One Wild Ride

by Elizabeth Lynx

  He was surprised but mentioned there was someone from his past, a man that took advantage of his family, that suddenly reappeared. He wanted to show us this guy’s picture to see if he looked familiar. Based on what we told him about Alex’s mom, he wondered if she was involved.

  Now we sat on his blue velvet couch being catered to by Evaleen’s mom.

  “Doesn’t Evaleen have her own place?” I asked because why would her mom be here in the middle of the day without Evaleen.

  Edgar walked to the other side of his silver and glass coffee table and sat on the cream leather chair. His posture told me relaxed but there was uncertainty in his voice. “They are in the process of finding another apartment. I told them I had plenty of room and they could stay with me until they found something.”

  But everything changed once he added a wink. It was funny the way that wink seemed to reassure me more than his explanation.

  “About that picture of . . . what was his name?” I asked.

  “His real name is Damien but he has gone by the name Shane, too. Here, I have it behind this picture.” Edgar got up and removed a folded piece of paper from behind a silver framed photograph of an older woman who I assumed was his mother and a slightly older version of Edgar, which was probably his brother.

  Unfolding the paper, I realized it was a different picture. He placed it in my open palm. Something cold and clammy broke out over my skin as I gestured to it. “Is that Damien?” I pointed to one of the three men in the picture.

  “No. That’s one of his thugs. I don’t know who that is. This is Damien.” He indicated one of the men staring straight into the camera. It was creepy. I knew criminals—even well-paid ones—and he looked like a criminal.

  Alex glanced at the picture but shrugged his shoulder, “I don’t recognize anyone.”

  “That’s the guy who was reading a book at the coffee shop. The one Grace was staring at,” I said and pointed to one of the thugs in the picture, the one that wasn’t Damien.

  Alex leaned toward the picture to get a better look but Edgar took back the photograph and studied it.

  “What would he want with you? I know why he would be interested in Eva—” Edgar said but stopped himself. His eyes flared for a moment before his usual laid-back expression surfaced.

  “What?” Alex asked.

  “Nothing. Obviously, your mom is involved in all this. But why?” Edgar said before folding the picture back up and tucking it behind the frame on the mantle. His fingers gently grazed the edge of the frame as he stared at the people surrounded by silver before turning back to us.

  “She must have hired him to watch me. Watch us.” Alex turned to me and grabbed my hand, giving me a weak smile. No matter what was happening, his touch did something to me. A peaceful, happy calm came over me.

  Evaleen’s mom came back with a tray filled with a white porcelain teapot and matching teacups on saucers.

  “Wow, you go all out for tea,” I said as I admired the simple beauty on the tray.

  “It’s Evaleen’s. We took a trip to Scotland once a few years ago. She bought it while she was there,” Mrs. Bechmann said as she tucked some blond hair kissed with silver behind her ear after placing the tray on the table.

  As she poured out the tea into several cups, I couldn’t help but be captivated by her warm expression. She was strikingly beautiful—like her daughter—with those sharp, high-class features. But where Evaleen tried to mask her beauty with restrictive chignons and no makeup, her mother’s loose hair and soft expression made her seem approachable, almost inviting.

  At that moment, I was jealous of Evaleen. She had always been strong and I wished I had her breathtaking good looks, and it was obvious that her mother loved her. I don’t think I would ever know what that felt like.

  “If that’s true, you two aren’t safe,” Edgar said as he took the filled teacup Mrs. Bechmann offered before sitting back on the leather chair. He was comfortable but from what I had seen of Edgar, he was comfortable everywhere.

  I glanced over at Alex. I knew that look. He wasn’t comfortable. When I first met him, I thought that meant he was trying to be intimidating with his clenched jaw and fists. But now that I had gotten to know him, that posture said more to me than any of his words could. His bright, startling gray eyes lifted to mine and I knew there was no going back.

