Beautiful Lies (The Beautiful Series Book 2) Read online

  “Does he make her happy?” I asked, not sure why I was continuing down this torturous path.

  “What they have is easy,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Zeke is fun, and he’s cool to hang out with, but he isn’t the great love of her life. He’s a flicker, not a flame.”

  Ever the optimist. “Yeah, well, she’s been burned by the same flame too many times. Now my girl is too scared to play with fire.”

  Eden smiled triumphantly. “You called her your girl.”

  She’d always be my girl. It didn’t matter who she was with or how long we were separated by time or distance, Ava would always be mine. I knew in my heart that nobody could ever love her the way I do. It simply wasn’t possible. Unfortunately, I’d fucked up too many times and that was what it always came back to. Our history was long, with moments of pure bliss, but the bad outweighed the good for her, and there was no way to wipe the slate clean and start fresh.

  Fucking hell. Love hurt.

  My chest tightened, and I took deep breaths, trying to fight through the pain. Not only the tattooing but the daily struggle of life as a recovering addict. It’s a journey of one baby step at a time and I was attempting to scale fucking Everest.

  “Time for a break,” Jared said, wiping the blood off my chest. Removing his latex gloves, he let himself out and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with Eden. I sat up on the table, wishing I could cover my chest so she wouldn’t have to look at it.

  “I guess that wasn’t such a happy story, after all,” Eden said.

  I mustered a smile for her. I needed a cigarette, but she stayed a little longer, chatting about happier things. Namely, a mural she’d been commissioned to paint in a boutique on Bedford Avenue.

  “You’ll be able to give up the day job soon,” I said.

  “That’s what Killian keeps saying. But I love working at the bar.” She slid out her phone and checked the time. “Sorry. I need to get to work.”

  I stood, and she stared at my chest for a few seconds before she lifted her gaze to my face. “I’d hug you but… probably not a great idea.”

  My eyes locked with her green ones. “You okay?”

  She nodded and exhaled a breath. “Yeah, I’m good. Killian and I went to the cemetery this morning.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, knotted with tension. I haven’t been to the cemetery since the day we put my father in the ground, and I had no intention of ever visiting his grave. His funeral had been a circus—thousands of police officers had lined the route we’d traveled to the church in Bay Ridge. A sea of blue paying their respects to a man who had hidden his dirty little secrets underneath his badge. Seamus Vincent had been one of NYPD’s finest. What a sick joke.

  “I’m surprised Killian went,” I said.

  “Killian is full of surprises these days,” she said. “He talks and everything.”

  We shared a laugh over that one. Prying open Killian had never been an easy task, but Eden did it. She cracked him wide open, then she gathered up all the broken pieces and helped him glue them back together.

  When Eden left, I exited through the back door and leaned against the brick wall next to my Harley to smoke a cigarette.

  “That shit’s gonna kill you,” Jared said, joining me in the fenced-in vacant lot with weeds pushing up through the cracks. It always amazed me that weeds had such a strong survival instinct and managed to thrive in the most unlikely places. “Give me one.”

  I shook a cigarette out of the pack and handed it to him, along with the lighter. “Thought you quit.”

  “I did.”

  I eyed him as he took his first drag. It’s the best one when the nicotine hits your bloodstream and gives you a rush. He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Damn. Why is all the bad shit so good?”

  I took another drag of my cigarette and tipped my head back, not bothering to answer. The clouds looked like brushstrokes painted on a hurt-your-eyes blue sky, a day so like last year it was almost eerie.

  “I’m thinking about opening another shop,” Jared said.

  “Where?”

  “California.”

  What. The. Fuck.

  “Winter’s coming. I hate the cold. I’m thinking San Diego. All-year-round perfect temperature.”

  It was the end of September, and on a day like this, winter seemed like a long way off. The air smelled like hot tar and garbage, an odor intensified by the heat. “When’s this happening?”

  “As soon as you can get me the money.”

  I tossed my cigarette on the ground and crushed it under the sole of my motorcycle boot, thinking about Jared’s words. Killian and I had inherited money from our old man. Seamus never spent a penny he didn’t need to, and after thirty-plus years on the force, with a chief’s salary for the last five years of it, and a mortgage-free house in Bay Ridge, we’d ended up splitting a shitload of money. A hell of a lot more than I’d expected him to have or ever give us. Blood money, I called it. Killian used his money to fund programs for at-risk youth. Mine was still sitting in an account untouched. When I offered my share of the money to Killian, he refused to accept it. I wrote him a check for the money I owed him, but he never cashed that either. But, then, we weren’t on speaking terms at the time.

  “You want me to buy you out?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “What happens if I don’t?”

