by Marie Wathen
“Ensley, I need your help,” I state severely, moving closer and lowering my tone to match my desperation. “Please?” I beg, grabbing her hands up in mine.
Her head bobbles in what I perceive as a ‘yes’ as she forces her eyes to obey and center on me. “Anything for you, babes,” she promises with a toothy grin.
“I need some Ryske and I need it now.” She tries to deny me with a head shake, but I push on. “You are right. Last week, I got screwed over by a jackass, who I recently professed my heart to. He crushed me, but I am over it. Listen to me Ensley, being the sweet and innocent dumb broad isn’t cutting it. From this moment on, I’m taking control and I’m willing to risk it all for the chance that it can numb me, even if for just a little while. I need to feel better. Help me.”
“Bea…” she whines, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t.”
“Fine,” I hiss. “Just tell me who and you can pretend that this conversation never happened. I promise that I won’t ever bring it up again. And, I will have total amnesia about who gave me the info.”
“You don’t understand.” She lifts her face, piercing me with darkening and untrusting eyes while shaking her head. “Telling you his name is assuring my death. He won’t hesitate killing me and there is no place that I can hide from someone as powerful as him.”
“Ensley, I swear that you can trust me.”
Her eyes blaze with fear and her bottom lip trembles violently. Staring at the door, like she’s willing it to stay closed, she nods. Almost too softly for me to hear, she whispers, “Tyle.”
I didn’t expect that name. “Tyle sells Ryske?” She nods, sliding her wild gaze to me.
“Don’t do it, B,” she pleads, “Getting hooked on something like this because of a stupid man breaking your heart is just as stupid.”
I hear her warning, but my mind is spinning with this new information, combined with Kole’s demand for me to stay away from him and my curiosity blossoms. Has the group been hiding this information from me? Is that why Tyle and Rhys aren’t close? If he knows how to get Ryske, why haven’t they forced the information out of him? Liars. They never trusted me with the truth, only half-truths.
“Beatrice?” Ensley calls, pulling me out of my internal analyzing. Before she can speak again, the door thrusts open and then Tyle steps through the doorway. He scans both of us and his eyes light up like sparklers, taking in my outfit.
“Damn, you look incredible,” he admits, walking toward me. His dark eyes, travel up the length of my cleavage before they land on my face. Knowing that he’s the piece of shit responsible for Ryske getting into the club makes me hate him instantly.
Intentionally, ignoring his repulsive glare and compliment, I tell Ensley, “I’ll be out front.”
“Don’t leave on my account,” Tyle calls, but I ignore him again, walking out to the VIP bar.
Edge glances over his shoulder at me while pouring a mug of draft beer. He winks and says, “Hey, Beatrice. Sorry about intruding earlier.”
A customer strolls up, slamming his hand against the bar top and then shouts, “Turn down for what?”
Edge hasn’t been at the club long, but apparently he’s already sick of the cliché saying, too. He looks at the idiot, rolls his eyes and then asks me, “Do you know if Ensley is coming out of the back anytime soon? I’m getting my ass handed to me.” He shakes his head while pouring a frosty glass of beer. “Tracelyn picked the worst weekend to go to the casinos.”
“She should be out in a minute,” I reply. “I’ll take orders from the customers on the floor and if she’s not out in a few minutes, I’ll go get her.” Turning away, I see Kole sitting in the middle of the bar. He’s trying to look inconspicuous, but from the way his body is motionless, I know that he is eavesdropping on my conversation. Just to push his buttons, I twist around and offer to Edge, “Or, I could swap with one of the girls downstairs so you don’t have to do double the work because I’m underage?”
“Would you?” He grins brightly. “That would be cool as hell of you.”
“No problem, Edge.”
As I turn toward the stairs, he shouts, “I owe you one.”