  Alex’s plan to trick his mom into thinking we were only working on the mural together and nothing more wasn’t working. To the point she was hiring strange thugs to follow us. We had made the decision to stop trying to find the bugs we knew would be replanted in both our places. I thought when we had a pretend fight while I was painting his mural a few weeks back, she would think I was only in his life to complete the painting and that would be it.

  But now I was getting scared. How can I fight a woman who has all the money in the world to make me go away? Perhaps even leave me to die in a dark room, alone, like my sister. The more I got to know Mrs. Hawthorne, the more I knew she was capable of the absolute worst. Heat traveled up my neck and burned my ears as the reality of the situation settled in.

  “That’s why I want to leave, Aria. Go far away from here,” Alex said and took a sip of the tea he got from Evaleen’s mom.

  Maybe Alex was right. We should run away. I couldn’t think of a way we could fight his mother. I glanced at Evaleen’s mom and grinned. Maybe if I were Evaleen I could fight his mom. That woman was smart, in a good way. Unfortunately, Mrs. Hawthorne was smart in an extremely bad way.

  “Here you go, Aria. Evaleen was so right about you.” Mrs. Bechmann handed over the tea to me. She looked up in my eyes as she smiled.

  “Right about what?”

  “She said there weren’t many people in this world who she trusted. She counted me and Edgar.” Evaleen’s mom pointed at Edgar who blushed and tried to hide it behind a teacup to his lips. “But she said if something happened, as long as she had you by her side she would feel safe. She called you kick-ass.”

  “You got all that just from only knowing me for a few minutes?” That was nice of her mom to say but she didn’t know me.

  “I see the wall behind your eyes, dear. It’s the same wall I see behind my daughter’s eyes. I wish it wasn’t there, but I know that wall served a purpose. I have a feeling that wall has made you strong in the past but maybe now,” she glanced over at Alex before turning her attention back to me, “now is the time to tear it down. It takes strength to rip it apart. And I know you have that power inside you or my daughter never would have mentioned it to me.”

  My faced burned from her words. I tried to smile but I knew it was achingly desolate. Therefore, I turned my attention to the warm tea, seeking comfort in the murky waters.

  “What about here, Edgar? You have that spare bedroom . . .” Mrs. Bechmann offered.

  “What about here?” Edgar asked and I glanced up at him to find his usual expression consumed in confusion.

  “You said she isn’t safe and I know this has something to do with Damien, so why not here?” Mrs. Bechmann said as she inched closer to me gently placing her hand on my shoulder.

  As Evaleen’s mom’s words hit Edgar, his usual calm and temporary confusion changed drastically. I snorted and tried my best to cover it up with a cough.

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that. You already have two people staying with you. I really don’t want to be the odd woman out.” I tried to give Edgar a way out.

  It was clear he didn’t mind Evaleen’s mom staying with him, and knowing what I knew about Evaleen’s feelings and Edgar’s history with women, I knew he really didn’t mind Evaleen staying with him, either. But me? I might be a little more than he could handle.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” both men said at the same time.

  “It’s just with, uh . . .” Edgar’s eyes searched the room in desperate need for an excuse.

  Alex’s eyes, on the other hand, were laser focused on Edgar, narrowing with each word Edgar said. It was strange watch
ing this quiet, artistic man turn protective of me. As he kept his eyes on Edgar, Alex scooted toward me on the couch, placing his hand possessively on my knee.

  Was it wrong that my thighs and heart warmed at the gesture? I think, from any other man, I would have rolled my eyes and maybe even been insulted. But Alex had consistently been beaten back and controlled by his mother. I believed he finally gained his confidence to stand up for what he wanted and desired.

  Edgar snapped his fingers. “Henrik’s place.”

  “This Henrik is a man?” Alex said through gritted teeth.

  “Yes.” Edgar smiled widely at Alex.

  Evaleen told me many things about Edgar and having spent the last half hour with him, I see that everything she said was true. A smile from him could melt dried up, frigid panties. But it seemed to be having the opposite effect on Alex.

