Chapter 71 Clara
Clara
After we dropped Mattie off, bought RJ a ridiculous gaming set-up, and went back home, Jansen shoved me in the bathroom and told me to get ready for the party. By the time I was primped and polished, a garment bag had appeared on my bed with a note pinned to it.
Jansen had promised this was going to be a low-key evening, and RJ had made him swear he wasn’t planning anything crazy, but a garment bag makes me wonder how seriously Jansen’s taking that promise.
It’s hard to tell with Jansen. It always was. But either what we lived through, what he survived, or his new meds have shifted something in him.
It’s the same thing I see in all of us, if I’m honest. We’ve grown up.
And as much as Jansen will continue to bring his brand of crazy fun to the table, there’s a thread under the levity—one that whispers that this isn’t just him being himself anymore, but a choice he’s making, forcing everyone to be a little less serious.
I’m not sure if it’s a good change, a bad one, or just change in general.
What I do know is that I still love him.
He spent half the shopping trip singing along with the music playing over the speakers and coaxing me into a goofy dance/tag game he made up on the spot that ended when an employee asked us to knock it off.
The rest of the time, he just held my hand, not even letting go when it came time to pay, even though he looked like a loon getting his card out one-handed.
I haven’t felt that light in months. He gifted me that lightness, and that’s magic all on its own.
God, I love all these guys so much, it feels like my heart might explode from being too full. Curling up in my bed, surrounded by all their familiar scents and sounds has healed some cracks in my soul.
Even though the shape of it is different now. A bit squashed, if I’m being honest. But it’s not bleeding anymore, and for that I’m so grateful.
Opening the envelope pinned to the bag should be easy, but my nerves still aren’t what they were.
It reminds me of Bryce’s letters. RJ mentioned he’d continued sending them while I was at that hellish estate, and it pisses me off.
He was corrupting Mattie but still threatening me.
Why I ever thought he was a good guy will have me questioning my judgement for the rest of my life. Poor girl. Poor me.
So, with shaking hands, I tear the envelope open, finding a card with a painted mask on the front. Strangely, I can tell Walker did the art, and my anxiety disappears. I run my fingers over the picture, surprised to find that it’s watercolor.
I discovered Walker’s new obsession with painting just yesterday, the wall-to-wall mural in his room leaving me breathless.
The weight of it felt like I was living inside the raging emotions he’d been so careful to mask from me in those longing looks across a lobby.
So much pain, fear, and worry expressed in a place he can hide.
I’d held on to him extra tight last night, and he’d held on to me just as tightly.
He might struggle with his words, but his art has never held any secrets from me.
RJ, meanwhile, has been so careful around me, like he’s scared that I don’t want him anymore. I can’t figure out how to prove how much I love him, how a future without him would never be a possibility for me. I hope that celebrating his birthday might help with that.
But I also know that I might just as well get overwhelmed tonight or have one of those waves of grief that swamp me, sending me running from the room.
Or even the heavy burden of my conscience, whispering that I’m not worth all this love, not after the things I’ve done.
My mind has been a mess, for all I want to pretend everything’s fine and settle into a life with my guys.
Finding a therapist is on my ‘get my life back together’ list, but I’m not up for addressing the things on that page of my notebook yet.
Hell, I’m not even ready for the ‘fun things that make life worthwhile’ list.
Unable to put off opening the card any longer and not wanting to venture where my thoughts are taking me, I flip it open.
I’m surprised by Trips’ handwriting on the inside.
More than a year ago, we got this for no other reason than Summer said you looked great in it.
But life went to shit before we could find a reason to see you wear it.
So instead of looking for a reason, we’re making one.
Tonight is black tie, for all it’ll just be us fuckers drinking and wondering how long we have to wait to see you OUT of this dress.
There’s no salutation, no ‘Love Trips,’ and somehow the absence is perfect.
We. As in all of them.
Curious, I unzip the bag, first seeing the beautiful mask Walker made for the masquerade a year ago.
I scoop it up, setting it on the mattress, already distracted by what I think is in the bag: the beautiful, blood-red gauzy dress I tried on for Trevor’s engagement party.
The one that I loved but was much too scandalous for meeting Trips’ family.
