Through The Water: Fairest Series Book Two

by Myers, Shannon

  I nodded and released a sharp breath, suddenly feeling a little claustrophobic. It wouldn’t have mattered if Killian was in a different country altogether, there was something in the way Tristan spoke that made me believe he’d do exactly what he said.

  Tears blurred my eyes. I quickly brushed them away with the back of my hand before speaking. “I’ll do it.”

  “Good,” Tristan responded with a look of resolute calmness as he reached down to stroke my damp cheek.

  “This is for our future, little dove. You’re my baby girl, and it’s my job to take care of you. Now, prove your loyalty to me out there, and Brad won’t be allowed in the house unsupervised until the wedding.

  “In the meantime, he’ll be forced to work on proving himself worthy of you. I’ll make it abundantly clear I won’t agree to marriage until I’m convinced he can give you the life you deserve—I’m talking trips around the world to places you’ve only dreamed about. Let me keep you safe.”

  The words I’d longed to hear since I was a child barreled past my ribs and lodged in my heart, slicing it to ribbons. He was handing me everything I’d ever wanted, freedom and a life without atonement.

  All that stood in my way was Killian.

  Mama had warned me to run years ago, but I’d stayed like an obedient dog, convinced I could earn my independence. Even now, I found myself devouring his platitudes like any starved and abused animal would, wanting to believe this time would be different.

  “Love is sacrifice, little dove,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “And yours will be rewarded.”

  I pulled away from the fantasy in my mind with a distracted nod. Love was sacrifice, just not in the way he believed. It was a willingness to throw yourself on the sword to save another.

  Just like Killian had wanted to do for me.

  Just like I was trying to do now.

  Love with stipulations wasn’t love. It was an acknowledgment between opposing parties, a list of conditions one side was expected to satisfy for the other.

  There was a soft knock at the door, and I glanced up to see that it was time. Tristan had just taken my hand when I was struck by a sudden thought.

  A stipulation of my own.

  “Wait,” I whispered, taking a step back.

  “Sweetheart, are you okay? Do you need some water?” His concern almost sounded genuine.

  I held the speech up with trembling fingers. “Tell me how you did it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” I said, my voice strangled. “You want me to lie for you, the least you can do is give me the truth about my accident. How did you control the car, Tristan?”

  “Just give us a minute,” he called out to the person on the other side of the door before approaching me with his arms crossed over his chest. “I have no idea what you’re—”

  “Bullshit,” I hissed, ignoring the beads of sweat clinging to the nape of my neck. “The first time the lights flashed, I thought something had crossed in front of the convertible. Then the radio began changing stations, and the volume got louder. When I punched the brakes, the car accelerated. So, tell me the truth—and remember, your sacrifice will be rewarded.”

  I watched as the color drained from his face, confirming my hunch that my recurring nightmares had been fractured memories from the night of the crash.

  Tristan’s strength had always come from his ability to strip a person of everything they loved. But in doing so, he’d created a monster. One who would become his greatest horror, because I no longer had anything left to lose.

  “And if I refuse?” He loomed over me with a grin, cracking his knuckles in a silent reminder of what he was capable of doing.

  “I’d advise you against making such a hasty decision,” I stated, repeating the same words he’d used with me. “Considering I’ve already agreed to tell the press exactly what you want.”

  His lips pulled back in a snarl, the muscles and veins in his neck straining against the skin as he spat, “Are you threatening me, little dove?”

  “This is our future, Tristan. No more secrets. Growing up, I was forced to tell you my sins, it seems only fitting you tell me yours.” The ground quaked beneath my feet, but by some miracle, I managed to remain upright.

  A slow smirk spread across his face. “There are going to be consequences for this, Ariana.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  He leaned against a bookshelf casually, but his eyes glinted with barely suppressed rage. We both knew he couldn’t hurt me here. There were too many witnesses.

  Instead, he wrapped a large hand around my bicep and yanked me forward. “Someone within my own house was conspiring against me, so I did what I had to do to protect my assets,” he hissed, sending spittle onto my cheek.

  “What are you saying?” I pushed, dread swirling in my belly.

  “I’m saying I made the tough choices,” he growled, squeezing my arm in a punishing grip. “Now, it’s your turn.”

  “You can’t say it.” I winced and shifted my weight from one foot to the other, struggling to free myself. “I’ve given you everything, yet you still won’t tell me the truth.”

  With a condescending sneer, he released my arm and sent me stumbling back in my heels. I caught myself on the edge of his desk and released a shaky exhale, watching him warily.

  His face was almost purple, the muscle in his jaw twitching wildly. “‘A worthy wife is a crown for her husband, but a disgraceful woman is like cancer in his bones.’ You know how you get rid of a tumor, little dove? You cut it out.”

  28

  Ariana

  “You had the power all along my dear.”

  -L. Frank Baum, The Wizard of Oz

  I peeked out through the thick velvet curtains to see the rabid faces of the reporters gathered below the stage. There was a blonde woman near the front who caught my attention as she looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but here.

  That made two of us.

  The press had been salivating like sharks at the scent of fresh blood. They'd fought over space, each one waiting impatiently to see if the rumors were true.

