Page 82 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

T he meeting with Trips’ father goes about as well as I expect.

He watches the footage, and while there wasn’t sound in the pool, it’s obvious that Trevor was making advances on me.

I can’t explain why a single word had me deciding against standing my ground and instead sprinting through the house like my death was chasing me.

It’s the sort of thing I can barely put in words for the guys, and while they trust my intuition, no one else in this place would have any reason to do the same.

Trips holds my hand the whole time, somehow understanding that I was legitimately terrified. And his barely contained rage vibrates between us. At least this time, I didn’t freeze. I didn’t pass out. I kept my head and ran away. And Trips managed the same feat.

Our time away was worth it. Even if running felt like losing, it wasn’t.

We are stronger. We have a plan. And once Jansen gets the help he needs so we don’t have to worry about him flinging himself from tall structures—an image that haunts me when I try to fall asleep—we’ll take down Trips’ horrible father and his network of coercion and secrets.

Two guards restrain Trevor when his father doles out his punishment, and some part of me wonders why I’m not bothered watching his blood drip on the carpet—a different one from the one Trips and I bled on a few weeks ago. Endless money equals endless rugs, I suppose.

Smith stands a little in front of me, and I find myself inspecting his head, looking for any marks from the blow I landed on him months ago. And while he’s used his haircut to hide it, one side of the back of his head has an angled divot about the size of a wooden practice sword.

How close was I to killing him with that panicked swipe?

The question is almost theoretical as I let the meeting pass before me, nothing about it requiring my full attention. And when Trevor spits his blood at my toes, I stare down at the splatters in confusion.

Trips, however, lunges.

With my hand still in his, he doesn’t quite make it without me letting go. And that outburst is enough for the two of us to be pushed out of the office.

Instead of being shoved back into the blue room, Falk takes us up and up, opening a glass door and ushering us into a sweltering jungle—the conservatory I’d seen on the roof that first winter’s night as we wound down the drive.

“Why here?” I ask, Trips’ hand still tight in mine.

“The boss thinks you’re going crazy. Enjoy your time in a contained garden. I’ll be back to unlock the door in a few hours.”

He goes to leave, but pauses, glancing at his phone. “You have a visitor first.”

We stand in silence until the click of heels from inside the green space calls our attention. Trips’ stepmom is striking as always, her graceful movements something she handed down to her daughter, in addition to model-like good looks.

“Archie, dear, if I could borrow your fiancée for a moment?”

Trips’ grip is almost painful, and when I glance up at him, I’m uncertain if he’s totally present. “Trips?”

He closes his eyes, breathing deep the tropical heat and heavy green scents. “Go,” he says, but takes another breath before he releases my hand.

I follow the woman I’ve barely spoken to down a winding path between fifteen-foot palm trees and spiky tropical bushes. “This place is crazy,” I say, not able to stay silent as I pass a huge red flower-spike.

“It’s my favorite part of the estate,” Jessica says, her hand stroking the bark of a tree with the familiarity of an old friend.

She leads me deep into this tropical snow globe, the glass roof barely visible through the canopy, birds chirping from somewhere in here, and doesn’t stop until we’re at a bench next to a waterfall, lilies floating in the water as it streams out, a plant-free pool with steps into it nearby.

Patting the seat beside her, she perches there, looking back the way we came. I join her.

“This isn’t a fairy tale,” she says, not looking at me.

“I never thought it was.”

She glances at me, a small smile hinting at the corners of her lips. “I see why Mattie likes you. You came into this clear-eyed, unlike poor Olivia. But if you knew this life is a nightmare and not a fairy tale, why are you here?”

“Because your husband wants to hurt people I care about. And I’m not going to let him.”

She twists her fingers in her lap. “You might think you have the teeth to fight him. But any misstep, he’ll find. Every mistake adds up, more chains to hold you down, until you’re less safe, and they’re less safe, than when it all started.”

I sigh, staring at the water cascading down beside us, the dull roar likely what made her choose this location. “He’s not omnipotent. He’s a man. A smart, cruel man, but a man nonetheless.”

“It’s taken me years to gain enough leverage to just keep Mattie safe. And you think you can do better?”

