by King, Asha
Beauty
A Midsummer Suspense Tale
Asha King
www.AshaKing.com
She doesn’t know the danger coming for her...
Awkward wild child Bryar Rosings was raised in the country by her aunts, isolated from the world at large. Her birth family remains a mystery to her, secrets kept hidden away to prevent a dangerous foe from locating her. Still she longs for a life outside of Midsummer and finally plans to make her big getaway just as soon as she has the money saved up. It’s not like there’s anything else keeping her there.
In running away from his life, he finds what he least expected...
Troubled pop star Sean Philip Sawyer needs a break from life as much as from his career. A quiet town like Midsummer, outside the usual vacation season, seems like the perfect place to forget his past and ignore his future. A chance encounter at a late night beach party, however, turns up the one thing he never thought he’d find: a woman who doesn’t recognize him. Bryar arouses and fascinates him in turn, stirring hope for a future without fame.
But a chance video going viral kicks into motion a decades’ old grudge that threatens not only their love but their lives. As a mysterious, powerful criminal known as The Dragon rises, Bryar’s dark past could spell their end unless Sawyer can save them both.
Also by Asha King
Now Available
Near to You
Bad Moon Rising
Somebody to Love
Wild Horses (Stirling Falls #1)
Wild Horses: Cold, Cold Winter (Stirling Falls #1.5)
Sympathy for the Devil (Stirling Falls #2)
Circle of Friends: How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?
Cats in Heat (Cats & Conjure #1)
Cat Scratch Fever (Cats & Conjure #2)
Cinders: A Midsummer Suspense Tale
Coming Soon
Snow: A Midsummer Suspense Tale
Stray Cat Strut (Cats & Conjure #3)
The Book of Love
I Who Have Nothing
Gimme Shelter (Stirling Falls #3)
Beauty: A Midsummer Suspense Tale
Copyright © 2015 by Asha King
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Edited by Adrienne Jones
Cover Art © 2015 by Asha King
First Edition January 2015
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this or any copyrighted work is illegal. Authors are paid on a per-purchase basis. Any use of this file beyond the rights stated above constitutes theft of the author’s earnings. File sharing is an international crime, prosecuted by the United States Department of Justice Division of Cyber Crimes, in partnership with Interpol. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by seizure of computers, up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 per reported instance. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material.
Thank you for only purchasing legal copies of my work.
Illegally obtaining my books means I can’t continue to write/publish and future works will be canceled.
Dedication
For my editor, Adrienne, who wanted Bryar’s story.
Once Upon a Time
The dank tunnels seemed to stretch on endlessly in either direction.
Stefan moved swiftly, the beam of the flashlight in hand bobbing from side to side. Steps shuffled behind him that paused periodically followed by a sharp breath in before continuing on again. He didn’t look back, keeping his focus ahead and knowing his wife was in just as much of a rush to reach their destination as he was.
The tunnels would be a maze if he didn’t know them so well, hadn’t spent so much time as a boy running through them with his cousins, spying on his father and uncle, learning all the bends and turns. He used that knowledge now, navigating the area more on muscle memory than conscious thought.
He was confident they’d stay ahead of their pursuers.
They had to.
Around another corner that looked like all the others except for a chipped brick here, an exposed beam there, all the little quirks that told him where he was going. It wasn’t much farther now. There were more false ends than exits from the tunnels, enough to confuse anyone behind them.
The musky, dank underground scent soon faded under the salty smell of the sea. They weren’t quite there yet but the way the ground sloped and the subtle change in the air told him they would be soon—this part of the tunnel ran along the water, just several feet of brick separating them from the sea.
Lights not from Stefan’s flashlight shifted in the distance, giving the open archway ahead a glow. He didn’t slow, didn’t worry—in the unlikely event that anyone after them had found this entrance, they wouldn’t be using light there to announce their presence. Moments later, he and his wife were face to face with his sisters.
Donna was several years older than Stefan, and she stood in front of Lora, shoulders squared and chin lifted. Though she didn’t smile, didn’t look anything but serious, there was no worry in her eyes. Donna was practical and careful, the one person he’d trust with something so precious to him. She didn’t panic. She was calm and methodical.
She’d keep his daughter safe.
Lora hung back, holding the flashlight, glancing repeatedly behind her. He doubted they would’ve been followed either—Donna was too careful.
Stefan stopped and lowered his flashlight. His wife Angelina stopped beside him and he chanced a glance at her. Even in the low light, her eyes were rimmed in red and shone with tears. She was scared, yes, but it was more the weight of what they were here to do and the pain of it than the fear. His arm slid over her shoulder and she leaned into him, letting out an exhausted breath. Her arms stayed wrapped around the bundle she’d been carrying, their toddler daughter still sleeping. How she’d slept through all that, he didn’t know, but she hadn’t made a sound.
