Recovering Beauty: The Kane Brothers Book Two

by Gina Azzi

  My new road to redemption is an interesting one. For starters, it’s financially constraining. Now that I’m out with the Devil’s Shadows, I’ve been working overtime at a new wine bar that opened in town. Between serving, busing, and bartending, I’m barely making half of what I used to earn with MC but at least my conscience is clear.

  Jax snaps his fingers under my nose, and I startle, looking at him.

  "You okay?" His low voice is gruff and I nod, shaking my head to clear my thoughts.

  "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking."

  “Well, don’t hurt yourself.”

  I flip him the middle finger and he chuckles. But it’s Evie who sees through me. Her head tilts to the left as she studies me thoughtfully.

  "What're you doing tonight?" she asks.

  "Hmm?" I turn toward her.

  "I asked, what’re you up to tonight?"

  "I’m off today so heading over to a BBQ at Lori’s. Just a bunch of the old gang getting together for some beers and burgers. Stop by if y’all want.” I offer, ducking into the refrigerator to pull out a can of Coke. "I'll catch you two lovebirds later." I blow a kiss at them, popping the tab and taking a long swig.

  Grabbing a pair of board shorts from the back of a kitchen chair, I pop into the bathroom to change before heading out the door and over to my on-again, off-again, somewhat-constant hook-up’s house, Lori Filton.

  "You came." Lori's voice is all sugar and syrup when I step into her backyard.

  "Yup." I hold up the case of Corona. "I come bearing gifts."

  A few guys in the yard holler out and girls wave, their tiny string bikinis leaving little to the imagination.

  Clad in a T-shirt and board shorts, I fit right in for an evening of barbecuing, drinking, and lounging in a pool, a beer in hand.

  "I'm glad you're here," Lori whispers, placing her palms against my chest and leaning up to place a sensual kiss at the corner of my mouth.

  I grin down at her, my mood brightening considerably at the prospect that's now on the table. "Me too."

  Lori Filton and I have had a thing going on for years now. It's easy, uncomplicated, and reliable. Beneath the flirtation and awesome sex is an actual friendship, so it makes our interactions fun, mutually beneficial, and enjoyable on a level deeper than a one-night-stand, but without all the expectations and bullshit of a monogamous commitment. It's perfect. Watching as her tits jiggle in the light green cups of her bikini, a flash of her tattoo peeking out from below the string tying around her back, she's pretty damn perfect too.

  "Wanna beer?" Gunner calls out from his station, manning the grill.

  "Sounds good, man," I reply, tossing an arm around Lori and pulling her into my side. Dropping a kiss to the crown of her head, she giggles, and we walk over to Gunner, each pulling cold beer bottles from the cooler. I dump in some more bottles from the case I brought and exchange hellos with the rest of the people present. I know mostly everyone and graduated with the majority of guys and girls milling about or at least remember them from high school.

  Turning my face to the sky, I exhale deeply. Tonight is going to be good. Easy. Relaxing.

  Evie and Jax are settled, gearing up for their move to San Antonio. Daisy is finally back home after graduation. Denver is keeping his head down and his nose clean.

  I have the entire weekend to work double shifts at Cork’s Wine Bar and figure out how to pay the rest of this month’s bills. It's going to be fine.

  I take a long pull of my beer, enjoying the tangy taste that coats my throat. My eyes scan Lori as she swivels her hips absently to the beat of the song blaring from the speakers. Tipping my bottle back, I enjoy the beer along with the view.

  "Yo, we're running low on ice." Gunner leans over the sunbed Lori is stretched out on even though the sun set hours ago. It’s late now, the sky black save for the light of the stars.

  "Okay." She nods, not raising her head. "But I’m so comfortable in this moment. I can't move."

  I snort, swatting her ass. "You falling asleep, Lor?"

  She doesn't respond.

  "Man, you wanna take a ride with me?" Gunner nods in my direction. I can't read his eyes behind the aviators he's rocking, but the guy's been manning the grill the entire evening, how buzzed can he be? Grilling takes discipline, precision timing, and paying attention. Gunner barely possesses any of those qualities sober, and the steaks and wings had been incredible. So he must not be drinking much.

