3. Briggs
Chapter 3
Briggs
“The descent into Hell is easy.” ― Virgil
H eadlights beamed into the black wrought iron gate, sharp spikes jutting towards the night sky above as I punched in the code that welcomed me to the dread of being home. Zero-one-zero-eight—the day my mother abandoned us all those years ago. The idea that my father venerated the day by making it the only way into our estate said enough about how resentful he was.
No one knew where she ran off to, but wherever she was, I hoped she never thought of this place. Of us. Escaping this hell was the only thing that kept me motivated. But that all died, along with my brother, so long ago.
The iron clanged open, and I drove forward until I reached the roundabout drive a half-mile in, passing the keys to the staff as they approached. I’d appreciate all the luxuries that came with our exorbitant wealth more if it were my company, my money, my hard-earned living. But knowing his hands and the blood of others wiped the walls of the estate was enough to make me never want to be home in the first place.
I wasn’t exactly innocent when it came to his business, either. The day after my brother—the one who was groomed to inherit the company, the fortune, the very lifestyle of being an Andrews—died, my father forced me to step into his shoes. Beck’s shoes were fucking unbearable the first year, but I’d grown used to it. By the age of sixteen, I’d learned how to beat a man, how to bend and break them in ways no boy should ever learn. I’d hurt people, made them bleed, and made them agree to whatever I demanded using as much force as I had to. By the time I was nineteen, I’d become so well-acquainted with taking down those who threatened our business that my father started leaving all of those matters to me. My choice in torture, my choice in getting the information or deals we needed. And I’d done it all for a man I couldn’t even tolerate being near—a man whose business thrived because of what happened behind closed doors.
The hallways of the estate were hollow and silent, much like how I tried to feel the moment I stepped through the threshold of my own personal hell. Satan was away on business matters that didn’t involve me, making my shoulders ease as I passed through the double doors to my bedroom.
Yet, not even that could last.
Dean Van der Hall was sitting on my black velvet armchair, his voice grating against that layer of peace I thought I’d just gained as he asked, “Was wondering when you’d show. Where the fuck were you?” He was my father’s best friend and main business partner, but he was also the only other person who acknowledged my father for what he was and had taken over the role of my mentor after Beck died.
“Out.” I walked over to my dresser and started to unclasp my watch.
Dean released the curtains from his hold as I turned to face him. “I see. A certain woman I should know about?”
I swiveled back to the dresser, putting the watch in its case. “Is that who you’re looking for out there?” I shook my head. “You know I don’t engage with anyone. What would be the point?” There was no point. He sighed as he pushed his feet wider apart, his back sinking deeper into the chair while cupping the back of his neck with both hands. Dean’s silence was enough of an answer for me. “Why are you here? Does Father need me to do something while he’s away?” I cringed as the words rolled off my tongue. Calling him ‘father’ was so ingrained in me, quite literally beaten into me, that a flash of pain rippled through me at the memories of those early days of filling Beck’s shoes. Being the perfect son, the perfect example of what being the heir to VanAndrews looked and acted like, was all-consuming.
“Cut the shit, Briggs. We both know you don’t want in on whatever he’s out doing right now.” His finger looped behind the curtain again, tugging it back to look beyond the window that showed the estate’s driveway.
“As if it’s my choice.” My chuckle lacked all humor as I yanked the towel from the corner of my four-post bed and tossed my phone on top of the comforter. I didn’t bother to close the door as I walked into the massive en-suite, stripped down, and turned on the shower. “So, why are you here?”
Dean’s hand flew up to shield his eyes. “Shit, I can tell you what I didn’t come here for, and that’s it.“ He gestured with his other hand over the entirety of me.
A laugh escaped me as I walked into the shower. “Don’t act like you haven’t seen me like this before. I think you’ve seen me fuck more women than you’ve actually taken yourself.” Being involved in the business meant meetings, and we hosted some of those meetings at our exclusive gentlemen’s club. Those meetings aimed to relax and entice—to persuade that we were the right choice to merge with or sell to. What was more enticing to a bunch of middle-aged men whose wives were no longer putting out than a selection of young, and willing, naked women? Throw in high-grade medicinals and most didn’t refuse whatever deal we offered.
