Another Stroke of Fate (The Carnal Exhibitions Book 2)

by LW Barefoot

  I brush my lips over her swollen ones. She buys it for an unadulterated second before she shivers and pulls away from my lips as I trail my hands down her spine and pull her closer. I cradle her and absorb the trembling nerves that set about her body.

  I fall back against the sheets with her clasped tightly to my chest.

  “Let me hold you, Harper,” I murmur in her ear.

  She reluctantly falls back to sleep in my arms. A huge shallow divide between us, but I hold onto her.

  I whisper my true feelings when she drifts off. I attempt to instill some goodness in her before it dawns on her that she should hate me if she doesn’t already.

  As I trace Harper with my fingertips, her eyes closed in rest, I watch the rolling clouds through the windows.

  The only way I can guarantee Harper’s safety is to finally deny my feelings and let her go.

  If I have to break her heart to protect her then isn’t that what love truly is? I love her and as much as I want to keep her, it will never be enough. She’s already lived through too much.

  She’s been expressing her feelings with her emotional paintings, silently declaring what she needs. I couldn’t promise her any of those things, especially now.

  I knew I was coming to terms with my decision, I just haven’t been able to admit it to myself. I was still looking for some way, some explanation of how we could make this work.

  My ignorance almost cost Harper her life and I won’t allow my selfishness to finish the task. Not now that I knew the truth. That she’s been broken enough to take it out on herself.

  I can’t move forward not knowing what I’m up against. Each thought and new idea I come up with leads right back to where we are now. The same target will be painted on Harper’s back from now on.

  I curse the morning sun when it peeks over the horizon. That redeeming light casts the truth that it’s time to move forward. No matter how reluctant I’ve been.

  Evan

  Harper and I left Lorraine’s completely different than how we arrived. She hasn’t spoken a word to me since she woke up. I haven’t seen her since she fled from the car when we pulled through the gates of the plantation.

  The sun’s setting rays shower the main ballroom with light. As if the last part of this day could somehow cloud over everything that’s happened. I stroll into the room with single-minded determination to forget, if only for a little while.

  Just walking in the ballroom causes my mind to fill with images of Harper’s glorious body poised and teasing on the bar. She would look even more spectacular in this light. Her hair shining, eyes glowing.

  The staff has cleaned up since then. No sticky countertop or any evidence of the night we devoured each other in passion in this very room.

  I reach for room temperature whiskey. I won’t be able to think about ice cold vodka without getting an inappropriate hard-on for some time. I throw the shot back and pour another for Grayson who just sat at the bar.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Grayson asks.

  “What does it matter? I’m back now,” I say.

  Grayson explains the intricate cover-up of how our father’s gotten away with so much without the board of directors knowing about it, without us knowing about it.

  Brad rushes in the room with his cell phone outstretched in his hand, followed by Seth. We remain silent as we watch Brad talk.

  “How long have you been there?” Brad’s tone is slightly shaky and it never sounds like that.

  Jamie’s fearful voice comes through the other line.

  “I’ve been staying with Kate. I just now went upstairs and saw it.”

  “What are you talking about Jamie?” I ask, my patience wearing thin. Brad hands me the phone.

  Jamie’s face is red and he looks like he did when I saw him in the hospital.

  “Is Ryan or Tom there?” Jamie asks.

  I turn and ask Seth to go find Tom.

  “Yes, hold on.”

  I walk around the bar and hold the phone to where we can see the screen. Jamie’s camera moves from his shocked expression to around a room, Harper’s bedroom more specifically. The bedspread is destroyed. The warning and signature glare at us harshly through the phone.

  “Brad, I need you to contact the doorman to Harper and Jamie’s complex and get the security footage,” I instruct Brad, as Grayson shows Tom the scene from Harper’s bedroom back in New Orleans.

  Tom’s reaction is locked up tight as his eyes meet mine.

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Jamie yells and I want to know what the fuck we are all supposed to do.

  “Don’t touch anything, I’m on my way,” Tom says to Jamie before turning to me. “Don’t tell her, Evan. Keep her out here until we figure out how to deal with this.”

  There’s not a chance in hell I would ever tell her the Sculptor found her.

  “I’ll call Ryan once I’m on the road. We’ll come up with a plan until then let’s keep this to ourselves,” Tom says.

  I watch as Tom leaves. Fear and anger crawl along my spine. It’s terrifying because it’s not fear for me, but for the only person I love.

  The Sculptor found Harper, found Casey. He was in her fucking house. My insistence on keeping her out here and away from the city helps ease my anxiety, but only a fraction.

  Reality and grief settle around the room as I lift the forgotten whiskey to my lips. Seth sits down at the bar, waiting for my instruction, but I don’t know what to do. I grab him a glass as I sit down myself and pour him a drink.

  The timing of all this is precarious. What do you do when the only option you have is to run? I’ve already come to the conclusion that Harper and I could never work. This whole situation promises that, locking it up neatly with a huge fucking bow attached.

  Brad’s gotten close with Harper, I would even venture to say he’s attached to her in some way. He looks at me expectantly, just like Seth. Grayson’s jaw clenches as he pours more alcohol into his glass.