Reaching the lower level, I notice the crowd is bordering max-capacity. The Fire Marshall would fine Tox if he chose now to make a surprise inspection. Wedging my way over to the bar, I trade with one of the older servers and immediately begin taking orders. Luckily, most of the people are on the dance floor so I stay busy, but I’m far from overwhelmed. Relaying orders to the bartender, I have a few moments to watch Miller performing. She is completely in her element, being in the spotlight. My gut twists thinking about our last encounter and how she proudly succeeded in hurting me when she told Marcus about Tyle’s kiss. It took everything in me not to knock her flat on her ass. One of these days, I’m going to figure out what her damn problem is with me, I promise.
“You are the hottest babe in this damn place,” a warm breath washes over my bare shoulder. I turn around and don’t recognize the guy because of his elaborate costume. “Tell me that you are single and you want to escape from this madhouse?” His blue eyes paralyze me and I’m standing breathless. He senses my discomfort and smiles proudly before moving in closer. Gulping in a big breath, I swallow hard while biting down on my lower lip. “Come on, sweetness. Be a rebel and sneak off with me.” He winks.
“What are you doing here, Tristan?”
“You know me?”
Because I’m always in disguise when we meet, he must ask me this question every time, but I am so sick of one of my closest friends not knowing who I really am. The anger building in my chest forces my name out faster than I can catch my mistake.
“Breesan?” he repeats, narrowing his eyes on me. “Anna’s friend, Breesan?”
“You…” my voice cracks, trying to answer him.
Hearing him say Anna’s name throws my mind into a wild frenzy. He grabs my hand, drawing me closely. My nerves get the best of me and a tremor courses through my limbs, making me sway. A large arm bands around my back and he guides me toward the open barstool.
“You okay?” Tristan asks, gripping my shoulder with one hand while the other slides under my chin, lifting my face up to meet his. “We need to talk.” Hope flourishes through me and I nod dramatically.
“Doll,” Rhys strolls up, standing next to Tristan. “Is everything okay here?”
Tristan twists his head to look over at Rhys, “Why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me that she was here?” he grumbles, releasing me and folding his arms over his huge chest. The two men are almost the same size, so Tristan’s intimidation tactics don’t look so threatening to the commander. However, his pissed off look is apparently amusing Rhys, because he chuckles dismissively before glancing down at me.
“Wait,” Rhys says, all humor gone when he stares back at Tristan, “What do you mean exactly?”
“Tristan didn’t know that I work here,” I interrupt before he divulges that I’ve exposed myself accidentally. To Tristan, I ask, “Would you mind escorting me to the ladies room?”
They share a silent heated exchange, that I don’t understand and then Tristan replies, “Sure, Doll.” To Rhys he orders, “Back the hell off for five minutes, man.”
He offers me his outstretched hand and I take it, leaping off the chair. Guiding me around the perimeter of the dance floor toward the back hall, he tugs my hand roughly through the horde of sweaty bodies. Stopping in front of the ladies room door, I gulp hard on the air threatening to lodge in my throat when I realize that I’m about to walk into the same bathroom where I was attacked and dosed with Ryske. Pausing for too long and staring oddly at the sign hanging over the top of the door frame causes Tristan to notice my apprehension. He twirls me around to face him. The music lowers at that exact moment and I hear Miller announce that the band is taking a small break. I know that she prefers the upstairs VIP lounge, so there’s no chance of encountering her here.
“Why do you look scared shitless of that restr
oom?” Before I can answer, he shifts his eyes toward the door, studying it a moment before he glances back at me. “Something bad happened to you in there,” he states, concerning filling his eyes. His forehead crinkles as uncertainty settles into his features. “You were attacked. Someone tried to kill you.” He remembers. His grip tightens on my shoulders and I wince. He isn’t physically harming me, but the flooding memories stab through my tough façade and it hurts like hell. “Oh damn, Bree–”
“Beatrice,” I cut him off and correct him through gritted teeth, “My name is Beatrice.”
I pull away and as fast as my too-high high heels will carry me, I rush down the hallway that leads up to the back stairs. Stopping for just a second, I notice him still standing there watching after me. Then I quickly make my way up, hurrying away from him and pushing my way past several couples. My breathing is frantic and I can feel my pulse pounding in my eardrums. Reaching the private employee lounge, I peak inside and release a heavy breath when I find it empty. I slip in and shut the door, muting out the loud crowd. I walk into the large restroom and hide in one of the empty stalls. My hands tremble as I slide the lock into place. I press my back against the metal wall, the cool steel is comforting and helps calm me a bit.