  Meanwhile, I’d vomited twice more since leaving Tristan’s office when it dawned on me that he wasn’t going to be immediately arrested and thrown in jail. In the crime shows on television, when someone wore a wire and got a confession, the bad guy always ended up in handcuffs.

  I sat back down and let the stylists touch up my hair and makeup while staring daggers at Dean. He was playing on his cell phone, completely oblivious that I was plotting his murder from five feet away.

  Maybe I had more in common with Tristan than I previously realized.

  The security guard had wanted me to believe he was looking out for my best interests but forcing me to go through with this press conference was in direct opposition to that plan.

  I waited until they finished with me before making my way over to him. “How much longer is this going to take?” I hissed.

  He glanced up with a frown. “There are bigger things in play right now. Just be patient and follow my lead, okay?”

  My nostrils flared, and I shook my head, hissing, “No. You promised me I wouldn’t have to go out there. I was just supposed to go to his office and get the confession. Why can’t you arrest him now?”

  “Had you listened to me last night and gone to the damn safe house, you wouldn’t have to. Now, I suggest you don’t read a word of that speech unless you want to be held culpable when the truth comes out.”

  I squeezed the pendant on my necklace until I could feel each tentacle embedding in my palm. “What am I supposed to do? Stand there?”

  “Exactly.” Dean nodded. “Just stay silent. They can’t prosecute you if you don’t speak. Besides, Tristan had you declared mentally incompetent after your accident, so no one’s expecting much, if anything, out of you. Trust me.”

  My skin was drenched in an obscene amount of sweat. There was also a sharp pain in my che
st that I was convinced was the beginning of a heart attack.

  But sure, why not hop up on stage to play the quiet game?

  “Trust you? Why—because you’ve done such a bang-up job so far? How long do you think Tristan’s going to let me stand up there in silence before intervening?” I countered, my voice tinged with hysteria and terror.

  Shit. Damn. Hell.

  “When this fails, and it will, you do whatever you have to do to keep Killian and Morgan safe.”

  Dean studied me with a raised brow. “And you—”

  “I think we both know it’s too late for that,” I whispered, running my thumbnail over a tentacle and wishing I could bring the damn thing to life.

  Our conversation ended when Tristan’s publicist arrived to escort me onto the stage. “Now remember, stick to the script,” she clipped out in a brisk tone. “No improvising. Are we clear?”

  “Yep,” I squeaked out as she nudged me toward the lectern. The stage I’d been on almost every Sunday morning, singing with the worship band, no longer provided the respite it once had.

  I squinted against the bright lights and focused on the faces below, coming back to the blonde reporter and her tortoiseshell glasses. A corner of her mouth lifted, and I looked away, bothered by the familiarity.

  The microphone boomed loudly as I angled it down toward my mouth, like the sound of someone striking a bass drum. I straightened the papers and licked my cracked lips, my head swimming in warnings.

  Stick to the script.

  Just stay silent.

  Do as you’re told.

  I’d long associated safety with staying small and quiet when, in reality, it had never been anything more than consent. I had a choice to make—continue to let other people hold my voice or fight through the fear to make myself heard.

  Sometimes, the smallest voices are the loudest.

  “Hello,” I croaked, before clearing my throat. A sharp screech of feedback traveled across the sanctuary, the sound setting my teeth on edge.

  “M-my n-name is Ariana James and K-K-Killian R-Reed...” I stammered halfway through the first line of Tristan’s speech, before pausing to gulp a breath.

  So far, so terrible.

  If I went through with this, there was a good chance I wouldn’t be walking out of here alive. But if I stuck to Tristan’s script, we were all as good as dead.

  Pick up your shield and fight back.

  My heart thundered against my breast. The river of sweat running down my spine had become something like a waterfall. I’d imagined bravery like the movie in Georgia’s room, with a woman marching across no man’s land with her shield held high, but maybe strength came in more than one form.

  Maybe bravery could be found in the small things, by doing nothing more than speaking my truth. If there was no one else, then it fell to me.

  “I’m Ariana James,” I repeated, firmly this time. “And Killian Reed is innocent.”

  A brief silence descended over the sanctuary, and then questions were being fired at me like bullets from all sides.

  “Ariana, why did you lie?”

  “Did Killian Reed pay you to say this?”

  “Is it true you’re carrying his baby?”

  My pulse thrashed loudly in my ears, muffling their hateful chatter. I’d sort of imagined Dean bursting onto the stage to whisk me away, not leaving me to deflect the gunfire on my own.

  Clearly, I didn’t know what I was doing. I nervously jerked my head to the left and right, searching for help, only to find Tristan’s silent glare. He brought his hands together in a slow clap, his mouth twisted in a sardonic smirk.

  Shit. Damn. Hell.

  A bubble of hysterical laughter rose up. I could say whatever the hell I wanted to at this point.

  I was already dead.

  It was a fact that left me feeling both terrified and invincible. I had no doubt Tristan was going to come on stage within minutes to apologize. He’d pin my outburst on the car wreck or the trauma I’d experienced at the hands of a particular baseball player. Until then, though, the floor was mine.