Knowing what I do now, I should have worn the thing as an epic fuck you to the lot of them, minus Mattie of course. But she’d probably be on the same side as Trips and me and find the dress appropriately anti-upper crust.
Swallowing back too much emotion, I pull out the dress, surprised when the bag falls to the floor with a bang.
Setting aside the dress, I dig into the bag and find the shoes I’d thought would look good with it—strappy sandals that go up to my knees, something an would wear.
The entire ensemble had been too much for me then. But now?
I’ve taken a life, nearly taken a second, chopped off fingers, and held my dad while he died. I’m still here, a survivor of a war I’d never wanted to wage.
RJ told us earlier that the cadaver dogs found more bodies, and that the police have nearly uncovered all the connections between the shell companies. Soon, they’ll know that it was Trips’ dad who owned the cabin. We hope it will be enough for them to dig into the secrets we planted at the estate.
Meanwhile, the sex crimes task force Reed works on almost has what they need to arrest Trevor.
The plan is coming together, even if it’s slower than I’d imagined.
At least the text Jansen sent made the staff disappear overnight.
Trips’ father has to know that was us, that the police are circling.
But he isn’t running, and none of us knows why.
Jansen thinks he might be too sick to run, but until that man is six feet under, I won’t believe any weakness would stop him from getting what he wants.
I don’t want to think about what I’ve survived, though.
Not about everything that’s still unsettled.
For one night, we’re going to celebrate the man who had the hardest job of all of us: RJ.
It’s clear he spent months in front of his screens before he had to sneak into the wedding as well.
He was absolutely vital, but the weight of his role has taken its toll.
Now that there’s nothing to do, he’s sleeping at strange times and hovering just outside of the conversation.
My breakdown seems to have hit him differently than the others.
He’s treating me like I’m fragile, like the wrong word could send me back to the place I was in a few days ago, staring at a wall from before the sun rose until long after it set.
He’s not wrong—I am fragile. But I don’t want him to treat me like I am.
Which means I’m going to have to tell him that.
Or maybe show him.
A ridiculous plan builds in my mind as I slip into the dress, the swimsuit bottom and the halter tie top still such a weird combo to me.
It’s perfectly hemmed for the shoes, and once again I wonder about what the guys were up to last year.
I paint my face in fierce lines, the swipe of eyeliner the boldest I’ve seen on myself in months, nothing of the sweet, girlish style that was expected of me left on my face.
With my hair a mess of curls above my shoulders, the curl pattern tighter with less weight pulling it down, my nipples visible through the folds of the sheer fabric, I look like the warrior I’d imagined. Give me a sword, and I could take down whatever enemy stands in front of me.
Powerful. I look powerful.
And for the first time, that identity settles into my bones. It had been a mask before, a feeling I was trying to embody. But now, with everything I’ve survived, I know I am exactly that. Powerful. A survivor. A fighter.
A queen.
With an army of beautiful, talented men at my disposal.
A knock on the bathroom door pulls me from my thoughts, and I open it to find a suited RJ, a nervous smile on his face, his masquerade mask dangling from his fingers along with a small bag. His smile falls as he takes in my appearance, something hungry coming over him as his eyes skate over me.
I have a feeling a similar look must cross my face, because by the time our eyes meet, the air vibrates between us. “Happy Birthday,” I say, stepping into the hallway.
He clears his throat but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tugs me to my room, pushing the door shut with his back. I stand awkwardly as he breathes heavily, then urges me to sit in one of my pink chairs, perching across from me, worrying the ties of the little bag he has in his hands.
“What’s that?”
He looks down at it. “It’s for you.”
“It’s your birthday. You’re the one who’s supposed to be getting all the gifts,” I laugh.
The hint of a smile curls the corner of his mouth. “Maybe giving you gifts is a gift to me?”
“So I’m your present?”
He reaches across, snagging one of my hands. “You’re the only gift I’ll ever want, Clara.”
Emotion swells, and I tilt my head back, blinking quickly. “Don’t you dare make me cry when I just finished my makeup.”
He squeezes my fingers. “You can cry if you want. You’d still be breathtaking.”
