Beautiful Ruin (The Enemies Trilogy Book 3)

by Piper Lawson

  “Really? That was early days.”

  “You ruined my favorite jacket. I couldn’t very well ignore you.”

  “You tried, though.”

  “Mmm. Hard to ignore a woman who takes center stage at your club and flips you off like it’s her job.”

  He crosses the room away from me, and I twist in my seat to watch him. “Pretty sure it was in the contract.”

  He laughs. “I know we have a ways to go, but I will prove I’m the man you need. And I have something I hope you’ll wear.” He tosses me a secretive smile over his shoulder as he heads upstairs.

  A dress?

  A moment later, Harrison returns with a small box. He hands it to me, and I open the lid.

  “My bracelet.” I lift the cuff, my heart skipping. I’d left it with him before we parted ways. “You were keeping it for your next girlfriend?”

  “I’m never buying jewelry for a woman who’s not you again.”

  My chest tightens as I look at him.

  “I haven’t forgotten our date tonight. In fact, I’ve got a private location at one of my favorite restaurants.”

  “Private because you want to eat me rather than the food?” I taunt lightly.

  “Private because I want the world to fuck off while I focus everything I am on you.”

  He fastens the cuff around my wrist, but I can’t look away from his face.

  The ball of emotion in my throat threatens to overtake me.

  “So, I’m going to have to babysit the manager tonight,” Leni calls, rejoining us from the other room and pocketing her phone.

  Ash returns from the kitchen, his coffee half-consumed, as if he’s decided it’s safe.

  “Sebastian’s probably right. Mischa will retaliate,” Harrison says at last.

  “And we don’t know how,” Ash presses.

  The cuff glints against the black of my tattoo, its cool weight grounding me as I rise from my chair. “We can get through it together.”

  I say it firmly enough even I believe it.

  18

  Rae

  That afternoon, I’m busy with work, but I take some time to go shopping.

  When I show up for dinner, I’m feeling more relaxed despite the awful news this morning and the tense conversation at the villa after.

  The restaurant is exclusive, and when I check in at the front, they immediately show me past the other patrons, up the stairs, and out to a lone table on the roof.

  My breath catches. The scene is beautiful and romantic. Tiny fairy lights drape around the single slim railing that would keep patrons from falling off, if there was anyone up here but me.

  Any man can be the grand-gesture type, but this is a precise gesture. A place that sets the stage for a meaningful conversation, not one so grand as to stifle it.

  “Would señorita like a drink?”

  “Thank you.” I opt for a glass of wine to take the edge off.

  I’m waiting a while, self-conscious in the silver dress I bought today that dips low in the back and ends partway down my thighs. Ash promised it was a ten when I sent him a picture, but now I smooth a hand down my straightened hair and hope Harrison likes what he sees.

  I’m starting to get nervous when a throat clearing behind me makes me turn.

  Harrison’s there, tall and imposing in a dark suit, his shirt open at the collar.

  His nostrils flare as he takes in my appearance, his gaze dragging down to my wedge sandals and back up over every curve to linger on my face. “You’re stunning.”

  I blow out a breath. “And if you were any other guy, I’d say you took your time getting ready. But this is faster than pulling on a T-shirt.”

  He walks to me, tipping my chin up and brushing a soft kiss over my lips that leaves me tingling. “I thought about the T-shirt. I’m saving it for our anniversary.”

  My heart skips. “Our what?”

  “Mhmm. Last year, you tried to paint a picture of what our future could be. I walked away.” His expression clouds. “This time, I will make it up to you.”

  “With incentives?” I tease, off balance.

  “Correct. This, in a way, is our one-year anniversary. On our second, I’ll accompany you in a T-shirt—“

  “That’s not much of a promise.”

  “—to the Casino de Monte-Carlo in Monaco.”

  “They have a dress code.”

  “I’ll break it.”

  I suck in a breath. That does sound promising.

  He shows me to the table, holding my chair while I take a seat.

  The waiter brings our menus, and I read down the list, freezing.

  Sandwiches, like the one I made him on his mother’s birthday after he got drunk the first night we bonded.

  Tacos, like we had on the beach in LA.

  Paella, like we made after I lost a gig.

  “I can’t believe you even remembered all of these.”

  He sets his menu on the table, staring calmly at me. “Raegan, I remember everything.”

  I’ve been the subject of Harrison’s intention and intensity. He’s seduced me with his will, but this is new.

  Every piece of tonight, every look he gives me, feels as if it’s without his typical agenda.

  He’s not beating at my walls. Instead, he’s wearing them down, like season after season of rain and erosion. Relentless. Unstoppable.

  I want to let him in because I’ve never had anyone love me like he has.

  I’ve also never had anyone hurt me like he has, and as much as I want to believe he’s more committed to me than to his vengeance, a few gestures can’t make me forget months of aching for him.

  I opt for paella because it feels like a crime to order tacos or sandwiches at this great restaurant.

  “So, what do you have planned for these other anniversaries?” I can’t resist asking after the waiter takes our order.

  “Not telling.”