  The only thing we have left to do is wait.

  Harper

  A week has passed since the sessions with the FBI and Evan and I’s disastrous attempt at escape. I lock up whatever I feel and push it aside. That roadblock I claimed as Desire is back firmly in place, that’s all it ever was. It’s an unmovable force where Evan and I are concerned. I no longer fall into the depths of his eyes when we’re intimate. I no longer search for the sweet Evan I thought existed because he doesn’t. I no longer crave his laughter. I damn sure don’t allow him to touch me after we have sex. That simple release is the only need we have for each other. Brad’s my best friend, Rufus cuddles me when I need affection, and Jamie’s the constant rock that reminds me I have a life outside of my current circumstances. His steady voice and advice are the only reason I’ve stayed here as long as I have. He no longer insists on me coming back to New Orleans.

  As soon as Joe Hawthorne is convicted and put behind bars, I’ll pack up my things and leave. I’m not foolish enough to believe that I can make Evan fall in love with me. I’m not holding onto false hope by any means.

  Tom’s assistant has taken over as my agent and has already sold several of the paintings I’ve completed here at the estate.

  If it were only Evan and me here at the plantation I would have already left, but we’re surrounded by people I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to. I’m already trying to figure out how I’m going to cope with leaving Brad.

  I focus on the pressure sprayer as it produces unreal results as I help Martin power wash the back of the main house.

  We got carried away late last night with a crazy game of paintball. I refused to step foot off the golf cart, reminding myself that Papa Bear lurks around the grounds.

  Brad snuck up on the second-floor terrace to sniper shoot hot pink paintballs and I swear that’s his favorite color. The same color as his feather boa I never got to see him sport on Fat Tuesday.

  I’m pretty sure I still have some of the paint coating my hair in place
s.

  In the hazy morning light, I see we were lucky no one shot out a window.

  I wipe sweat from my brow and power down my new favorite tool. Our guilty Jackson Pollock splatter long gone. Martin turns his sprayer off and rolls up the extension cords.

  “I’m going to get some work done,” I tell him.

  “Sugar, that’s what we’ve been doing,” he reminds me.

  I wink at him and wander through the doors at the back of the house. Walking past the library, I see Evan standing in my favorite attire with his back turned to me.

  “Come here, Harper,” Evan says without turning to look at me.

  I walk to him as he turns on his heel.

  “That’s a good little slut.”

  A distinct gravel is added to Evan’s voice that’s no longer his. His arms lock around me. I scream when my eyes crash with Joe’s. I struggle to get out of his grasp with my heart stammering to keep itself in my chest.

  I’m proud of myself because my fear doesn’t conjure tears. Fuck this guy, he doesn’t deserve them.

  “Shh. You shouldn’t be here. I made it more than clear that you should stay away from my son,” Joe hisses.

  “What did I ever do to you?” I squirm.

  “It’s not what you have done. It’s what you could do. My son has always had a soft spot for strays and he needs to get over it.”

  His poisonous breath washes over my flaming face.

  “Fuck you, old man,” I spit.

  “I don’t fuck scarred up whores,” he spits. “But then again, you already know that.”

  His grip wraps around my throat and he shakes me off my feet. Choking me until my vision blurs.

  “Put her down,” Grayson says lazily from somewhere behind me.

  “I think I might take out the trash for good this time since my disappointing sons can’t seem to finish the task,” Joe says with a shake of his wrist.

  “I thought it would be smarter for Evan to get her out of his system,” Grayson says.

  “But this little liability has access to all the wrong people. She could ruin us because she happens to be the victim of someone who draws too much attention,” Joe says as I search for air. “Wouldn’t want her friends at the FBI sniffing around here.”

  Too bad Tom has already left. My hands scratch at Joe’s grip around my throat. He slaps me when my nails dig too deep.

  I’m dizzy as his grip tightens. With my feet off the ground, my legs dangle. I take what’s left in my lungs and heave. My leg connects hard and swift between the two of his. He drops me like a dead fish when he curses and grips his junk.

  “You fucking bitch. How are you still breathing?” Joe roars through ragged breaths.

  “I ask myself that same question every day,” I say as I kick him in the ribs.

  Payback is a bitch and this slut is sick of getting pushed around. Grayson allows me to deliver another satisfying kick to his kidneys before pulling me off him.

  “I know he deserves more, but please trust me and go upstairs. Lock the door,” Grayson whispers in my ear.

  I take my flaming cheek, bruised throat, and aching foot out of the library. I disobey Grayson and listen on the other side of the door after I close it. I fantasize about rushing back in there with a vase and smashing it over Joe’s head and slitting his throat with one of the shards.

  It sounds like Grayson helps Joe off the floor. The only thing I hear for a long time is Joe’s grunts and the shuffle of feet. Good. I should go in there and kick him in the balls again.

  “What are you doing out here?” Grayson asks his father.

  “I brought something for Evan. An apology, if you will,” Joe says.

  “What is it?” Grayson asks.

  “It wouldn’t mean anything to you, but I think Evan will appreciate it. Something to remember her by once she’s gone,” Joe says.

