Betraying Beauty (Sons of Lucifer MC): Vegas Titans Series Read online

  When his tongue pushes under mine I moan and clutch harder onto his body, writhing. Our hips are locked, and the friction sends shocks of heat spiraling down my legs. Suddenly I need to be closer to him. I know rationally that I’m as close as possible, but it’s not enough. I press and squeeze myself around him, feeling every nook and contour, wanting my breasts to rub harder against his chest, wanting my hips to rub harder against his hips. I can’t get close enough. There’s no such thing as close enough.

  Now he’s the one moaning. His hands on my back are trembling, and I suddenly know. I know he loves me too. He’s just as scared as me. I make a decision, and reach behind me. Taking his hand, I guide it around my waist, down under the water. I slip his hand under the seam of my sopping wet t-shirt and guide it up to my bra.

  Dominic gasps, his body freezing and going rigid in surprise. “Harper,” he breathes, “Are you sure?”

  We haven’t gone this far before. I’ve never gone that far in my life—never anything besides a kiss, with anyone, and no one that mattered. And I know it’s the last day, but I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. “Yes,” I whisper. “I’m sure.”

  He swallows, nervous, and lets his fingertips land lightly on the cup of my bra. Our eyes meet and it feels like a lightning strike.

  “No,” I murmur. He immediately jerks his hand back, and I laugh. “No, I mean, not on top. I want you to touch my skin. Touch me. Please, Dominic.”

  I reach up to guide his hand again, this time pushing my bra up out of the way until his fingers close over the sensitive flesh of my breast. And now neither of us seems to be able to breathe.

  “Oh god,” he says. “You feel amazing.”

  I shiver against his touch, my body curling into him as his hand kneads my flesh. I free my arms to rip off my shirt as quickly as I can, giving him more room to move, more skin to touch.

  “Oh, Dominic,” I murmur. My eyes close and I find his lips again, kissing him slowly, letting the sense of touch take over. His skin, his hands, my breasts, the lake. It’s growing hot between my legs, and without thinking I grind my hips against the part of Dominic that’s hardening. Yes. Yes, it’s good. Yes, it’s what I want.

  “God, Harper,” Dominic moans, “I love you, baby. I love you.”

  “Harper!”

  A chill of fear spikes down my spine. That voice…how is it possible? My skin goes cold and I pull back from Dominic, frantically searching the shoreline. Oh god, no. Please, no. And then my eyes confirm my ears. There’s a young man in a crisp polo and khakis standing only a few yards away on the water’s edge, looking like a Brooks Brother’s ad.

  No, not now! It can’t be, not here, not like this…

  “Shit,” I curse, grabbing for my shirt. My pulse is racing again, this time in fear.

  It’s Haden, my brother. He’s at least three hours early and visibly pissed.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Haden shouts at Dominic. “Get your dirty hands off my sister!”

  He takes a step toward the shoreline of the lake and kicks off his shoes. Jesus, he’s going to come in after us. I sink to hide my body below the surface of the lake, scrambling and splashing to dress myself again, but my hands are shaking and I do a miserable job.

  “Dominic, I’m so sorry, you should get out of here while you have the chance,” is all I think to say. “You should go!”

  Dominic frowns, firming his hold around my waist. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says.

  Fuck.

  Haden is already wading into the water towards us, murder in his eyes. There isn’t time to tell Dominic about the turtles and cats Haden liked to torture as a kid and his subsequent diagnosis as an actual fucking sociopath—high functioning, but still. And there’s the violent temper that got him expelled from boarding school in Switzerland as a teen, and the aggravated assault charges that caused our family to retain a top firm of lawyers just for him.

  Not to mention that Haden buys into everything we’ve been fed our entire life, the classism and the manifest destiny and bullshit about the have’s and the have not’s. That he’s been oddly attached to me since we were practically babies, and as much of a problem as he is, I know I need to be there to take care of him.

  There isn’t time to explain these things to Dominic, because Haden’s only a couple yards away and closing in on us fast. I yank my t-shirt back over my head. My bra is long-gone.