I’m not sure why I ran. It isn’t that I’m afraid of him knowing who I am. I’m thrilled that Tristan is getting his memories back. But, suddenly it feels like everything is raveling apart, and no matter what I do, I can’t make the fractures stop. Exposing my identity before finding Anna and Waverly could prove dangerous or deadly, for too many people. Tristan is right, we all need to talk. Things must change now. They need to trust me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Morgan
“No more information than they had an hour ago,” Granddad grumbles, turning away from his computer after closing his email. “Perhaps your brother had better luck.”
I uncross my left leg off my right knee and then cross my right leg over my left knee. This pattern has occurred no less than ten times in the past half hour that I’ve been sitting in the soft brown, leather wing-back chair, positioned by the window overlooking the Gulf coast in the large study at Walker mansion.
The rolling waves hold my gaze, and with my chin resting on my fist, I nod agreeably, since the numbness prevents me from responding properly.
“Excuse me, Mr. Walker,” Peter, an elderly servant who has been on staff at the mansion for nearly twenty years, enters the room carrying a tray. “I have your medicine, and some snacks that Ms. Ally instructed me to bring up for you both.” Peter glances over, offering me a weak smile while placing the tray on the sidebar beside the window in front of me. He scoops up the empty whiskey tumbler that I drained and abandoned, before turning toward my grandfather. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Not now,” he sighs, “Thanks, Pappy.” The gentleman, ten years Granddad’s elder, nods at his employer before silently leaving us. “I should have gone with Marcus.” I glance away from the gentle waves, rushing up to meet the white sand, and find sad blue-gray eyes, framed in black and gray eyelashes and strokes of deep worry lines bending down toward his high cheekbones, staring out at the same tranquil scenery that I’ve been observing since sitting down earlier this afternoon.
“Any word?” my mother asks, peaking through the large wooden, double doors before slipping inside and shutting them behind her.
She looks at me briefly, then her focus moves to her father-in-law, as she walks over and stands in front of his custom-built mahogany desk. Her posture is perfect, but from the dark shadows forming under her eyes and the hallowing of her cheeks, I can see that the agony of the unknown is taking its toll on her body. Her normal baroque air is deflating like the tiniest pin-prick on a helium balloon. She slides a hand up and down her bare, gaunt bicep repeatedly, a nervous tendency of hers, waiting and hoping for words that will relieve her hellish nightmare, our nightmare.
“Naw, Haleigh,” Granddad offers, standing and rounding the desk to hug her. “Don’t go worrying yourself, girl. One way or another, everything will be okay.” She sighs and nods weakly. “Why don’t we walk outside? Fresh air will do us both some good.” He looks at me expectantly, “You’ll call me when he arrives?”
“Of course,” I reply.
With his arm hooped around my mother’s shoulders, he leads her out of the room. A deafening silence and the yoke of an uncertain future, replaces their presence and weighs heavier than anything that I have ever carried before. Planting both feet on the floor, I lean forward and drop my face into my hands, scrubbing over two day stubble. This is not how things were supposed to go.
Getting Tristan away from this house and whomever the culprit is that was drugging him truly was the perfect plan. He’s slowly returning to his old self, but now everything is turning into shit. Barret called me the following morning, demanding to know where Tristan was, to which I denied any knowledge of his whereabouts. He didn’t buy my lies and interrogated both my brother and sister with the same condescending attitude.
When my father’s attempts at coercing my cousin’s location failed, he had his brother, Beck start the process all over the following day. Tristan’s father’s tactics were much more controlled and persuasive, by means of sincere respect, much unlike the insufferable capitalist he embodies during government subcommittee meetings that I’ve attended with him. He expressed his concern and the traumatizing worry that Aunt Gretchen was experiencing. Guilt washed over me, thinking about my sweet aunt suffering due to the information that I’m concealing. Even though I was close to spilling my guts and confessing everything, I held onto the anger that fueled my resolve to keep Tristan safe from whoever the piece of shit is that was trying to destroy his life like my father did with mine. We’re not holding him prisoner, but he knows the dangers if he leaves us.