  “She wouldn’t be staying with him. Henrik is selling his condo. Maybe he would let her stay there until someone buys it. I could ask.”

  The grip on my knee loosened.

  “No need. I’ll buy it. Aria can live there,” Alex said as my mouth, and every mouth that wasn’t Alex’s, dropped open.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Alexander

  “Alexander, let’s talk.” My mother leaned against my desk as I entered my office.

  I swallowed, unsure if she’d found out. When we left Edgar’s place yesterday, I made Edgar and Mrs. Bechmann swear they wouldn’t say a word about me buying Henrik Payne’s condo for Aria, not even to Evaleen. They had promised but I didn’t know them like I knew Aria. I had to believe if Aria trusted them, then I could, too.

  “What is this about, Mother? I have somewhere I need to be.” I walked past her as if my mother’s presence wasn’t causing my blood pressure to skyrocket.

  When I changed the locks and security access for Bradley, I was tempted to exclude my mother from accessing my home. But Aria mentioned that it would be too obvious if I did that. That it might cause my mother to do anything necessary to get to me, and possibly get rid of Aria.

  “Has Ms. Dixon finished her masterpiece yet?” My mother’s lips curled and yet through sheer medical intervention, no wrinkles appeared on her face.

  I turned over some papers on my desk, feigning a search for something to gaze at other than my mother’s bitter eyes.

  “No.” My blunt answer was anything but satisfying to her as I knew it would be.

  She sighed tempting me enough to look up. My mother’s eyes bore into mine but something in her stare altered. If I wasn’t mistaken, it appeared to be uncertainty. Of course, knowing my mother, she might pretend to be unsure to trick me. That seemed like a more plausible excuse.

  “She sure is taking her time. How long has it been now? A month and a half? I know artists that would take half that time to paint an entire room, not just one wall,” she said as she gracefully lowered herself into the chair opposite me.

  I was used to my mother’s cutting comments. She prided herself on slicing people to their core just by a few calculated words. But today, something about them rankled me the wrong way. I knew she was feeding me crumbs of doubt for Aria until I was so full I would be too tired to challenge the words that left her mouth.

  But that was the old me. Before I knew the achingly beautiful, highly talented, and strongest woman in my life, both past and present. Aria made me realize my mother’s vile anger disguised as critiques were only words, as sharp as a puff of air.

  “I guess that’s what makes Aria so much better than your artist friends. Talent takes time. Only a hack would rush it.”

  Her eyes flared and for a moment I thought she would stand, challenge me with her body, but I was wrong. My mother, even with as many spies as she had in her pocket and rooms she had bugged, still didn’t realize that the couple of months I had known Aria changed me. Even if my mother made sure my worst nightmare happened—that she would be right and Aria would only be using me for my money—I could never go back to her control.

  I needed to make my mother see that she held no power over me anymore.

  She believed me weak and easily manipulated. At one time I was, but not anymore.

  “I do admit the woman does have talent. That’s why I went back over the rental agreement and was surprised, as were you, to find out the building was in your name. I wanted Ms. Dixon to paint for you.” Her syrupy smile appeared more tart than sweet.

  I rolled my eyes. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you anymore, Mother? You have lied to me since I was a child. Sheltered me for years to the point I had anxiety when I went outside in public during the day—”

  My mother cut me off, finally standing to beat back my words. “I did that to protect you, Alexander.”

  I leaned forward, pressing my fingers into the wood of my desk until I couldn’t feel them anymore. “From what? What exactly were you . . . are you protecting me from? From the paparazzi or some gold diggers? Why don’t you let me worry about that now? I’m a grown man.”

  “You don’t understand, Alexander. There is so much more to all this than money. Fine. You want money, take it. Take everything, but understand I did this because you are my son and I won’t let anyone take my offspring from me. Even a fair-haired artist.”