  "Sure," I agree easily, draining my fourth beer. Standing up and leaning over Lori, I press a kiss to the underside of her jaw. "Be back in a bit."

  "Don't forget you owe me another round, Carter," she says, referencing how our romp in the bathroom was cut short earlier when Damien's college girlfriend had to vomit. Kids these days can't hold their liquor.

  "See you soon, Lori."

  Following Gunner out of the backyard, we pass several cars in the driveway before settling into his Ford Explorer. He's had it since high school and climbing into the passenger seat brings me back to tailgates, Friday night football games, and spontaneous trips to Tybee Island.

  "Man, it's been ages." I tug the door shut behind me; it sticks, so I have to open it again and pull it harder.

  "I know. I really need to upgrade, but I just can't let Betsy go." Gunner pats the dashboard affectionately, almost hitting his forehead against the steering wheel.

  "Dude, you really need to get laid if you're still this hung up on your SUV."

  "Tell me about it." He starts the engine and eases down the street. "Hey, what's the deal with you and Lori anyway?"

  "Me and Lori?" I click my seatbelt in.

  He nods, not bothering to turn his eyes from the road.

  "You know, we chill. Kick it sometimes. Nothing serious, we both know the score. Why?"

  "Just wondering."

  "You're just wondering?"

  He shrugs, turning to look at me. "Sometimes, I think she may think it’s more than it is. Like it's for real or something."

  "Nah," I say, blowing off the idea immediately. Maybe back in the day she thought we'd turn into more but not now, not after so many years of just hooking up. "She knows what's what."

  "If you say so."

  Another thought suddenly crosses my mind and has my eyes swinging to Gunner's. "You into her?"

  "What?" He laughs, but it sounds off, too high. "No, man, I just was wondering—"

  "Stop. A stop sign!" I call out, my finger pointing to the sign as we blow past it.

  My eyes widen as I glimpse the dark shadow of a sports car, with a gorgeous blonde sitting in the passenger seat. Her mouth drops open and her eyes spark, boring straight into mine, with so much surprise I would laugh if the situation weren’t so dire.

  Gunner reacts too late, and we plow directly into the black Lamborghini. I throw my hands out in front of me to keep my face from hitting on the dashboard as the seat belt tightens around my chest and the air bag releases.

  Metal shrieking and glass shattering fill my ears as a sharp pain explodes in my wrist. Screaming and yelling and loud sounds I can't place. My eyes are closed, my thoughts racing. My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel dizzy, the SUV spinning like I'm on the Tilt-a-Whirl.

  "Gunner? You okay?" My hand reaches out toward the driver's side.

  A loud thud bangs against my side of the SUV, and my head jerks against the headrest.

  "Gun?"

  We've stopped. An eerie silence clogs out all noise for one breath, until I manage to open my eyes, and chaos and pandemonium unfolds around me.

  I can hear the sirens in the distance and smell the smoke billowing out of Gunner's engine. People are talking to me through the passenger window. Someone is trying to find a pulse on Gunner.

  The girl. What about the girl? Is she okay?

  Her eyes were cerulean and her hair was like sunshine. She looked like an angel.

  Did I imagine her?

  Is she okay?

  No one is answering me. Why is no one answerin
g me?

  Gunner?

  3

  Taylor

  The lights are blinding. Too bright. They dazzle and bedazzle so much so that I close my eyes again and drift back into the memory I was lost in before I got confused. My body feels like it's floating, as if I'm on a waterbed. You know, the ones that were popular in the nineties? I fight the urge to giggle at that thought.

  So my memory. Right.

  I close my SUV door behind me before striding into the studio. Pushing through the double doors, the bustle of the unfolding photo shoot halts briefly as members of the lighting and prop teams pause to look at me. At the sound of the producer, Fabio’s, voice, they all spring back into action.

  Today, I have a photo shoot for Adriana Rose’s new line of couture gowns.

  "Darling, you're here." Fabio strides forward, pressing air kisses to either side of my cheeks.

