Page 84 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Walker

T his paper isn’t as high quality as the last batch, but RJ promised it was from a legitimate source.

I crank up my music, hoping if it’s loud enough I’ll be able to wrestle myself into the right head space for this job, but the black paint stuck under my fingernails tells me I’m fighting a losing battle. After a moment, I shove my window open, the cool air like a slap across my senses.

Knowing better than painting in my room with the windows closed doesn’t mean I’m being smart right now. And the bite of fall is in the air, so I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to be stupid here before I’m forced to switch to my studio.

I don’t want to leave the house in case Clara reaches out again. Even a few words on a screen are better than the continued silence and weighted glances across a lobby I get otherwise.

At least Jansen’s getting better. His mom couldn’t make the drive this week, but Evie’s half moving in with Emma to be closer to him. She’s been talking about getting a job down in the cities. I can’t say I’ve been listening closely enough to have any idea what kind of job Evie wants.

Back at the drafting table, I pick out the right colored chalk, the memory of Clara covered in clay, a smear across one cheek I didn’t tell her about, the imperfection too cute for her to wipe away. She rolled these for me, helped me make a tool that a year later I’m still using.

God. I miss her.

As much as I don’t want to do this, I have to. For her. Because if we don’t pull this off, I might lose her forever.

Trips’ father isn’t known for his forgiving heart.

The song switches to a slightly different vibe, and with a deep, centering breath, I set the chalk to paper. The drawing comes together as easily as I make my chocolate chip cookies, the repetition making it muscle memory rather than an art form.

Done, I add it to the pile, then try a different image, this one the first of the trickier pieces I’m going to have to make. Hands, eyes, and hair, all of which must have the right weight, focus, and level of detail.

That one done, albeit not perfect, I decide I’m done for the day, the sun fading outside.

The stack of drawings brings me back to that day on the beach, so recent I could probably count the days, but a lifetime ago when I count all the changes since then.

Clara had spread a blanket in the sand, her eyes closed as she listened to the roar of the waves at a small, rarely used beach. It was her favorite spot to disappear to, and that day, I joined her, my sketchbook in hand.

I was adding shadows to her collarbones on my page when she sat up on her elbows, blinking open her dark eyes. “Do you think you can do it?” she’d asked.

I didn’t need her to clarify. The plan we’d been building was at the front of everyone’s minds, especially as the summer seemed to slip away faster than any of us wanted.

“Yeah. I think I can. But it’s going to take time.

If there were some way to get the paper down here, you wouldn’t have to put yourself at risk for so long. ”

Her lips twisted as she stared at the ocean. “RJ’s pretty sure Trips’ dad is watching nearly all the accounts.”

“But maybe not. Maybe I can get them all drawn here, and we can just go home for the grand finale.”

She’d rolled toward me, her hand warm on my knee as she told me exactly what she’d said before, exactly what I still didn’t want to hear.

“If we go back, Trips’ dad won’t care that we’re accessing the funds.

He’ll expect some sort of return fire. But if we stay hidden, it’s a homing beacon instead of a volley.

The best move is to go back and let him think he’s winning.

The rest of you can take him down while we distract him from the inside. ”

I’d set my sketchbook aside, pulling her into my lap. “What if we never went back at all? Just kept running? I could make us new IDs. Mexico’s a huge country. There’s no need to go back. Not really.”

She’d pressed her forehead against mine, and I’d known I’d lost the argument before I’d even started it.

“If it were just you and me? Yeah. Honestly, I’d miss Emma and my dad, but besides that? There’s nothing there for me.”

I’d swallowed past the lump in my throat, the memory of it still lodged under my Adam’s apple, the fear and remorse I’d felt then doubled now. “I don’t know how I fit in with my family, but I don’t think I could disappear forever. I would, though. For you.”

She’d nodded without pulling away, her skin against mine a balm of truth. “Same. But it’s not just us.”

The statement didn’t scare me like it had before.

I’d had no choice but to trust her when she told me this was what she wanted.

And somehow, despite my promise that I’d make something beautiful from our broken pieces, she’d been the one piecing us together.

Five broken souls, knitted back together by one amazing woman.

“I know,” I’d said, wishing that everyone else had as little waiting for them at home as we did.

But Jansen loves his family, and they love him, despite the years of secrets between them. RJ stayed up late checking up on his sisters and dad instead of getting some much-needed sleep, while Trips had gone quiet whenever the promise he made to his sister to get her out of there came up.

Clara’s hands had burned where they rested against my jaw. “Can you do it?” she’d asked again. “Because you’re going to have to be the one keeping it together. Keeping them together.”

I’d shaken my head, uncertain, unwilling to take on that responsibility. “I can do the art, but the rest? It might be too much of a shift in dynamics. It’s always been Trips in charge, at least until you got here. I don’t know if they’ll listen to me.”

A smile had twisted in the corner of her mouth. “They listen to you just fine in bed.”

I’d laughed, then laid her back on the blanket, her wrists pinned above her head in the sand. “Special circumstances.”

She’d strained up and forced a kiss between us, rubbing against my thigh in a way that had been sparse until a few weeks earlier.

Until she’d banished the shadows in her eyes, since her panic attacks had become a rarity instead of a daily danger.

“But not unfamiliar,” she’d breathed as I’d slipped my fingers into her wet warmth.

I’d kissed her, halting the conversation, coaxing her higher, but not over the edge, until she was teetering just shy of release. Removing my fingers had her whining, but pressing my cock into her had her straining to get closer, to get that last bit of friction to throw herself over the edge.

And when I’d finally let her fall, she’d dragged me over the edge with her, our hearts thundering as our bodies traded pleasure like electrical currents between us.

She hadn’t brought it up again. And I hadn’t either.

But now, I’m living that question. Can I do it? I have been, even if it hasn’t been perfect.

Feed RJ. Check on Jansen. Wake up tomorrow and do it again.

At least on Monday my class isn’t meeting, instead giving us extra studio time for a project due Friday that I completed the day it was assigned. But that change means I can go with RJ to stalk Clara. I’ll get to see her again, even if it’s from a distance.

It’s got to be enough.

And even if it isn’t, every drawing added to my portfolio is getting us closer to getting her and Trips out of there. Even if it feels like busy work, I finally understand exactly how vital I am to this plan.

Putting away the chalks, I pat the pile of drawings on top of my ID printer like it’s some sort of good luck charm.

Soon.

Soon, we’ll be free of all this.

Then I’ll be able to see Clara and hold her whenever I damn well please.