  I stared at the woman who gave birth to me. She finally told me something that remotely felt like love. In her sick mind, what she did was for affection, for her family. I hadn’t felt her tenderness for twenty years. Perhaps by standing up to her she finally admitted to having any feeling for me.

  But it’s too late.

  “Unfortunately, Mom, I will always be your son. Not even Aria can break that link,” I said as I straightened my back and flexed my fingers, running them through my hair.

  “This is all your father’s fault. If he hadn’t gotten himself killed, we would be so happy.” My mother turned her head as she wrapped her arms around herself.

  To my surprise her hand lifted and swiped a tear from her cheek. How could she be upset by my father’s death? She never cried over his plane going down. I even caught her smiling on the phone with the police as they discussed the details of his death. She pretended she was yawning but I knew a smile when I saw one.

  “You hated Father.”

  Her head turned back to me as a whisper of a grin curled her lips. “If you only knew, Alexander. Then maybe you would understand. Which is why I came to visit you today.”

  Frustration, and pain so old it felt like a dull knife lazily sawing at my skin, boiled as I shook my head to try to fling it away. “Why did you come then? Just tell me so I can make my meeting.”

  I hadn’t lied to her about that. I was about to leave with Aria—who was hiding out in my bedroom working on the mural. We were meeting Henrik Payne to pick up the keycard to his old condo. He had agreed to a quick closing and Henrik agreed to let Aria stay there until the sale was finalized in a few weeks.

  “The man you know as your father, Zachery Hawthorne. The one that died in the plane crash twenty years ago was not your actual father. Your real father was his brother, August Hawthorne. He died in a car crash six months before you were born.”

  Whatever bitterness I had for my mother drained away to something much worse—emptiness. I felt hollow and my throat tightened as I tried to speak, to cry out, but nothing came. I stood, watching as my mother’s tears dried and she composed herself.

  “He was the man I loved, Alexander, you have to believe me. Yes, I may have lied to you over the years, but I am telling you the truth now. Even today, I still miss August. He was everything Zachery wasn’t. He was charismatic,” she explained as she stepped closer to me, “and intelligent, and so talented. Do you know you get your love of art from him?”

  She reached over and placed her hand on my arm. It felt strange and normally I stiffened or pulled away from her touch, but my soul needed to feel her. And I suspected she needed my warmth, too.

  I struggled to control my emotions, to process what she told me as I asked her
what I needed to know, “Why haven’t you told me before? I deserved to know.”

  “There were so many times I wanted to tell you everything. Your father, your real father, discovered something. Something that very powerful men in this country would never want the public to know.” She sighed and gestured to the chairs for us to sit.

  Once we were seated she continued, “One of the powerful men was his father and later, his brother. Their hands were dipping into political pockets, criminal elements, and terrorist organizations. They took their power as a free pass to do anything they wanted. They were nothing more than white-collar criminals but more elite. A powerful CEO may go to jail, take the fall once caught after years of debauchery, rape, and stealing, but twenty others would continue in his place.”

  Her jaw tightened as her face flushed. “August threatened to go to the CIA and the press. To expose their criminal activity. You know what his father, your grandfather, did?”

  “No.” My voice quiet as the heavy weight of her words sunk in.

  “He had August killed. The police said it was an accident. A drunk driver that drove away from the scene but that drunk driver managed to get out of his car, moved with perfect gait, and reached into your father’s car to make sure he was dead.”

  I shook my head. “But how would you know that?”

  “Because my sister, Bradley’s mother, was out for an early evening walk with Bradley who was only a year old at the time. She saw the crash and started to run off to get help but looked back just as she turned the corner to see what that driver did. I promised her, as she feared for her safety and the safety of her son, that I would keep it a secret.”

  I rubbed my forehead and sat back in my chair. “My God, was that why you hired Bradley?”

  She nodded. “His mother told him a long time ago. He wanted to make sure you were safe. Especially after he heard what happened to your sister.”