  Let the world see the truth, and the monster loses its power.

  See the truth.

  My legs had become as useful to me as cooked spaghetti noodles, but a current of strength ran through my veins. There was only one thing left to do.

  For my final act, I’ll be taking everyone down with me.

  I pulled the microphone free and kept my eyes on his as I calmly stated, “To answer your questions, I didn’t lie as this is the first time I’ve spoken publicly, while Tristan James has been insistent on keeping the truth from getting out. Oh, and it would be impossible for me to be carrying Killian’s baby as I’m still a virgin!”

  Tristan’s eyes darkened as he ran a finger across his throat in warning. Deep-set lines appeared on his forehead. Three meant trouble, but I didn’t look away. I didn’t lower my head. Instead, I blinked back tears and prepared to tell him goodbye in a voice loud enough for him to hear.

  Only, this time, I wouldn’t be coming back.

  This is for you, Killian.

  My heart stuttered in my chest as I spoke the words I’d held onto for years, knowing there was no other way. “I’ve spent my life being physically and emotionally abused by not only Tristan James, but his business partner, Brad Phillips, as well.”

  With my back to him, Tristan didn’t see me loosening the scarf around my neck until the cashmere was already fluttering to the stage.

  A collective gasp moved through the sanctuary, but I didn’t stop there. With shaking hands, I reached for my zipper and tugged it down. The dress slipped from my shoulders and fell to my waist, exposing the purple and black bruises along my arms and ribs.

  Mama once said, ‘No one expects an angel to set the world on fire.’

  I hadn’t understood it at the time, but as cameras began flashing and the noise in the room became a deafening presence, it suddenly made sense.

  “Now, folks,” Tristan drawled as he stepped under the spotlights, his voice magnified, courtesy of the microphone pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket. “I think you can see now why I took what happened to my baby girl so seriously. She’s been such a fighter these last few months, trying to come back from a brain injury, only to end up battered in violence. That man, who she truly thought cared, brutalized her—”

  “No, that’s not true,” I argued, only to find my mic had been cut off. The urge to scream was overwhelming, but it wouldn’t do anything for me now.

  I’d been silenced.

  The blonde reporter seemed to be the only one not taking notes or shouting questions to Tristan. Instead, she was watching me with a look of unrepressed horror.

  Maybe she saw the monster too.

  His hand landed against my bare shoulder. I flinched, before trying to step away from the contact. With deft fingers, he tugged the dress back up over my exposed body and spun me around to let him zip it, before pulling me against his side with a punishing grip.

  “Ariana fought for her life that night but lost the very thing she’d been saving for marriage,” he continued, speaking in a measured tone. “The physical effects are apparent, but it’s the emotional scars that have me troubled, folks. My baby girl has regressed in the days since the attack, convinced she’s still a virgin as a way of coping with the trauma.”

  He looked down at me with a patient smile while I continued struggling.

  Blink. Blink.

  “Now, I’d like to ask y’all for something here today. Right now, Ariana needs to feel your love and support like never before during this time of healing and grief. Please join me in prayer. Dear Heavenly Father, we know that life doesn’t always make sense—”

  My elbow dug into his ribs, and he exhaled what sounded like a low chuckle, before continuing, “But your plans are not our own, and all we can do is trust that you’ll hold us through this pain, leading us to brighter days ahead. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  There was no time to
stop and consider the ramifications of my actions as Tristan exited stage right with me firmly in tow. Numbness settled into my joints as he marched me off the stage, his fingers compressing the newest bruise blooming along my bicep.

  All I could hope for at this point was a quick and merciful death.

  I grimaced at the fury reflected in Dean’s glare as he met us backstage, getting the distinct sense he’d be open to making me suffer.

  He squared his shoulders as we approached. “Do you want me to get her back to the house?”

  “Please,” Tristan growled through a tight jaw, before dragging his index finger down my cheek. “And I want two guards posted outside her bedroom door—wouldn’t want her getting cold feet on her wedding night.”

  “I’d rather kill myself,” I hissed, jutting my chin up in defiance.

  Tristan chuckled and leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Not until Brad’s done with you, sweetheart. Maybe not even then.”

  Dean wrapped a hand around my arm and dragged me toward a side door while I gasped and wheezed, feeling like I was on an elevator in free fall. Even with as angry as he was, he still managed to avoid touching my bruises.

  We slipped down a hallway lined with empty Sunday-school classrooms before he came to a sudden stop and demanded, “What the fuck happened to not saying a word up there?”

  “I—I improvised,” I weakly replied, my chin and lips trembling violently.

  A condescending smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you? There was a plan—which you completely steamrolled over—now, we’ll be lucky if we ever get anything—”

  “He said he was going to kill Killian. What about that, huh?”

  “Look at me,” he commanded, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “Conspiracy to commit murder is not going to be enough to put him away for life, especially not without proof of a conspiracy!”

  “But you have the recording,” I argued as he began moving again, trying to match his pace in heels. “He said, ‘I’ll kill him myself.’ How is that not enough proof?”