  "I am," I answer, handing him my latte as he takes three large gulps.

  "You have no idea how badly I needed that."

  "It looks beautiful." I gesture toward the set. "And the lightning seems perfect."

  He raises his eyebrows in my direction, the sun catching off the barbell pierced through his left brow. "You think so?"

  "Absolutely. It complements the soft palette of this shoot well." I stride forward, depositing my bag on a random chair and greeting the rest of the team.

  My eyes sweep over the set. A plush chaise lounge in soft peach sits in the center surrounded by various sized pillows in light cream and gold. The carpet is thick and soft. An overhead chandelier throws the light like a sun catcher. The entire set is transformed into a soft, fairytale setting of every little girl's dream bedroom. Actually, tilting my head to the side, I study the pillows and realize that my bedroom looked similar at one point.

  "What do you think?" Adriana asks next to me and I jump slightly. I didn't even hear her approach.

  "It's beautiful. Camilla did a wonderful job," I say, and it's the truth. The set is so beautiful, so sweet, and light and airy, it’s the perfect backdrop for the gowns I'll be modeling today.

  "I want you in the organza lace gown first."

  I turn toward the racks of gowns and the stylists who stand there, waiting. "Of course."

  Striding over to them, we discuss my look, hair and makeup jumps in, and then I'm settling back across the chaise lounge, my arm properly positioned to look both casual and elegant. The curve of my neck is discussed at length as Fabio tips my chin in several directions on Kenny's commands. Finally, once the pose is painstakingly achieved, Kenny begins to shoot.

  And with him behind the lens, I relax enough internally to call forward the persona the world thinks I am. I transform into Taylor Clarke, Pierre Kent model, and the new face of Adriana Rose's Fashion House.

  In this moment, I am a model. I am confident, strong, independent. And it has nothing to do with the beautiful gowns, it’s everything else. An inner knowledge that I can do this, that this is my calling.

  The scene shifts, the lace gown disappearing.

  I remember now; I wasn’t wearing a lace organza dress. No. It was sapphire and paired with strappy, silver heels. I was with Barrington. Groan. Barrington Wade is the worst.

  As soon as he closed whatever deal he was manipulating, he ushered me out of the gala and to his waiting car, barely glancing at the valet. I muttered “douche” under my breath and his eyes had swung wildly to mine, the anger in his irises barely contained.

  I swallowed my laugh, recalling Daddy’s face when he asked me to attend the event with Barrington. His expression had been hopeful, grateful.

  Lowering myself into Barrington’s ride, I managed to keep my mouth shut but my toes tapped out a beat on the floorboard, excess energy running off of me in waves.

  Fragments of clarity return, and I struggle to keep my eyes closed against the lights that blind me.

  Barrington slid into the seat next to me and started the engine.

  My mood soured further as I was forced to breathe in his cologne for the entire ride home. We were several traffic lights from the turn to my parents’ house when it happened.

  Yes, that's right.

  The dark blue SUV. Two men inside. Beautiful men with chiseled jaws and angular faces. Particularly the one in the passenger seat. Now, why do I remember things like this? Here I am, hating it when people comment on just my looks, and yet that's what I remember of them. Of him. God, it’s so incredibly shallow of me and yet, I couldn’t help but get lost in his eyes for a moment. A moment that stretched too long as I realized too late that the SUV ran the stop sign. Panicking, I reached out for Barrington’s arm as he simultaneously slammed on the breaks and cut the steering wheel to the left.

  The stranger in the SUV stared at me, his eyes sparkling like jewels. Bright green. They were wide, panic rippling across his face. His mouth was yelling something, his hand splayed out in front of his face, as if he could stop the course we were on by throwing out his arm to save me.

  They crashed directly into the passenger side of the Lamborghini. I felt the impact as my head whipped toward Barrington before slamming into the passenger window. My hands clutched at air, reaching for something steady to grab onto. Next to me Barrington let out a string of curse words and yells. I closed my eyes at some point, felt the car spin and spin and spin at a dizzying rate. The copper taste of blood filled my mouth, and a pain so sharp it ached bloomed along my abdomen, stinging into my thigh.