After talking with Sam and Rhys for hours back at the compound that evening, we’ve determined that the purpose of doping me with Ryske could have been to control me, keep me working relentlessly at WC, making me a robot, or a mindless minion as dad likes to call his other employees. Honestly, I don’t get it. This whole mind control bullshit was unnecessary, because I planned to devote my life to my family’s business. Since my impromptu jaunt off to Vegas threw a kink in his plans, I came to my senses, somewhat, proving that I was definitely being drugged at the mansion, too. I can’t see me ever returning to the house or the company. It has nothing to do with the work, which I still believe in fully. It’s me that is different. But will this new me hold up to what’s waiting?
“Marcus just pulled into the garage,” Sam announces walking in and scanning the room. “Where’s Granddad?”
“He took mom out to the beach.” I stand and walk over to his desk, lifting the phone and calling his cell. After relaying the message and disconnecting, I tell her, “He’s on his way up.”
“Hey,” Marcus calls, coming in and taking a seat in front of the large desk. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair is chaotic. The answers that we’ve all been expecting, but not wanting to hear, is written in his dark expression as if it were a Google headline.
“It’s true,” I state rather than ask and he confirms with a head bob, looking up at Sam.
She drops her ass on the corner edge of the desk in front of Marcus, cupping both hands over her mouth and mumbling through her fingers, “My God.”
“Where are Tristan, Gretchen and your Gran?” Granddad asks, bringing our mother over to sit in the empty chair beside Marcus.
“Aunt Gretchen is still in Gran’s room with her,” Sam offers, intentionally avoiding eye contact with our mother.
She confronted Haleigh about the name of the man who is her father, but mom refuses to provide Sam any details. Dismissively, she told her that he hasn’t been needed for twenty-six years and there’s no reason to drag a ghost from the past back into her life. Talk about a fight. I’ve never seen anything more vicious than these two stubborn women going toe-to-toe. Sam’s final words were a c
lear threat that she will do her own investigation and dig up every dirty little secret that mom has been hiding, exposing her for the fraud that she has fooled everyone into believing.
“Tristan is out,” I state vaguely. Marcus stares a hole through me, willing the details. I simply shake my head and mouth “later” to him and he accepts it with a nod.
“Go ahead,” Granddad prods, closing the doors and crossing the room to stand behind his large chair at the desk.
“I spoke with Secretary Johnson personally,” Marcus starts. “They’ve called off the search.”
Granddad shifts his chair around, plopping down hard in it. His face blanches and his hand trembles as he reaches up to cover his mouth. Mom shrieks, crying into her palms and I place a comforting hand on her shoulder while managing to hold down the vomit forcing its way up my throat.
Sam blows out a heavy breath and then asks, “Do the investigators know what caused the plane to go down?”
Marcus nods. “From the communications recording retrieved from the black box, before he notified JFK, Don advises his co-pilot that the gauges must have stopped working. When questioned about it, Don tells him that according to the fuel gauge there was an instant dump and within two minutes every last drop was gone.” he sighs, glancing over at mom briefly with concerned eyes before turning his attention back to Granddad who is staring straight ahead, “He notified the passengers over the intercom and then you can hear Dad’s raised voice, cursing them inside the cockpit, followed by uncle Beck shouting out instructions to land moments before the recording ends.”
Mom shouts, “That bastard killed them all.”
Finding his voice, Granddad grunts, “Don was the best damn pilot we’ve ever had. There’s no chance in hell that he would have made such a fatal error as fuel.”
“But he did. Didn’t he?” Mom challenges through her tears. “And now my husband is dead.”
“Calm down, Haleigh.” Turning to Marcus, Granddad inquires, “Is there anything else? I’ve emailed the TSA administrator, but John hasn’t replied.”