Page 9 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

A midnight meeting isn’t typical, but no one questions it. Instead, Walker gathers up the last of the leftovers from his two weeks of obsessive cooking, making me a plate before squeezing on the couch with RJ and Jansen, me perched on his lap.

Trips avoids his chair, sitting on the floor across from us, his face cleaned of blood, but a bruise forming across one cheek, his hair lank across his forehead like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it.

It’s a sentiment I get.

After a moment of reveling in the warmth surrounding me, I crawl out of the safety of Walker’s arms, planting a kiss on the lips for each of the guys on the couch before moving to Trips’ chair.

“You guys need to know what happened, exactly, so we can figure out a way free of this,” I say, curling up on the chair, the plate resting on my legs, a few bites of bread making it into me.

The scent of Trips’ cologne permeates the leather, and despite everything, it comforts me in a way the man can’t. Not right now.

I force another bite of bread, gathering my thoughts.

“I guess I’ll start at the beginning. Things were going well when we first got there.

After the dance, though, Trips’ dad separated us from the party and brought us to his office.

He had pictures. Of our crimes. Of us.” I meet the gaze of each of them, Walker confused, Jansen ashamed, RJ angry, and Trips, aching with so many ‘almosts’ that it hurts just to hold his gaze.

“He brought up more about my past, about whatever you guys were doing before this year that I honestly didn’t entirely understand, as there’s a lot we haven’t shared.

And then he took out that ring, and told us we were getting engaged today, and getting married over spring break.

Otherwise, it’s jail. For all of us. Maybe even Trips. That part I couldn’t tell.”

I swallow past the lump that’s built in my throat, trying to get to the next part. But Trips jumps in. “He got suspicious after the Guthrie job and started digging. The damn GTS you stole, Jansen, that was what started this.”

The pointed fault has the darkness that’s been hiding inside of Jansen bleeding out, obvious in a way I wish I’d never seen. But I can’t force it to disappear. Not when my own darkness is a miasma surrounding me that I can’t hold back. It’s oozing, the room hurting along with me.

“Tell me more about the Guthrie job. He started talking about the boys I was nannying this summer, and I can’t figure out how the two things link together.”

“Some kid pulled the fire alarm, and our job went to shit,” RJ says, his fury still humming under his skin, his words sharper than I’ve ever seen, pointed at Trips like a weapon.

“Shit,” I mutter, dropping my head to my hands. “So, that’s my fault, too.”

Jansen’s back at my feet, setting the plate on the coffee table, forcing my face to his. “No. It’s mine.”

“Can you explain?” Walker asks.

I can’t look away from Jansen, his darkness and mine soaking each other, feeding each other, whether for good or ill, I have no idea.

But I can’t look away. I just can’t. “I nannied for twin boys this summer. They were shitheads, but their mom thought they were angels and insisted we do things that the boys hated in the name of ‘culture.’ At the end of the summer, we were forced to do a theater tour at the Guthrie. One boy dared the other to pull the fire alarm. It was pure chaos. The mom blamed me, as no son of hers could possibly be at fault.” I turn to Trips.

“You dad, he wasn’t serious about kids, was he?

” I ask, that question falling out of me without prompting.

“Kids?” Walker asks.

Trips moves his gaze from the floor to the ceiling. “He doesn’t joke when he’s making a deal.”

“Thank God for birth control,” I mutter.

“Don’t doubt he has your medical records, Crash. He must have them to know so much about your knee injury.”

Panic without an outlet bounces around under my skin, but I force it down.

“Please explain,” Walker says, the panic I’m barely containing coming out in his voice.

Trips answers before I can. “He wants a kid out of us. With a timeline, of course. The man will shape the world into whatever he fucking wants it to be. As my brother and I are failures, and God forbid a woman takes over his blood-soaked empire, he’s demanding a blank slate to start again.

Like I’d ever fucking give the man a moment alone with any child. Let alone mine.”

The silence in the room is tight like a rubber band, no one knowing how to undo it without it snapping back on us, leaving a sting.

Jansen takes my face, directing me to look at him, and I can’t read the emotion there, my own too strong a filter, coloring everything I see around me.

“Do you even want kids?” he asks, a question that seems wholly unnecessary right now, but apparently is important enough for him to ask it.

“I’m twenty years old. I haven’t thought about it. Not seriously, anyway.”

“There’s no way in hell my father is getting another kid to fuck up.” Trips’ fury sparks, but I have nothing to give him. No help to offer. I’m fresh out.

I’m not going to worry about that part of the ultimatum.

It’s impossible anyway. There’s no reason for that to be the focus.

“Anyway, important details. The documents, including the photos, are kept in a locked drawer in his office. It includes Chicago, which we knew he was onto, as well as the New Year’s masquerade, the cars Jansen and I boosted this break, and an ambiguous photo of us handing papers to Officer Reed.

It also includes intimate moments between all of us.

Nothing like Bryce,” I scramble to add, the idea of Trips’ dad having photos like that nauseating, “But yeah. He knows I’m involved with all of you. ”

That has everyone looking at Trips, who just groans. “I fucked up once, and there happened to be a camera,” he says.

But it was more than once, and he and I both know it. Not that either of us got what we wanted from those brief, stolen moments. At least now, I understand why he’s been impossible to wrangle. If this was the outcome? I wouldn’t get involved with anyone either. Especially if I cared for them.

But I can’t think about that. Not right now.

