Page 77 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

I n my imagination, going to an orchestra concert requires a full ballgown and a tiara.

So when Mary comes in and pulls out an upscale sun-dress looking thing, I’m flabbergasted.

But with no experience with classical music besides the painful screeching that chased me through my middle school halls on the way to the bathroom, I slip on the dress, put on some simple makeup, and force my hair into a loose French braid, hoping for classy.

I’m not sure I achieved it, but if no one is splurging for a hair stylist or makeup artist, they’re going to get what they get.

Smith and Falk push Trips and me into the usual SUV, while the rest of the family gets into an SUV with a single guard to drive them.

I wonder if the security guards get tickets to the event, too.

Trips immediately wraps an arm around me, and I settle against him, finding him in only a dress shirt and pants, a similar casual-dressy look to him.

After a second, I slip my hand under his shirt, his skin hot under my palm.

Surprise flickers across his features, but I’m sick of not being able to communicate.

Forcing myself to not stare at him, I focus on the passing neighborhood, and carefully write ‘hi,’ across his stomach.

I don’t get any response, so after a while, I try it again.

The third time, though, his fingers slide under my chin, forcing my eyes to his. He nods slightly, then kisses me.

It’s painfully sweet, and when he pulls back, there’s a measure of relief there, whether from finding a way to communicate, or just the physical connection, I can’t tell. I rest my cheek against his chest and spell out ‘guys’ until his fingers brush my cheek. Then I go for the longer ‘there.’

After the second repetition, he kisses me again. “How do you do that?” he whispers against my lips, like a lover’s compliment.

Spelling out ‘phone’ is harder for him to figure out, but when he does, a familiar smirk twists his lips. “Too clever,” he mutters, taking my lips again, and I can no longer tell if this is a cover for our conversation or just making out. And with my message sent, I’m not sure I care which it is.

His kisses drown me. Restrained wildness teases my tongue when I open to him, his fingers digging into my scalp and adding bite to a simple moment. By the time we’ve parked, I’m breathless, and the last thing I want to do is pull away from the heavy thunder of his heart under my palm.

Smith, though, must hate the orchestra, or just me, because the door is barely open before he’s yanking me from the car by my braid, the seatbelt slicing across my still-healing ribs as it keeps me from following my head, a pained yelp slipping from me.

Then his grip goes slack, and I rebound back into the vehicle, involuntary tears sprouting. Blinking them back, I rip off the belt, spinning, ready to do something I probably shouldn’t, only to see that Trips has beaten me to it.

Blood drips from Smith’s nose and split lip, while his fingers are twisted back unnaturally far, looking almost delicate in Trips’ hands.

Falk stands aside, letting Trips mete out his punishment, his multi-colored hazel eyes surveying the garage while ignoring his charge. I almost trust the man, his indifference testament to which side he’s picked in this battle.

Trips’ voice cuts through my shock. “You do not touch her, do you understand?”

Smith moves, but before he can get a hit in, Trips pins him against the car, the pop of Smith’s finger dislocating echoing against the concrete.

He doesn’t cry out, but his eyes lock on me, his glare telling me exactly who he’s blaming for the pain he’s in.

“Do you understand?” Trips repeats, another pop echoing.

Pointer finger and thumb. A detached part of me wonders if he’s going for the whole hand, or just the most useful fingers.

Smith curses and fights against Trips’ hold, but there’s no way he can get up with the force of Trips’ mass and anger at his back. “Fuck off,” he says.

“Not until I get your agreement.”

A cough from Falk has me catching sight of Trips’ father approaching, trailed by his wife, Jessica, his guard, and Mattie and Trevor farther back.

Trips doesn’t take the warning, instead shaking Smith. “I’m waiting.”

“Is there a problem here?” Trips’ father asks, something hungry in his gaze as he takes in Trips’ hold on the other guard.

“No, sir,” Trips responds. “Just teaching the help who’s in charge.”

Those words work like magic on his father, the hit of hunger turning swiftly into gleeful avarice. “As much as I appreciate the lesson, we do have a concert to attend,” he says.

Trips shakes Smith one last time, and understanding that no one is coming to his rescue, he grunts out, “Understood.”

Once he’s released, he cradles his damaged hand in his other one, the movement reminding me of RJ doing the same thing to Bryce last year. And instead of the fear and disgust I’d felt then, I just have a sense of satisfaction that RJ taught us the move. It’s already come in handy.