“The boat’s ready,” Donna said in a low voice. “Merry will call if she sees anyone but we’re tucked out of sight.”
“Even if they knew about the tunnels, they wouldn’t know where to look,” Stefan said. “There are miles of them here.” He slipped the heavy duffle bag off of his shoulder and handed it to her. “Clothes, supplies. Twenty thousand in cash to get you started. If you need more—”
“I won’t dare contact you for it,” Donna said simply, shouldering the bag immediately. “We’ll be fine. I’m not risking asking for help.”
He nodded, agreeing with her even if he was somewhat disappointed. He wanted contact with them, wanted to know that everything was okay. But that would be a risk, as she said. One they couldn’t dare afford.
Angelina sniffled but didn’t openly cry as all eyes fell to her. Lora stepped forward, a sad but reassuring smile on her face. She said nothing, though—there was nothing to say. They were giving up their daughter to his sisters and might never see her again. Best case scenario, it would be years.
Worst case scenario, he and his wife would be long dead by the time Talia grew up.
Stefan leaned forward and kissed
their daughter’s forehead. She stirred, blinked a few times and yawned, then settled against her mother’s chest again. This time Angelina let out a loud sob and hugged Talia close, whispering inaudible words against her dark hair.
“If there’s ever a time that’s safe,” Stefan began.
“We’ll find you,” Donna said. “We’ll watch for news. If someone ever takes down The Dragon, we’ll know it’s time and track you down.”
He nodded. He still wasn’t sure they’d last that long, but for the sake of his wife—and his child—he’d try. If they ever found Talia...he shuddered at the thought.
An eye for an eye, The Dragon had whispered that last time. A child for a child.
Revenge was an ugly thing and it was coming for them.
At last Angelina dislodged Talia from her embrace and handed her to Lora, immediately twisting to fall back in Stefan’s arms.
“It’ll all work out,” Lora promised as she took a few steps back.
Donna simply nodded, saying nothing—likely knowing nothing needed to be said.
And Stefan’s heart broke as he watched them rush off with his daughter. Talia’s eyes opened again, looking over her aunt’s shoulder at them, her chubby arms suddenly flailing as she seemed to realize her parents were nearly out of sight. She shrieked and fought as she was pulled out of sight, and Angelina cried harder against him.
One day. One day it would be safe again and they’d see little Talia Bryar once more.
He had to believe it.
Chapter One
On the list of things Bryar Rosings hated about small town life, the lack of job opportunities was pretty high on the list.
Normally the list consisted of “Nothing to do” and “No one to talk to” and “Oh God I’m SO BORED” and then she would abandon the list, turn on some music, and daydream until she could slip out and look for a party at night. But seeking out employment had brought out a whole other frustrating angle about small town life.
She needed to get out.
But first, she needed a job.
And that was definitely a problem.
The day was warm for late fall as she trekked along the sidewalk on Main Street, the treads of her shoes slapping the pavement. Beat-up sneakers probably weren’t the best attire for job-seeking, but she’d walked to town from the cottage where she lived in the country, and no way was she doing that in heels. Her only other option was combat boots and that seemed way worse than sneakers.
Not like anyone will hire me anyway. She frowned down at the stack of resumes in hand and suppressed a sigh. Little job experience. Good schooling, sure, if you ignored the places she’d been kicked out of. The aunts had homeschooled her until she was twelve, then tried her at a private school, then public school. At last it was the Catholic school that seemed to hold her for a while. Until she stole a van and was expelled two weeks before prom.
She left that part off of her resume, at least.
The intervening years had brought a failed stint at the community college art program and nothing else but odd jobs for her aunts and neighbors. Bryar could do just about anything if someone explained it to her, but that didn’t translate so well on a piece of paper that was supposed to focus on her actual experience.
Twenty local businesses had all accepted her resume that day, sure. Twenty people at desks who barely looked at her, or clerks that smiled pleasantly but didn’t make lingering eye contact. “We’re not hiring but will keep you on file” was the common refrain, even at the donut shop that seemed to have a weekly turnover rate for employees.
She had another half dozen resumes to drop off, at least, before she gave up completely for the day. Maybe something might come of one of them.
Just as she was about to head into the pharmacy, the pleasant scent of freshly baked cookies hit her nose, drawing her attention to the bakery next door.
Gina’s.
Gone was the old building, in its place the new one built after the fire and named after the store’s new owner—or rightful owner, if the gossip from Bryar’s aunts was to be believed. Gina Cassidy. Or Gina whatever-the-husband’s-name-was, as Bryar seemed to recall a wedding last month, so maybe she didn’t use Cassidy anymore.