  “Please, Dominic, go.”

  But that handsome, square jaw clenches stubbornly as he frowns at me. “Are you ashamed of me or something?”

  “Of course not!”

  That’s when I know that this is going to be horrible, that there’s no easy way out.

  “Get away from her you dirty son of a bitch!” Haden doesn’t waste time. With this demand comes a flying fist that Dominic only barely dodges.

  “Hey what’s your problem man?” Dominic’s eyes darken. I’ve never seen him angry before, and it makes my guts clench painfully. “I know you caught us at an inopportune moment, but you have to chill! I happen to love your sister.”

  “You’re a fucking rapist,” Haden hisses. “How dare you touch her!”

  This time Haden’s fist makes impact. Dominic’s head bounces from the punch, and he comes back snarling, shoving Haden hard. “Rapist?” Dominic shouts. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Why else would she be with a beano like you?”

  “Wow, a racist and an idiot.” Dominic’s clenches his jaw. “I’m a beaner you don’t want to fuck with, bro,” he warns, cracking his knuckles.

  Oh god. Now they’re both furious, fists flying and lake water swirling like a storm, neither listening to my pleas for peace. I hope to god those swans are safe somewhere far, far away.

  “Haden, stop! I’m sorry, it’s my fault, not his! Stop, Haden, please, let’s just go home! Please!”

  He isn’t listening to me. “I’ll kill him!” Haden shouts.

  I believe him.

  Suddenly Haden has Dominic in a headlock and is plunging him under the surface of the water, holding him down. Holding him down too long.

  “Stop!” I scream. I’m frantically wrapping my arms around my brother’s shoulders, tugging him fruitlessly. “Haden, don’t! Please, think of mom and dad. Think of me. Think of trials. You hate trials. Don’t kill him. Let’s go, please. I’ll go with you, I’ll get on the plane back home right now, I promise, just don’t hurt him. Mom and Dad don’t want any more scandals, right? Let go of him, and we’ll walk to the car together, okay? Please, Haden. Let’s go. I’m sorry, ok?”

  Dominic has gone still in the water. Maybe that’s why Haden’s face clears and his grip loosens, letting me scoop Dominic up into my arms. He’s limp and unconscious.

  “Oh my god,” I groan. “Oh my god, Haden, help me get him to shore. He has to wake up.”

  I don’t even bother to hope that the serious nod of agreement from Haden has anything to do with remorse or empathy. I know he’s only thinking of what I told him to think of: himself, getting in trouble. Nevertheless, the reasoning is enough to make him help me drag Dominic to shore.

  “Ok,” Haden says, “Wake him up, but then we’re going, and you’re not speaking to him again unless you want me to finish what I started. I’ll kill you too, if you disgrace our family like that again.”

  My blood runs cold as I frantically work to clear Dominic’s airway, remembering the basic first aid training I took at the start of camp. I tilt Dominic’s nose back, open his mouth, and blow air into his lungs until his chest rises and he starts to splutter and spit up water. Turning him quickly over on his side, tears of relief stream down my cheeks. He coughs and shakes, lakewater spilling out of his mouth. He’s breathing. Thank god.

  “Alright,” Haden says. He grips my arm like an iron vice and drags me over the sand of the shore. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait!” I beg, squirming in his grip. “Let me say goodbye, Haden! Please!”

  Haden slams me against a
tree-trunk and slaps me across the face. “Did you not hear what I just said? No sister of mine is whoring herself out to some filthy proletariat. Jesus, Harper, he’s not even white. Have you lost your mind? We’re going. Unless you want me to throw him back in the lake or worse, you’re not to talk to him again. That is final.”

  Stung, numb, and terrified, I nod blankly. He’s never hit me before. He’s never threatened to kill anyone before. But his eyes and his history warn me not to underestimate my brother. It’s like the time he warned me that I was too old to play with dolls and I was becoming an embarrassment to him. I had ignored him, only to come home to find my collection of favorites mutilated, dismembered, and melted by a fire into a horrific heap on my pillowcase. Everybody with brothers went through some persecution but this was different. Dolls, people, everything is disposable to him. Haden can’t distinguish, doesn’t care to tell the difference between the sanctity of human life and everything else. He doesn’t actually know how.