Trips’ father scoffs at the guard. “Go, get that fixed.”

Smith holds out a hand to Falk, asking for the keys. Trips’ father steps in the other man’s face.

“Find your own way, Smith. And know that’s your second strike. Taken out twice by my son and his friends—it doesn’t speak highly of your skills.”

Unable to hold the older man’s gaze, Smith glares at me. Then he passes, barely avoiding slamming into my shoulder, leaving the underground garage alone.

Trips and I share a look. We know he’s coming for me again.

And we both know it’ll be time for me to show him what I’m capable of.

I’m not sure I’m a classical music person, but it’s so nice to be away from the estate that I’m almost relaxed by the time intermission comes.

Almost. Trips held my hand the whole time while his stepmom alternates between whispering with Mattie and shooting me a look that makes me think she wants to talk with me alone.

Trevor, meanwhile, keeps shifting his weight, finding excuses to brush a hand along my thigh, my arm, my shoulder.

Every touch feels like spiders crawling over my skin, and I only wish he were being more obvious about it, so either Trips or I could stop him without it looking like we’re overreacting.

I pop to my feet as soon as everyone finishes clapping, hoping the guys have a plan to get to us. But Trips’ dad stands up on Trips’ other side, Trevor on mine, and they begin a conversation around us, trapping us between them.

“This Gwendolyn Shaw who’s playing after intermission, she went to Lakeside Academy with you, didn’t she?” Papa Westerhouse asks.

Trevor steps a little closer in the guise of struggling to hear his father, his arm flush against mine.

“I think she was a year or two behind me, but I’m not sure.

Seeing her will probably jog my memory.” A finger draws along the seam over my hip, and I skitter away, pressing myself tight to Trips’ side.

“I hate to interrupt, but I need the restroom,” I say.

The weight of his father’s eyes on mine should make me crumple, but instead, I meet his gaze. And after a moment, he steps back, making space for Trips and me to pass, motioning for Falk to follow us.

The crowd in the hallway moves towards the lobby, and I let it pull me along, Trips’ hand a hot comfort around mine. I catch sight of RJ first, followed swiftly by Walker, and my heart lights up, even as a piece of me aches over the fact that Jansen isn’t here with them.

What happened? Where is he? I’m glad he’s safe, of course, but without more information, the terror still scrabbles at my insides, even if I’m trying to pretend it’s not there. Flicking my eyes to an alcove near a bathroom, I head that way, knowing they’ll follow.

Which just leaves Falk.

Will he let us meet? Will he report back to Trips’ dad?

At least Smith isn’t here. Was that why Trips was so quick to act earlier? To get him off the gameboard for a night? Or was it just chance that Smith was extra assholey tonight and just chance that Trips reacted so strongly?

That thought brings me to another, and I halt, the realization big enough that I can’t feel it and keep moving. Smith touched me, hurt me, and Trips reacted with violence.

But he didn’t lose control. He stayed present, able to use reason instead of instinct.

The man in question stops in front of me, gaze curious as I process what happened. Blinking back tears, I look up at him.

“You didn’t lose it,” I say, taking his other hand in mine. His confusion meets my statement.

“With Smith. You didn’t lose it.”

He blinks a few times, something softer in his gaze. “I’m trying.”

“I see it.”

Swallowing back the emotion, knowing this isn’t the time or place, I squeeze his hands in mine, showing, even in a small way, how much this means to me. And he must understand, because he tugs me to him, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

When we move again, his hand wraps around my waist, keeping me close to him, and RJ and Walker watch us with questioning eyes.

We all arrive at the alcove at the same time. Turning to Falk, I find he’s already turned his back to us. “Young people need some privacy,” he says, staring out at the crowd.

“Thank you,” I say, before spinning and launching myself into Walker’s arms. His lips are warm and familiar, the pine and maple scent of him making my barely contained tears threaten to fall again.

“God, I’ve missed you,” I whisper before twisting and tugging RJ to me, his arms around me so welcome my heart wants to leap from my chest and burrow into his.

This kiss is slower, gentler, but just as soul satisfying. And when I pull back, the three of them surrounding me, blocking me from view, I’m trembling. “Missed you, too, sugar,” he says, eyes soft.

“Where’s Jay?” Trips asks from behind me, and I realize that even if I’ve found a way to communicate, it’s barely adequate.

“He’s at an inpatient treatment facility,” RJ answers.