Bryar eyed the shop. A tiny place like that probably wasn’t accepting new employees, but then she’d been walking for an hour and the rumbling of her stomach agreed with the idea to stop for a few minutes for food.
A handful of teens exited the shop before Bryar reached the door, each holding a small bag of goodies and steaming cups of what smelled like cider. She slipped inside afterward, taking in a quick look around. The space was simple but somehow cheerful even with its plain beige walls. Most of the focus went to the decorative, tantalizing snacks in display cases—pies, tarts, cookies, and cakes. Even some loaves of bread and dinner rolls. She’d had some of Gina’s cupcakes for her twenty-second birthday months ago and remembered them fondly—the girl could certainly bake.
Presently, the shop’s proprietor was nowhere to be found, so Bryar took a moment to wander. Bistro tables and tall chairs were set near the window, just three of them to accommodate a couple of patrons. Hot chocolate, cider, and coffee machines waited behind the counter for drinks, and a large display board listed prices for prepared items and details for catering. Gina had to have been around the same age as Bryar herself, and yet she had all this. All her own. A store, income, and freedom.
A sharp pang struck Bryar. Not jealousy, not even envy, just...just a longing for something that seemed so far out of her grasp. Granted, there was nothing stopping her from packing a bag and hitchhiking out of town, but while she’d been a bit of a troublemaker for years, she wasn’t stupid. No, if she was going to get out of Midsummer, she’d do it right. Make some money, save, and plan, so that when she left, she wouldn’t end up worse than she already was. Or get stuck having to ask for help and come home.
She paused next to the case of cookies, her stomach once again piping up to remind her to eat. Cookies were good. Of course, so was cake, and that drew her attention next to the waist-high counter and the items within.
Faces reflected on the glass top and she glanced up at them, finding a family portrait on the wall. A man and a woman Bryar didn’t recognize stood smiling next to one another, both impeccably dressed and stunning. He was white with sandy hair neatly clipped and a trimmed goatee that shimmered with gold; smart gray eyes peered straight at the camera, confident and slightly amused. The woman was smaller, her head rising just to his shoulder, with black hair artfully styled high, and flawless light brown skin that Bryar would’ve assumed was airbrushed had she appeared in a magazine. A diamond necklace glittered at her throat, and while her hands couldn’t be seen in the picture, she likely had a heavy rock on her ring finger too. In the man’s arms was a little girl in a poofy blue dress, with big dark eyes and even bigger light brown curls framing her face. A miniature version of Gina Cassidy, definitely.
Both her parents were dead now, Bryar knew. They had that in common in addition to their age.
Steps on the floor behind her jarred Bryar to attention and she swiftly turned, her long black curls whipping around her back. For a moment she stood there guiltily, like she was doing something she shouldn’t just by standing there looking at the photo. Absurd, sure, but admittedly she had terrible social skills and found most situations totally awkward whether they should be or not.
“I didn’t hear the bell,” Gina said with a friendly smile as she moved behind the counter. “Sorry about that.”
Bryar glanced at the closed shop door and bell that would’ve jangled had she come in separate from the kids. “No problem.”
“What can I get you?” Gina looked a lot brighter than when Bryar had seen her last, her eyes having lost that haunted, tired look, and her smile no longer forced. Even her posture seemed better.
Of course, the huge diamond on her ring finger probably helped matters. Gina Cassidy’s life had basically become a fairy tale, it seemed.
“I’m eying your cookies but I have to check about ingredients—are any of them guaranteed nut-free? Like no cross-contamination?”
“Yes.” Gina indicated the row of cookies. “All nut-free. I bake the peanut butter cookies and tarts at home and package them there.” She gestured to the wrapped cookies in a different case. “There are a lot of kids who come in with allergies, so I’m careful. There are also guaranteed gluten-free cookies and breads, and a few diabetic-friendly varieties of things as well.”
Bryar breathed with relief. She had an EpiPen on her at all times but really wasn’t interested in having to use it. “Some chocolate chip cookies and hot chocolate.” She glanced at the racks of food and debated for a moment. “To start with, at least.”
Gina lifted her chin to indicate the seating area by the window. “Grab a chair if you like.”
Bryar was glad to, her feet were killing her. She set the useless resumes on the nearest bistro table and peeled off her leather jacket, then climbed on the high-back chair. Midsummer trundled on outside like any other afternoon, a handful of cars moving slowly down Main Street and some casual shoppers out and about. Nothing new. God, she hated the town.
Gina slipped a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream on the table, followed by a plate of cookies. “Freshly baked. Might still be a little warm.”
Warm cookies sounded heavenly but Bryar hesitated before picking one up, glancing at Gina first just as the other woman was about to back away. Sitting there in silence seemed almost as bad as sitting at home in silence, trying to ignore her aunts. “Busy day?” she offered.