  Now Haden is dragging me away again, back into the forest, to the path, towards the private jet, the gilded cage, and the life of duty and obligation that is waiting for me. All I can do is look over my shoulder, sobbing, for a last glance at Dominic, whose eyes are only starting to flutter open as my brother drags me back into my empty, cold world.

  A world without Dominic. A world without hope.

  I love you, but this is goodbye. Forever.

  Chapter Two

  Harper

  Nine Years Later…

  Out the window, Bonneville Avenue is a dim orange maze with black umbrellas and orange and red taillights drowning in the rain. It practically never rains in Las Vegas, not even in November. But it’s raining today.

  From my seventeenth office floor window, the wet street looks like a little river running down at the bottom of a steep steel canyon. Raindrops smatter across the blue-tinged glass, making the evening seem darker than it really is. It’s my first moment of quiet all day, and while I should be finishing up my summaries of tomorrow’s case briefs, instead I’m daydreaming.

  My fingers have found their way to play with my necklace as I stare down to the street, far below. All those people! Where are they going?

  Where am I going?

  There’s a soft knock on the door. “Yes,” I say absently, not bothering to turn around. I hear the hinges creak a little and feel a presence in the room.

  “It’s seven-thirty.”

  It’s Danny Hollis, our senior partner, my boyfriend. Well, sort of. We’ve been on a break for a few days, made all the more awkward by the fact that we work together and I’ve just been promoted: our offices are five steps apart. We haven’t told anyone about our separation because he thinks it’s silly and I’ll ‘come to my senses’ any moment. Our families are already looking at stationary for wedding invitations, after all. It would be the merging of Las Vegas royalty.

  But I just don’t feel right about it, somehow. Can’t say exactly why.

  “Harper, we’d better get moving if we’re going to meet your parents in time.”

  Sighing, my chin drops lower toward my chest. “Do we have to go? It feels like lying, keeping up appearances this way.”

  Danny laughs. “Of course we do! You’re the woman of the hour—a full equity Partner at Katz, Minkoff, Hollis and Combe LLP, a new corner office. You have to let the people who care about you celebrate your successful promotion, and successful engagement.”

  Now I do turn, weary. “Danny, we’re not engaged. Stop saying that, please. It makes me feel pressured to make a decision that I’m just not ready to make.”

  He gives me the smile that wins over hundreds of jurors and steps to my side at the window, laying a hand softly on the small of my back. “I’m a patient man, Harper, and I always get what I want. You’ll make the right decision, I have no doubt.”

  He kisses my cheek lightly.

  I don’t say anything, because what’s the point? He’s so confident, so certain, and that’s just not where I am. On paper, everything is so perfect between us. When I broached the topic of taking some space to think and he asked me what my hesitation is, I just didn’t have an answer. That’s why he doesn’t take me seriously: not even I really know why I’m feeling lost and confused.

  As frustrated and annoyed as I am by his almost patronizing certainty that I will “snap out of it”, I can’t help but admire his self-assurance.

  “Grab your coat and your purse,” he says with a wry grin. “You can’t be late to your own party.”

  The limo car is waiting for us, even though the restaurant is walking distance from the firm. It’s Danny’s favorite restaurant: Daniel, a very formal, sophisticated fine dining establishment. We’d gone there on our first date because he liked the joke of sharing a name with one of his favorite places, and because it is just about the fanciest and most romantic atmosphere you can find for your ready money and Michelin stars.

  We shuffle through the expansive, elegant entryway, shed our raincoats and umbrellas at the check closet, and are ushered by a maitre d’ to a cushioned booth table where my parents are already waiting.

  “There’s my princess,” says my father, rising. “Or should I say, Junior Partner. Congratulations, honey.”