  “It’s not a good idea for the two of you to cross paths. Evan’s just about to kick her to the curb anyway, you don’t need to push the issue,” Grayson says.

  “She needs to disappear before people discover who she really is and connects her back to us. Son, do what you do best and finish it.”

  I take off for the stairs not wanting to hear more of what they have to say. I’ve heard more than enough. That panic I resent creeps back into existence.

  Evan

  I turn around and look up out my office window to spinning wheels kicking up gravel on the driveway in front of the house.

  When I get to the foyer I see nothing but tail lights speeding through the canopy of trees away from the house.

  A door slams upstairs and I move to walk up them.

  “Evan,” Brad’s voice shouts down the east hall.

  I turn around and walk to the library when Brad shouts for me again. Grayson, Brad, and Seth stand staring at a wrapped object leaning against the back of the sofa table.

  “Joe paid us a visit,” Grayson says.

  “How the hell did he get past the front gate let alone the front door?” I demand.

  “He must be paying someone under the table,” Seth admits.

  I instruct him to figure out who it is and start changing passwords on gate codes and alarm systems as soon as he’s vetted them out. There is a specific hook dangling down in my garage in a sea of machinery and metal that Seth is fully aware of. It’s exactly where I expect the traitor to be when I get out there. I think about all the people on my payroll and the possible turncoat.

  “For the love of God, someone please tell me Harper didn’t see him?” I persist.

  “She got a few kicks in if that makes you feel better?” Brad says, his grin absent.

  No. It doesn’t make me feel better.

  “Did he touch her?” I ask.

  Their silence is the only answer I need. Any hope of Harper’s forgiveness dies with this latest run-in. My short fuse ignites with spinning thoughts and possibilities.

  “Do you want me to unwrap it or do you?” Grayson asks pointing to the package.

  “What did he say about it?”

  “It’s supposed to be an apology, something you can remember Harper by. But we all know he’s incapable of remorse and doesn’t give a damn about your forgiveness,” Grayson shrugs.

  I tear the packing tape off, uncovering a painting so beautiful it looks real peaking out from the torn paper.

  A pair of haunting hazel eyes look hopeless off the vibrant painting. Tears swim across the lash line and trail down supple cheeks so full of life.

  I’ve seen this scene before, but only in person.

  Joe gifted me a distinct painting depicting the one person who holds my heart, and who my father keeps trying to get out of the way.

  Brad steps up and pulls off the other side, peeling away the paper where the signature is on the bottom right-hand side of the canvas.

  “Call Tom and get someone out here to take this filth to forensics. And I swear if Harper sees that I’m killing someone,” I yell as I move to find her.

  “Why?” Brad asks perplexed.

  “Because that ties his two cases together,” I yell.

  Brad and Grayson’s faces drain of all color as they recognize the person in the painting and the significance of Joe giving it to me.

  I take the stairs two at a time to my long lost pulse and ultimate sacrifice.

  Harper

  My adrenaline crashes and spirals to hysteria. My skin floods with chills and then peaks past boiling point.

  I curse the traitorous tears that fall when I do what Grayson suggested and lock myself upstairs.

  A steady rainfall has started outside and even the drops splashing against the windows set my nerves over the edge.

  The locked door rattles and nearly scares me to death with the movement. It continues to shake and jolt with someone’s unsuccessful intrusion.

  There’s nothing in here to hide behind. I should have gone straight to Evan’s bedroom, but instead, I ran to my studio. I needed to be alone after being in Joe’s
presence.

  I jump out of my skin when the door cracks from a forceful blow. I move to the rain splattered windows and try to unlock one. On every single window, the lock is either stuck with layers of paint or the window itself won’t budge. I give up and sink to the ground. Joe got in the house, but surely Grayson would stop him from coming upstairs.

  The door finally gives way and slams against the wall. I cover my ears to block the booming crash from having the same impact on my eardrums.

  Evan stalks through the room and doesn’t hesitate to pull me off the floor. A high-pitched squeal escapes my lungs as he shakes me. Our eyes meet and he’s the one who winces away.

  “Did he hurt you?” he whispers.

  But that’s such a stupid question because what difference does it make? His father’s hurt me before. What’s the good of an entire security detail when they let the devil himself walk right through the front door?

  ‘Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.’

  Now I’m acquainted with both. The devil is no longer a single entity.

  Evan’s fingertips brush over my flaming cheek where Joe hit me. He hisses when his gaze moves to my neck. I look away from him, recalling what Grayson said about Evan kicking me to the curb. My throat is coated thick with conflicting emotions. Evan tries to soothe me by running his hand up my arm but I pull away from him. I wipe the tears off my cheeks, I turn my back to him.

  “Harper, I’m sorry,” Evan says.

  I’m sick of him apologizing for sins he didn’t commit. I don’t trust myself to speak as I stare out at the rain.

  Evan moves to touch me. I shrug him off and step away from him.

  I want to tell him I’m so in love with him that it hurts when he touches me. The comfort in his grasp is false because he’s incapable of love.

  Our eyes meet and it’s the beginning of the end, so his efforts are wasted and empty.

  “You finally see him in me, don’t you?” he accuses, clenching and unclenching his jaw and fists.