub on Harrison, on my own fingers, on anything.

  This club is more than a third wheel in this transaction. It’s part of both of us, one we won’t ever give up.

  For the next song, I split my attention between the partiers and Harrison. If I stare up too long, someone will figure out what’s happening.

  That the most fully dressed man in this place is stone-cold sober and fucking his hand.

  Every movement of his arm, his jacket, feels like he’s tugging on a string wrapped around my core. I'm so fucking turned on in this moment, I think I might come for real.

  His jaw is tight, his hand working his cock like he’s my dream fantasy come to life. I’m breathless, my reckless smile impossible to hold in when I pick up the pace of the track.

  His gaze narrows, but he does the same with his strokes.

  The music moves every person in this club, but he’s moving me.

  I can tell when he’s getting close. I can’t look away.

  I want to watch him come.

  I want to feel it.

  His head tips back.

  He’s close.

  His hips jerk. Once. Twice. Then he groans—I can’t hear it over the pounding bass, but I see it.

  When he comes, I do fucking feel it. The wave grips me, and I reach for the desk in front of me to steady myself as if I’m coming too.

  His unsteady breathing is mine.

  When confetti rains down from the ceiling, I realize this is the best time I’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.

  It’s because of Harrison, but also because of this place. It does feel like home.

  The crowd is chill and happy, content to take selfies at Debajo with me, with each other. Then the crowd parts, and my breath catches.

  Harrison King walks toward me, his tuxedo jacket unbuttoned and his mouth pressed in a hard line.

  When he reaches me, I say, “I thought it wasn’t a good idea to be seen together in public.”

  “It’s not, which is why you’re in trouble.”

  He’s cool, cold even, as he gestures for me to go ahead and follow security. I head down the hall toward the VIP room. Leni’s there, along with the bartender. Harrison shuts the door before turning to face us.

  “Whose bright idea was this?” His voice is deadly calm.

  “I called her,” Leni admits. “We had a cancellation last minute. And Cam’s a terrible fucking DJ.”

  The bartender ducks his head.

  “Cam?” I call. “Mr. King could use a whisky.”

  He fixes one immediately, bringing the glass over. His gaze slides to my legs, and his throat bobs.

  Harrison sends the guy scurrying away with a look.

  “Cam, I’ll drink the whisky.” I cross to the bar and take it from him before sipping the golden liquid.

  Harrison paces the room. “Mischa isn’t supposed to know we’re talking. Tonight you all but announced it.”

  “We announced that Debajo had an opening,” Leni cuts in, “and a former DJ in residence picked up the slack for an impromptu—and a fucking fantastic, might I add—show.”

  Adrenaline surges through me again. It was fantastic.

  “You’re the one making this worse by marching her down here,” Leni goes on.

  Harrison’s gaze finds mine.

  If Leni knew that her boss had jerked off to me upstairs…

  “To be fair,” I say, the whisky heating my stomach, “it probably looked as if you were marching me here to chew me out. Which is apparently what’s happening.”

  “There’s a car for you out front,” Harrison says.

  My breath hitches. He’s sending me away? I told him to back off, but after what happened upstairs, it feels like a slap in the face.

  Without a word, I turn to leave.

  I make my way through the halls and out to the parking lot. A sleek, black limo is waiting. I get in, and the car pulls away. I half expect it to circle the block and return for Harrison or do some other covert maneuver. But I’m disappointed when it continues straight down the road.

  A few minutes later, it turns the opposite direction of my hotel.

  “Excuse me, where are we going?”

  The man doesn’t answer.

  Nerves dial up, and I pull out my phone to call Harrison. But before the ringtone sounds, I realize where we’re headed.

  The car parks at the beach, and I get out. The familiar sound of waves crashing along the shore greets me. I scan the nearly empty parking area for Harrison’s car, the knot in my chest loosening when I spot it.

  He’s already there.

  On the beach.
r />   I take off my shoes at the edge of the beach and walk to him, the sand slipping between my toes. He meets me halfway. He’s barefoot, his waistcoat unbuttoned. The breeze blows his hair, and his eyes glow like blue coals in the dark.

  I spot a piece of confetti stuck to his jacket sleeve.

  “Classy,” I murmur as I pick it off.

  I barely have time to look back up before he drags me against his hard body.

  “I know you went to see Mischa. Again.”

  I drop the shoes and my bag to fold my arms in the little space between us. “And I know you fucked your hand until you popped like a bottle of Dom at a bachelorette in the middle of Debajo. So, we all have secrets.”

  He shakes me hard, anger and fear clouding another emotion in his eyes. “I’m tempted to tie you to my damn bed just to keep you safe.”

  We’re so close that his lips rub across mine when he bites out the words.

  “Is that the only reason?” I murmur.

  He hauls my lips to his. It’s possessive and desperate, and I want to fight him, but not as much as I want to hold him close.

  He backs me across the sand. His hands cup my face, the initial demand giving in to something earnest and full of longing. I jerk in surprise when my heels hit the water and the waves lick at my ankles.

  He pulls back an inch. His eyes are as deep as the sea, every bit as tortured. “I won’t let you pretend this is all I want from you.”

  I swallow, my heart racing as I grip his wrists. “What do you want?”

  “That first night I arrived,” he mutters, his voice oddly rough, “I didn’t ask Sebastian if he fucked you. I asked him if he loved you.”

  Shock slams into me, tickling starting deep in my stomach like the tickling from the waves against my legs as he continues.

  “I couldn’t bear the idea. When I saw the photo of you two at the event, it destroyed me. I tried to tell myself I would stay away if he was what you wanted.”

  His thumb strokes the tattoo on the inside of my wrist. His words course through my veins, leave me shuddering. We’re up to our hips now, the water tugging at the fabric of his tuxedo pants. Harrison doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

  “Because I love you. I loved you first. And no matter what happens, dammit, I’ll love you last.”