“Right, well. On that note, make sure you get tested this weekend. I’d hate for you to spread shit to all those women. Last thing we need is the media leaking a story that the heir to VanAndrews has a sexually transmitted disease.”
I rolled my eyes before closing them beneath the water. A few years ago, a news outlet reported me as one of the hottest eligible billionaire bachelors, and ever since then the media has paid extra-special attention to my father and me—as if the burdens on my shoulders already weren’t enough. “What do you think I do the first day I get back?” I raised my voice, cutting through the steady stream. “Don’t worry, the media will still only have numbers to report, as usual. I’m clean.”
Dean kept his head low as he leaned against the door frame of the en-suite. He ran his fingers through his bright red hair before grazing his knuckles over his fiery five-o’clock shadow. “And you haven’t been with anyone in town, right?”
“Why the sudden interest in my personal life?”
“You were gone, for”—he lifted his wrist, glancing at his diamond-coated Rolex—“almost three hours. So, I’m going to ask you again. Where the fuck were you?”
“I told you, I was out. That’s it.” My molars ground together as I thought about Rose and the way she thanked me a million times over for being there and taking her home. She wouldn’t be thanking me if she knew the kind of man I was. The things I’d done. I switched the shower to the coldest setting, dulling that bitter taste and the gut punch her name alone caused as it circled my brain again.
He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’m not buying it.”
“You could try ignoring it, for once,” I suggested .
“As your mentor, I’m inclined to make sure you make the right decisions.”
My tone sharpened. “Are you going to try to beat it out of me?”
“You know beating you has never been my—“
“No, you’re right. That special treatment is saved for your best friend,” I cut him off, glaring at him through the glass.
He sighed as I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. I stepped up to the vanity he stood beside, the Italian-imported marble that spread over the top and down to the floor and was covered in long grey streaks like lightning bolts reminded me of how broken I’d become since I was thrown into Beck’s role.
It reminded me of his death—my twin’s death.
I fucking hated it.
“Look, kid. One day, you won’t have to deal with him anymore. One day, it will all be yours. Isn’t that enough?” His light brown eyes lifted to meet mine through the mirror. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough . But the damage was done, and there was no going back in time, no saving Beck for the role he was destined for. Father wouldn’t have needed to beat him down, to turn him into a shred of a man only to build him back up into the one he needed him to be. That treatment was saved exclusively for me.
“Sure.” I reached for my toothbrush and covered the bristles with toothpaste.
“That was the least convincing thing I’ve heard from your mouth tonight.” I could feel his eyes watching me as I brushed my teeth. Usually after a meeting or business dealing, I’d scrub my body—every inch of skin and every strand of hair. It would take an hour or more sometimes until I’d feel clean again. I half expected the night to end like that after I laid my eyes on Rose. For years, I’d known about her every move, who her friends were, where she worked and studied, even what her grandparent’s favorite food was. Money could buy some crazy things, and private investigators were well worth the relief of my guilt. But I didn’t expect her to give me so much shit for extending the offer of my safety, or for her hands to feel as soft as they did against mine. The way she seemed like a skittish girl only to lash out at me and make me put my car in reverse when I was blatantly wrong. When it came down to it, I guess I didn’t really know her . And I couldn’t exactly say I’d wanted to scrub that revelation away.
“Do I need to have Rhonda make up a room for you, or are you flying out tonight?”
His jaw worked at the change in subject. “I’ll head out. I just needed to make sure you were okay. Some random alarm went off in my head after I dropped off Clarissa at her mother’s, so I figured I’d stop by.”
“Ah. So you were here for your daughter, and I was the afterthought.” I smirked over at him as I put the toothbrush back. His daughter’s very single, very cougar-like mother vacationed in one of the beach houses about thirty minutes or so from Shuster Springs. The area was exclusively reserved for the grotesquely wealthy, and Clarissa preferred the attention she got there rather than the ‘rat-hole’ that was Shuster Springs. “Thanks for stopping by. I’ll make sure Father knows you came to check up on me while he was away. ”
His palm tapped against the doorframe. “I don’t need the bonus points for ‘putting you in your place,’ as he would say. I was worried about you. Ever since you turned down Princeton, you’ve been…off.”
For the past five years? Yeah, I was off, alright. For much longer than that.