I don’t know this woman. Not at all. All I know about her is that she’s kept her daughter safe. Or at least, as safe as she can when she’s dealing with a monster like Trips’ dad. So I don’t answer.

It’s her turn to sigh, looking me over. “You’re right. He is just a man. And he won’t live forever. Let’s hope you last long enough for Archie to gain back a little bit of his sunshine.”

“Sunshine?”

“He was one of the sweetest, happiest kids when we met. Trevor was already cruel and manipulative when I entered the picture. But Archie, even after losing his mom, was so full of life and hope that I assumed it meant he was being raised by a good man. That Clarence was a good man.”

Closing my eyes, I try to imagine that version of Trips, and it’s impossible. That hopeful little boy died long before I met the man he’s become.

Jessica continues whatever confession she led me out here to deliver. “A credit to his mother, it turns out. But if she could keep him safe, I could do the same.”

The force of my anger at that statement surprises me. “And what happened to that plan? Because you failed. Miserably.”

She nods, not hiding from the truth. “I did. I’ll be the first to admit that every broken bone, every hospital visit, each one is a strike against me.

Because it came down to Archie or Mattie.

And she was just a baby. Babies die all the time, for no reason at all, as Clarence would often tell me.

Especially little girls. But little boys in this house don’t.

So I made my choice. But every visit to the doctor, to the hospital, I prayed for them to figure it out, to take him away, to rescue him. ”

“Money hides sins better than any prayer,” I mutter, something my dad has said before, the words making more sense today than any time in the past.

She stands, her fingers digging into her skirt. “You seem like a smart girl, and you care for him, I can see that. Hold on to that. Because Clarence will try to take that away. He doesn’t understand love, and he hates how illogical it makes people. But it’s the one thing he can’t steal from us.”

The click of her heels fades as she steps into the foliage, leaving me alone in the kind of room I’d never even imagined existing, droplets of water slowly gathering against my skin the longer I stare at the artificial stream winding farther into the garden.

That’s where Trips finds me, damp, in a swimsuit and coverup, grief, curiosity, and rage battling inside me, no one emotion winning out over the others.

He sits next to me, his knee brushing against mine. “What did she want?”

“To warn me about your family.”

He scoffs.

A leaf falls from a vine near the waterfall and gets caught in the eddies below. “She also explained why she got distant.”

“I’m sure she painted herself the martyr.”

“Not at all. She knows exactly what she did. She traded your safety for Mattie’s life. Apparently, your dad has never been fond of girls.”

“Fuck.” His hands dig into his hair as he rests his elbows on his knees.

“Yeah.”

His breathing is ragged, and I force my attention from the leaf as it gets pulled beneath the surface, looking at the man beside me.

“Are you holding on?”

“Not really.”

“What would help?”

He squeezes the strands of hair in his fist, chunks pulled so tightly that it must hurt. “To beat someone long enough that I disconnect from myself.”

His honesty aches in its familiarity. The urge to take a break from my own twisting thoughts has so much sympathy sparking in me, I don’t know what to do.

“What exactly did my brother do that scared you earlier?” he asks, ignoring his truth-bomb, pushing past what we should probably talk about.

“It’s not anything he did, or even what he said. It’s the way he said it, Trips.”

He waits for me to elaborate, and having lived here for a while, his silence bothers me less than it did before. “Your brother’s a pedophile, Trips, but besides that, he’s got a violent streak that scares me. A lot. I think that if he snaps, he’ll rape me, then drown me.”

This has his eyes snapping to mine, the blue there so turbulent that I can’t read him clearly. “Why do you think that?”

I shrug. “Vibes? You know I’m shit at explaining this stuff, Trips. I was ready to take him down, to show him I’m not a toy for him to play with, to prove that I’m not the broken girl in those videos anymore. But with a single word, I knew I should run. So, I kicked off my shoes and did just that.”

“I’ll kill him,” he says, every muscle in his body tight, his eyes only half focused.

“Trips, I need you here,” I whisper, the chance to talk freely with him one I won’t take for granted.

“I don’t know if I can, Clara.”

The fear from his brother and the anger at his stepmother combine, and I say something that I might regret.

But he needs this.

So do I.

“Then fight me, Trips. Fight me, and if you win, you can have me.”