“He also dug up all kinds of information on me. A dossier. He had to make sure I was worthy of carrying the Westerhouse name.” The sneer that I make can’t be helped, but Trips mirrors it, like his own name is abhorrent.

Maybe it is. Maybe it’s why he’s given himself a nickname, even if everyone else teases him about it.

“Oh, and he holds my parents’ lease. If I play along, they get a rent reduction.

If we don’t, they get evicted. And if we really fuck up, yeah. Jail.”

And we all know he can do it. The man feels omnipotent right now. “So, that’s that part of the night. And that’s what needs fixing.”

“And the rest of the night?” RJ asks, that anger still burning in his tone. So unfamiliar. But it’s the same intensity, just pointed in a different direction.

I don’t even know how to start that one. To be honest, I wasn’t even conscious for a lot of it. I stare at my fingers, the swelling finally negligible after my last nap. No permanent damage. At least physically.

Trips clears his throat. “After my father dropped his ultimatum, I lost it. I didn’t even think about it.

But there’s a spot in the woods that I would always go to when I needed to get rid of everything inside me, when it overflows.

For years, I’d just scream at the trees.

When I got older, I brought a bag out there and would beat the anger out.

It’s as private as anything at the estate.

I haven’t been out there in years, though, not since we moved here full time.

Someone must have removed the bag. Not that it matters. That’s not what’s important.”

He closes his eyes, dropping his head into his bandaged hands. “I dragged Clara out there with me. I didn’t even think about it, question it. Just dragged her deep into the woods on my father’s estate during a snowstorm, wearing nothing but a slip of silk and a pair of heels.”

The memory is still hazy, and I’m sure the drinks I had at the party combined with the lack of food and just straight up shock, played into my idiocy. I shouldn’t have followed him. I should have stayed in the house.

Trips lifts his gaze, letting everyone see his regret, for once not trying to hide what he’s feeling. Not stuffing it down until it explodes. “When I wore myself out, bloody fists and all, I found her curled up in the snow. Blue. She was blue.”

I don’t want to hear this part. I don’t want to know how close I got to never coming back. This is the beginning of my story. It has to be. There’s too much bad stuff behind me for this to be the end. I deserve some happiness, don’t I?

“Luckily, or unluckily, I’ve been there before. I panicked, though. I should have called an ambulance, my father be damned. But being there, it fucks with my head.”

RJ’s on his feet, but slumps back to the couch when Trips waves a hand, rushing to clear things up.

“Not an excuse. Never an excuse. Just trying to explain why I was such a goddamn idiot. Either way, I brought her back to the house, got her warm without a stroke or heart attack. No major frostbite or anything. But. Yeah. That’s that part of the night.”

Jansen pulls me off the chair and into his lap, and I let him.

We both need this closeness. If I didn’t have to collect my thoughts, I’d stay in one of their arms forever.

But my brain doesn’t process normally when I’m close to them.

Not right now, at least. He tilts my chin up. “Why didn’t you go inside?”

I wish I could answer that with something better than what I have. “Some combination of shock, exhaustion, and drinking on an empty stomach, I think.”

Walker slumps off the couch, and the two of them shuffle around so I’m pressed between the two of them.

But RJ stays on the couch, staring down Trips on the floor on the other side of the room.

“I guess if we’re pretending this is a planning session, I should add that I’m fairly certain my father has more on us.

Or at least more threats. He wants this, for whatever the fuck, and he’s going to make it happen.

” Trips is practically gray, keeping an eye on RJ, but the other man doesn’t relent with his silent censure.

“What else could he possibly have?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Maybe details about other jobs we’ve done in the last few years.”

“Which he couldn’t use on me,” I point out, needing to focus on the problem at hand. Needing to find a solution.

“Not directly. But for all you act the part, you’re soft, Clara. He knows you care about us. He’ll use us to control you. To control us both.”

The part of me that wants so desperately to be tougher than I am screams at the allegation. But it’s also true.

I’m not as soft as I was, but for these guys, I’m butter left out on the counter in the summertime—so soft I’m almost liquid.

“So what now?” I ask.

Four sets of eyes meet mine. “What do you mean, princess?” Walker asks, his hand warm on my waist.

“Isn’t this the part where we plan the heist? Figure out what else we need to know so we can get out of this?”

Jansen huffs a sad little laugh into my hair. “This isn’t that kind of problem, Clara. I can’t break into the Westerhouse estate and steal you away.”

“Why not?” I ask, one part obstinate and one part scrambling for solutions.

“Because my father always has redundancies,” Trips says.

“Then we remove those, too.”

RJ finally turns away from Trips. “Possible, but I’d need an in for his system.”

“Then we do that.”

Trips huffs out a breath. “Pretty much impossible. The man has his office on permanent lock-down. And with the cameras and microphones, he’ll know anywhere we go in the house.

He doesn’t write down his passwords, he keeps them in his head and likes to brag about exactly how impossible they are to guess. Makes him feel smart.”

RJ’s regret weighs me down further. “And as much as I hate to say it, sugar, even if we steal everything he has on us, he can just go out and collect the evidence again. Who knows how many cameras there were in Chicago alone that caught what we were up to?”

I drop my chin to my chest, whatever I had that kept me going vanishing. “Shit.”

The meeting stalls out, the solutions I wanted not materializing. Only more problems. Problems on top of problems, issues on top of issues. And me, smothered beneath them all.

There has to be a way out of this. There has to be. I’m not going to run.

They can find the problems.

I’ll find the solution.