“I didn’t turn down Princeton. I got accepted, and when Father found out, he burned the acceptance letter and then beat me. Said he wasn’t done with me yet.” I reached for my sweatpants that were folded and pressed neatly by the entrance to my walk-in closet. When I dropped the towel to pull my pants on, Dean huffed behind me.
“Jesus, Briggs. A warning next time.” His voice was muffled as if his hand was covering his face again. “If I’m being honest, I think you need to get laid and not by a stripper. Get your head right. Find a girl. We all need to be loved.”
“Who would want to love someone like me?” The words came out before I could stop them, but inside it was one of the gnawing questions that reverberated in my mind whenever I laid my head down at night. I’d never truly be free from the VanAndrews business, and that business had become my life, just like my father wanted it to be.
“Hell, Briggs. You’re better than him, you know. Your mother left for what I’m sure were good reasons. But I don’t think a woman would think twice about leaving you. ”
I lifted a finger towards him. “Your daughter thought otherwise.” Not that I ever cared to revisit my almost-arranged marriage to his daughter. Thank-fucking-god I dodged that bullet.
He shook his head. “My daughter is exactly like her mother. She will never settle down.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were more into me than she ever was.” I cocked my brow in his direction through the mirror.
“You know I don’t like dicks. Don’t fuck with me. I’m being serious.” His voice lowered as he threaded his fingers through the top of his hair. “Jasmine is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. You need someone like her.”
“What, half my age and ready to ride my dick whenever I demand?” I deadpanned.
He cackled loudly. “Exactly. Except maybe not half your age. That would be wrong.”
“So find a girl willing to love me, and let her ride me. Got it.”
“Now you do.” He pulled out his phone from his pocket and lifted a finger at me as he turned back into my bedroom. “I’ll be right there, baby. Hang tight. The chopper ride won’t be too long.” He winked at me as I passed by him on the way to my bed. I sat on the edge as he made his way to the door.
“Get out of your head. That’s a fucking order.” He shut the door behind him, his voice fading quickly down the hall as he spoke to Jasmine on the phone.
I wouldn’t even know where to begin to get out of my head. Wasn’t that exactly what I was trying to do tonight before I failed? I reached over to pick up my phone, opening the list of contacts. I didn’t keep in touch with anyone I’d grown up with. When my training started for VanAndrews, so did the ghosting I did to each one of the people I had in my life. Now, I had no one besides the people who were paid to be there for me, and Dean.
I switched to scrolling through posts on social media outlets, stopping when I saw a post of Rose as a kid with her parents. The words above the picture were simple—a declaration of love and missing them, with a heart emoji at the end. A cold shiver ran down my spine, that pain returning as I stared at the photo. The anniversary of their death was coming up, and August still bailed on her. I gripped the phone tight enough to crack the corner of the screen as I saw his comment—a single heart emoji. That was probably all she’d get from him.
Maybe Dean was right. Maybe I did need to get out of my head, more than he was even aware of. I picked up the phone again just as a text came in.
Clarissa: Hey sexy. Want to go to a party with me next weekend? Daddy says I can’t go alone.
Briggs: Is that all he said? Sounds like he told you to make me take you.
Clarissa: Aw. Why, would that change your mind? You used to love taking me places. Like your bedroom.
Briggs: Clarissa.
Clarissa: Okkkk. Fine. Yes, he may have said something like that. So will you take me? I miss your car.
Briggs: That’s the only thing you miss .
Clarissa: Not true. Your dick was also pretty superb. Why’d we break up, again?
Briggs: You know why. I’ll go, but keep your hands to yourself.
Clarissa: But that’s no fun.
Briggs: Clarissa.
Clarissa: Fine. Hands to myself. My ass might be elsewhere, though. I make no promises about where the rest of my body goes, either.
Briggs: Clarissa.
Clarissa: Okay. Hands and body to myself. Can I at least drive your car?
Briggs: Fuck no.
Clarissa: Ugh, you’re no fun anymore. Pick me up at 7. See you then, Briggsy!
I groaned, lolling my head to the side and tossing my phone to the rug on the floor. Sleep came over me soon after, the same haunting, recurring dream just as unrelenting as it had always been. I’d woken up and gone back to sleep more times than I could count, but that dream always seemed to find me.
And something told me it was about to get a lot worse.