  Impatience tugs at me. “Not even one?”

  “No. But I have them planned for a good long time.”

  “Three years? Five?”

  He shakes his head. “More. You’ll have to stay with me to find out.”

  I’m stunned silent. We both know that’s longer than I’ve stuck around anywhere.

  “But we’ll start small. Your birthday.”

  “I have birthday plans.”

  “As long as they include me.”

  I take a long drink, eyeing him over the rim.

  “Relationship isn’t all big gestures, Harrison. It’s the day-to-day.”

  “Alright. Let’s talk about today.”

  I stiffen, thinking he’s going to segue into Mischa, but he surprises me.

  “Sebastian told me about the man he’s seeing.”

  “He did?”

  His gaze narrows. “You knew?”

  “He tells me lots of things.”

  Harrison frowns as if the idea of Ash is confiding in me disturbs him.

  “He wants to be close to you.”

  “That’s not why I’m bothered. It’s because he’s been able to contact you all year. He had this relationship with you I couldn’t have.”

  “You could’ve,” I point out. “It was your choice to leave.”

  “I thought it was for the best,” he says softly.

  Our dinner comes, and the conversation shifts back to Ash. Harrison tells stories about them growing up. It’s clear he adored his little brother.

  “We should’ve been closer after our parents’ deaths, but he blamed me. I protected him from the worst of it. Ensured he had the best schooling. Kept him away from the media, the legal side of things.”

  I take another bite of delicious paella, feeling the night breeze whisper over my skin before I reach for my wine.

  “Maybe you should’ve stayed with him instead of trying to bubble-wrap him,” I murmur.

  He flinches. “I thought I did the right thing. It feels like the right thing is obvious, but when you look back, sometimes it seems there wer
e only many wrong ones.”

  We sip in silence.

  “I know you thought you were doing the right thing by leaving LA,” I start when I set my glass down. “But it wasn’t. Not because you left, but because you treated me like my opinion didn’t matter.” I lean forward, my cuff clinking against the table. “You called me your queen and then treated me like a pawn.”

  “I’m sorry I ever made you think that.”

  “Why is Mischa so set on chasing after you? You said you never considered working for his parents.”

  “I did one gig for them.” My brows shoot up in surprise. “Then when I learned my parents weren’t the people I thought, it reinforced that about me.”

  “You’re a good man. Not because of what you’ve built. Because of what’s in here.” I reach over and tap his shirt under the edge of his jacket.

  He presses my palm to his chest, and the steady thud of his heart beneath my hand is so warm and real it’s a wonder I don’t melt into him.

  We finish our dinner, and he rises from his chair, motioning to me.

  His hand on my back, he moves us to the ledge and leans both elbows over it to look out at the lights of the city, the black ocean beyond.

  “Tourists come to Ibiza for the crowd. But when you lift your gaze past the party, we’re surrounded by stillness. It’s easy to forget there’s a whole world out there.”

  “I’m sure your executive team in London reminds you that you have a business to run.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He turns toward me. “When I’m with you, I feel that calm. I don’t need to be on an island to feel it anymore.”

  My heart skips. “Where should we go? You might have an empire, but this girl needs to work.”

  He reaches for my hand, threads his fingers through mine. “Where would you like to work?”

  Emotions collide in my chest. “I was working on some options back in the US.” I feel him turn toward me. “I don’t want to say it in case it doesn’t work out. But the past couple of months, all I could think about is playing La Mer.”

  “You won’t play La Mer.” There’s a finality to his words that would make me argue, but it’s moot anyway.

  “It might belong to Mischa, but it has nothing to do with him. It existed before him, and it will exist after.” I shake my head. “I was still hoping he’d rethink it.”

  But when he hears I played Debajo, there’s no way he will. He’ll find out I’m with Harrison—assuming he doesn’t know already…

  “I’m sorry.”

  I cock my head. “You’re not.”

  “I am because you want it, and I want you to have everything you want.”

  Damn, it sounds as if he means it. My fingers curl around his.

  “After your final gig in Ibiza—at Bliss or somewhere else—I’ll take you somewhere scenic, and we’ll laugh about this. But until then… dance with me.”

  He offers a hand as music starts from somewhere in the distance. Not club music, but strings.

  “Ditch the jacket.”

  He obliges with a boyish grin, tossing it over the chair before pulling me close.

  My lips brush his shirt.

  “Since the first time I held you at La Mer, nothing has ever felt the same,” he confesses. “When I set foot inside the warehouse in LA, I didn’t picture you on stage. It was you dancing with me.”

  “My dancing is mostly hips. You probably know how to ballroom dance.”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Only the basics. Waltz, foxtrot, rumba…”

  “Of course you do,” I murmur, laughing. “I tried to take a class at school. I could barely shuffle. But I’m done apologizing for it,” I declare.

  That’s the biggest difference in the last year. No more pretending to be something I’m not.

  Harrison brushes his lips across my temple, surprising me. “Good. Because I’d rather shuffle with you for the rest of my life than waltz with anyone else.”

  19

  Rae

  Bliss is full, but I’m on edge, scanning the crowd as I mix.