  Doctor Augustus Rothschild Sinclair, of the Boston Rothschild’s and the Las Vegas Sinclair’s, is an intimidating figure even to me. His high domed forehead, piercing blue eyes, and lean frame immediately command respect. All my life he’s seemed somewhat remote and severe, something between a judge and a monk: wise, restrained, and powerful. Now he rises to give me a formal hug and kiss on both cheeks and I smile as warmly as I can.

  “Thank you Father,” I say. “Hello Mother. You’re looking well.”

  Mother is Lady Genevieve St. James, hereditary Baroness of Ashford and therefore a very low-ranking member of the British aristocracy. Her family came to Las Vegas after Howard Hughes opened up the casino business for big money outside the mob, but she never liked the town much. She’s been abroad, alone, for a few months and looks a bit thinner, but she’d never admit to me that she and Father have been having domestic unrest. They still appear in public at galas and openings and fundraisers together several times a year, anyhow. I kiss her cheek in greeting and seat myself beside her as Father and Danny shake hands and exchange pleasantries.

  Danny had preordered a bottle of Krug Private Cuvée, which the waiter pours with a practiced flourish.

  “A toast,” says Father, raising his glass. “To my beautiful, accomplished daughter and her beautiful, accomplished beau. I knew from the moment you were born that you’d never disappoint me and you’ve proven me right from your first steps to your graduation summa cum laude at Berkeley, to this important leap in your illustrious career. I am very proud of you, Harper.”

  “To Harper. Cheers darling,” says Mother, with a faint smile on her stiff upper lip.

  “To Harper,” says Danny, his voice rich and soft.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, sipping, as Danny lays his hand possessively over mine on the table. Nervous, I fiddle with my necklace again, seeking calm from the weight of the silver pendant between my fingers.

  It’s odd, but here we are chitchatting over champagne, two couples who are not really together: just one big, happy family. All that’s missing is my emotionally stunted sociopathic brother and the stream of nannies that raised us. Part of me wants to scream and run away, part of me wants to smack myself for this silly angst that not even I can adequately explain. We work our way through the seven-course tasting menu and I manage to dodge my father’s questions about weddings. My mother arches an eyebrow and says very little.

  After the coffee cups are taken away and it’s discovered that Danny has already taken care of paying the bill, Father nods approvingly and clears his throat. “It’s time we were going,” he says, our cue to rise collectively. “Congratulations, daughter, and don’t keep us too long in suspense regarding our next celebratory news.”

  He wink
s pointedly at Danny and kisses my forehead before escorting mother toward the coat-check room. Danny and I are left alone facing each other over the cleared table under the bright white archways of the dining hall. I lick my lips, unsure what to say.

  “I do wish you would take your father’s advice, Harper,” Danny says. “And don’t leave us waiting too long. But, in the meantime, might I persuade you to simply spend more of this lovely evening with me? Extend my trial-period?”

  His smirk is boyish and playful.

  “I don’t know, Danny,” I sigh. “I’m tired and I have a lot of work left to do tonight. This was very nice, though, thank you for dinner.”

  “Please come out,” he says, showing those dimples of his. “One club. I am prepared to be very persuasive.”

  “I’m not really dressed for a club,” I object.

  My mind registers that I must be insane to risk losing someone like Danny Hollis, someone so…perfect. He’s tall, dark, handsome, and successful; he has the right pedigree, the right family, the right everything. Maybe that strange little voice whispering doubts in my heart is nonsense. Maybe I am just confusing myself for no reason.

  “You know how stubborn I can be,” he says. He offers me his arm, all style and grace, and I find myself taking it.

  “Alright,” I say with a small smile. “But I can’t stay out too, too late. Really.”

  “It’s a deal,” Danny says with a megawatt grin. “There’s somewhere special I want to take you, though. Hang tight.”

  He takes my hand and kisses it before wrapping it around his elbow and leading me from the room. Soon we’re back in the town car. The rain has lightened but not stopped, and the view from my passenger-side window in the back is the moody and glamorous Las Vegas of the 60s, the strip glittering in the rain like a freshly cleaned disco ball. I watch the lights rippling until suddenly we veer north on the interstate and the lights of the strip disappear to distance, lost in the sprawl of a part of town I’ve never seen before.