“Stop it,” I whine, blinking even faster.
He laughs, then I’m in his lap, whatever he was holding placed on the little table between the chairs. He takes my mask and sets it beside his. Then he wraps his arms around me, and I lean into him, needing this closeness more than I’d realized.
After a while, my tears contained, I rub my cheek against his, my skin still getting used to the texture of his beard. “Why have you been so distant?”
He holds me closer. “I didn’t want to mess up. Words and emotions aren’t my strong suit, Sugar.”
“Maybe, but I know you, RJ. You’d never hurt me, not on purpose. And keeping away worried me. I’d rather you try and fail than hide from me.”
He shifts me so we can see each other’s faces. “You need another limpet? Because I promise I can cling just as well as Jansen.”
I run my palm along his cheek. “I love all my limpets. The clingier, the better.”
His laugh sinks into me, and I realize I get a lifetime of working those bone-deep laughs out of him. It’s a lifetime I’m so excited to live. “I love you,” I say.
And for the first time, clearly, with no bittersweet moment marring it, I get to hear the words said back to me. “I love you too, Clara. So damn much.”
We hold on to each other, as clingy as we both would like, enjoying the quiet before the party.
Eventually, I work up the courage to get the intel I need for my plan. “What do you want for your birthday, RJ?”
“You’re asking a little late, Sugar.”
“Well, I have an idea, but I don’t want to force it on you.”
His gold-tinged eyes are curious. “What kind of idea?”
“A sexy one?”
He pokes me in the side. “Is that a question?”
“No, it’s not. You’ve said before you like to watch, right?”
He stops breathing for a moment. “What do you have in mind?”
“What do you think about a hunt, but you know where everyone is, so you can follow and watch?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “A hunt?”
I feel a flush coating my skin, and his knuckle comes up to trace it across my face and chest. “It turns out I like being chased.”
His smile grows. “Give me the details, Sugar.”
“I run. Everyone chases. And if you want, you can watch. As much or as little as you’d like.”
He tugs me closer, his nose pressed against my skin, his breath a little ragged. “I think I like that idea. A lot. But are you sure you’re up for that? Especially with everything you’ve gone through?”
I feel a flush coat my skin, equal parts arousal and embarrassment as I try to put my thoughts into words.
“Definitely. I trust you all. And it sounds weird, but it’s kind of freeing.
I can play a victim, but really, I’m in charge the whole time.
Like watching a scary movie. All the thrills, none of the danger. ”
He chuckles, squeezing me tighter. “In that case, it sounds like a wonderful birthday present. It’s a good thing I got you and Trips new phones today.”
“Tracking app installed?”
“Of course. I’m not losing you ever again, Sugar. Not if I can help it. Consider me a digital limpet.”
I chuckle. “Then it’s a plan.”
“I can’t wait.”
I pop to my feet, ready to get to the party so we can get on with the party. He tugs me back into his lap. “You’re forgetting something, sweetness.” He holds up the bag.
“The present for me that is a present for you?”
“Yup.”
He opens the small bag and pulls out a fortune’s worth of jewelry—a pair of earrings made of a long chain of diamonds with a heavy onyx circle at the end, a heavy black bangle with a delicate flower inlaid in silver and diamonds, and last, a crown of onyx and ruby, stones stacked like bloody soldiers along the arch.
“We took these for you last year. Well, most of them. Jansen stole the crown without the rest of us knowing. He’s promised to sneak them into evidence once the cops raid the estate so they can get repatriated.
Until then, though…” He carefully coats me in expensive stolen jewels, saving the crown for last. “Walker says I’m a lucky bastard that it’s my birthday.
He wanted to crown you queen. But we’ve all known that truth, almost since you walked through the door that hot summer day.
You’re our queen. And we’ll live and die by your command. ”
The weight of the metal settling into my newly buoyant hair matches the weight of his words.
Because they’re true. These men followed me into one dangerous plan after another to steal our future. None of us got out unscathed. They will follow me wherever I lead; I need to be careful. They’re too precious to be thrown into danger without reason. And it’s my job to remember that.
They’re mine to keep. To protect and play with. To lead and learn from. To love, no matter what.
Mine.
All mine.