  The airbags deflated, and the car felt suffocating.

  I couldn't breathe. Couldn't muster enough breath to fill my lungs. Couldn't move.

  Around and around and around we spun.

  And then blackness.

  Silence.

  My memory.

  Peach.

  Cologne.

  Organza lace.

  Nothing.

  Until the lights.

  The lights that dazzle and bedazzle.

  "Taylor. Taylor. Do you know where you are?"

  Hmm?

  "Ms. Clarke, can you hear me?"

  Yes.

  "Can you open your eyes?"

  My eyelids feel so heavy, as if an elephant is plopped down comfortably on each lid. I struggle to open my eyes and feel my eyelashes flutter the tiniest bit.

  "She's coming around."

  I wrinkle my nose and am surprised that my entire face feels frozen. Stiff. Sort of how Isabella describes the immediate aftermath of Botox. Oh God. I didn't let her talk me into Botox, did I? With my luck, I'll have an allergic reaction, and end up on one of those reality TV shows about when plastic surgery goes wrong. I want to laugh at the thought, but first I'll scold Isabella for her meddling ways.

  Just as soon as I get my eyes open.

  Squinting, my eyelids crack open and blinding lights meet my gaze briefly before being blocked out by a figure.

  "I'm Dr. Woo," the doctor says gently, his laugh lines crinkling around his mouth. "We're very relieved you're awake."

  You are?

  "Do you know where you are, Taylor?"

  Yes, plastic surgery gone wrong. Starring on a reality TV show. When I turn my head away from the kind doctor's eyes, I'll look directly down the lens of a camera. Except I'd bet my last dollar my favorite photographer, Kenny, won't be behind it.

  "You're in Ashby County General Hospital. You were in a car accident."

  Huh? I try to open my mouth to refute this, but no sound comes out.

  "Can you get Ms. Clarke some water?" Dr. Woo asks someone, and I hear receding footsteps.

  "An SUV ran a stop sign and hit your car."

  Oh, my God. The two men in the blue SUV. The chiseled jaw and sparkling green eyes and—they were real. Not just a memory. Not just a dream.

  "Are they okay? Is Barrington alright?" I manage to croak out.

  "They're all fine. Your injuries were the most complicated."

  My breath freezes in my throat at his words and a ripple of panic moves up my spine.

 
"Am I – am I okay?"

  Dr. Woo sighs heavily. "You had to have emergency surgery, but your prognosis for a full recovery is extremely favorable."

  "I had surgery?"

  Someone in the room titters, and Dr. Woo's face transforms, throwing the person a death glare.

  Silence.

  "You did. You're on a lot of pain medication right now but when the medication subsides, you will be in extreme discomfort."

  "What?" My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and I feel like I’ve swallowed a cotton ball. I wiggle my toes but don’t feel any sensation. Oh my God, am I paralyzed? The thought strikes extreme fear in the pit of my stomach and I struggle to catch a breath. I flick my fingers and clench my hands and yet it’s as if my body is responding in slow motion. My heart beats furiously in my chest as panic seizes me, adrenaline spiking in my bloodstream.

  A beeping sound rings out furiously, fueling my panic.

  "Ms. Clarke, you’re okay. Breathe. You’re okay.”

  My eyes widen as air finally fills my lungs and the kind Doctor’s voice fills my head, quieting my thoughts which ricochet at a dizzying pace inside my mind.

  “You had a severe amount of internal bleeding due to a spleen laceration. We had to give you several blood transfusions. I know this is a lot to take in, and I'm here to answer any questions you may have. Is there someone I can call for you?"

  I wrinkle my forehead. My parents aren't here?

  And then I remember; after I left for the gala, they flew to California to visit old friends. Daddy’s college roommate Garry and his wife Cindy. That’s why I’m staying at their home this weekend, because they’re going out of town.

  I close my eyes again.

  Stupid Barrington and his stupid gala.

  "No." I shake my head.

  "Why don't you rest for a while? Let's see if we can get you drinking some water." He holds a cup with a straw bent toward me below my chin. "And then we'll talk."