  I’m still thinking of my date with Harrison last night. Dinner was a dream. We went back to his villa and stayed up on the patio until the early hours of the morning, where he laid a blanket down on the grass and we talked and touched under the stars.

  It’s not as if everything is resolved between us, but he certainly wants to try. And he seems like a changed man.

  Now, I’m back to the reality of playing the club where a woman died when it could have been prevented.

  Which means there’s something I need to do.

  As I finish, I catch sight of the owner.

  After a few selfies, I wave off the crowd of fans and cut straight for the bar. The bartender pours me a drink, and the owner nods at me. I lift my glass to him, taking a long drink. “A woman died outside. A customer from last week.”

  His eyes widen. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “You should. Mischa’s drugs killed her. And you let him in.”

  His gaze cuts past my shoulder. When I follow the owner’s eyes, a hulking security guard nods to me.

  “Go with him,” the owner says.

  I stiffen. “Where?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  The hairs on my neck lift in warning, but I want to know where this leads. Maybe he’s decided he’ll talk to me after all.

  I follow the security guard, my hand tightening on my phone to signal my own security.

  We’re heading through the halls, and it’s quieter after the door to the club closes behind us. When we reach another door—a VIP room I remember from my tour when I arrived—the security guard opens it and holds it wide. I have no choice but to step inside.

  The room is the size of a hotel suite, velvet furniture and curtains. A booth is along the far end, a bar on the wall nearest, but it’s the man at the center that draws all of my attention.

  Mischa sprawls along the largest couch, wearing black trousers and a white shirt. His legs stretch in front of him, and there’s a woman on either side of him. If they’re not twins, they’re doing a damned good impression. One is completely naked, the other topless. They’re brunettes, unlike his fiancée.

  Armed security watches from either corner of the room. They’re not club guards either. These men look hard, and they don’t move except for their eyes.

  “Miss Madani.” Mischa’s lips curl.

  My breath is shallow as I stop in front of the coffee table littered with pills and powder.

  “If I’d known you were coming to my show, I would’ve played something for you.”

  “Believe me, I was more than affected.” His eyes are blue, but gray-blue, like a dead sky.

  I wonder what he sees. What he thinks about that makes him treat people like commodities.

  “It’s a great club,” I say.

  “That’s why I’m buying it.”

  I whirl around to see the owner by the door. His face is downcast.

  Mischa rises, ignoring the hands of the women trying to drag him back, and steps around the table.

  “You’ve been moonlighting. At Harrison King’s club no less.”

  Of course he knows about Debajo. It was all over social media, and though there are no new photos of us, there are conversations online speculating about Harrison and me getting back together.

  If Mischa brought me here to hurt me, or to use me against Harrison, I wish he’d get the hell on with it.

  “He made me an offer. Besides, my contract isn’t exclusive. I play where I want. If that means you’re not interested anymore—“

  “On the contrary. You were glowing. I can’t imagine a single woman in that filthy basement didn’t want to be you or that a single man didn’t want to own you,” the Russian says smoothly.

  He stops inches away. Close enough I smell his cologne.

  “Meaning what?” I force the words through my tight throat.

  The first time I met him, he hit me. I have no doubt he’ll
do that again, or worse, if it suits him.

  We’re not in Harrison’s club anymore. This isn’t even neutral ground—security is his, and the man by the door won’t stop Mischa from doing anything he wants.

  He brushes my hair behind my shoulder. Every inch of me tenses when he leans in, but I refuse to tremble.

  “You, my Little Queen, will play for me. La Mer,” he whispers, and my head snaps up in shock. “One month from tonight.”

  HARRISON

  There’s a chance. Not a good one, but a sliver.

  I’ve been reviewing documents for Kings—the ones I shelved months ago—to see if there’s a hope of reviving it.

  Because the fire marshal won’t say for certain that I didn’t set fire to the club myself, the latest reports suggest insurance will cover only a small portion of the damages. But I could leverage capital from other projects and put it back together.

  It feels worth hoping for.

  My date with Raegan only solidified my convictions.

  Once, I wanted revenge. Now, I want it done with so I can have a future with her.

  Which is why I’ve compiled all the intel I’ve gathered on Ivanov and sent it to the authorities, including the inside information I didn’t trust them to use effectively.

  I have enough resources to protect everyone I care about from Mischa until they figure out how to bring him down.

  It’s the early hours of the morning, and I’m finishing a drink when I hear the car I sent for Raegan pull up the driveway.

  Barney lifts his head from where he’s lying on the floor of my office. I rise from my chair and start for the door. When Raegan is around, I’m more eager than the damn dog.

  She refused to have my security in her venue, so they waited outside, a call away.

  I’m halfway down the hall when the villa door opens and she steps inside. My footsteps on the stairs have her looking up.

  Her costume is intact, black leather shorts with a bodysuit beneath, showing off her long, curvy legs. The blond hair spills in waves over her shoulder, contrasting with her dark, lined eyes.

  “You waited up,” she murmurs, stepping out of her heeled sandals.