  Jared rubbed a hand over his blond buzzcut, his eyes narrowed as he took another drag and exhaled. “I’ll sell it to someone else.”

  He’d been talking about leaving Brooklyn for years, but that’s all it had ever been. Talk. This time, it was more than just talk. He was ready to get out. “What about the building? You looking to sell that, too?”

  The tattoo parlor was on the first floor and Jared lived in the apartment above it. His grandfather bought the building fifty years ago, back when real estate was cheap in Williamsburg before the hipsters had invaded and prices skyrocketed.

  “I’ll keep the building. You can move into my apartment and pay rent.”

  He was offering me first shot at something I’d always wanted. I scrubbed my hand over the stubble on my jaw. Was I ready to run my own shop? Sink money into a business that tied me to this neighborhood? Even though I was done running, the thought of putting down roots put me on edge. But what scared the shit out of me was that I might fail. Failure was not an option. I’d burnt too many bridges already, and I’d spent the better part of a year trying to rebuild them, not always successfully either.

  “Lee and Gavin aren’t interested?” I asked, referring to the other tattoo artists.

  “Nah, they don’t wanna run a shop,” Jared said, tossing his cigarette. “Think about it. You’ve got a week until I start considering other offers.”

  I followed him inside, ignoring Claudia’s heated gaze as she came out of the restroom, her tits practically falling out of her low-cut black top. She licked her lips and fluttered her eyelashes, sending a message that was loud and clear. Claudia was hot, with long dark hair and curves in all the right places, but she didn’t do it for me.

  “Someone’s been spending a lot of time in the gym,” she said.

  I turned my back to her before she got a close-up view of my chest. Claudia was our receptionist and piercer, and had offered, on more than one occasion, to suck my dick. I had to hand it to her for being direct, but I never took her up on it, and I never would.

  I closed the door, effectively shutting her out.

  “Mind if I watch?” she asked from the other side of the door. I shook my head, but it wasn’t necessary. Jared knew I didn’t want an audience. Eden had been an exception.

  “I need you on the desk,” Jared said.

  She huffed out a breath and I heard her heels clicking across the black-and-white tiled floor.

  “You going there?” Jared asked, dipping the needle into cyan ink.

  “Nope.”

  No more words were exchanged while Jared worked on my tattoo which gave
me time to think about his offer. Part of me was saying that I wasn’t ready for this kind of responsibility. The other part of me was saying that it was time to step up to the plate and prove myself.

  I stared at the pressed-tin tiles on the ceiling and let my thoughts drift to the girl with lavender hair and silvery gray eyes. Ava Christensen had been the best thing in my life, but I ruined us.

  I parked my Harley on the sidewalk in front of Defiance MMA & Fitness and locked it up. The gym closed fifteen minutes ago so I was hoping to catch Killian on his way out. I pushed through the front door of the converted warehouse, surprised it wasn’t locked yet. Killian was in the cage with Nico, a kid he was training, and I stood back to watch them grapple.

  In my early teens, I’d spent hours watching Killian’s training sessions at a gym in Bay Ridge. While he’d trained, I’d drawn, and created a comic book that my old man had found hidden under my mattress. Turning Seamus Vincent into the evil villain of my graphic comic hadn’t been one of my brighter ideas. He’d burned my sketchbook and punched me so hard my ears were ringing for a week. Killian hadn’t been home that night. If he had been, he would have intervened. I was thirteen at the time, and a sick, twisted part of me took pride in the fact that I’d taken that punch to the head.

  I watched as Killian got Nico into a chokehold he couldn’t free himself from. “Tap the mat, Nico,” Killian said. Reluctantly, Nico tapped his hand on the mat and Killian released him. They got to their feet and faced each other.

  “Tapping out isn’t the same as losing,” Killian said. “You did good today.”

  Nico nodded, but I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t convinced.

  “Nico,” Killian said, willing Nico to listen and believe his words. “You did good.”

  “Yeah, man. Thanks,” Nico mumbled. He climbed out of the cage and we exchanged a greeting before he headed to the locker room.

  “I’m closing up now,” Killian said.

  “I’m not here to work out. You got a minute?”

  “Help me clean the mats,” he said, shooting a look at my motorcycle boots. Killian’s always been a stickler for rules, attempting to give structure to a world of chaos. Wearing shoes on the mats was forbidden. “And I’ll give you more than a minute.”

  I kicked off my boots and lined them up against the wall under the black and red gym logo. Killian returned from the supply closet with brooms and Swiffer mops and we got to work, sweeping the jigsaw mats.

  Nico came out of the locker room in jeans and a T-shirt, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, and followed the path around the mats, careful not to step on them in his street shoes. “You need help cleaning?” he asked.

  Killian shook his head. “Get some rest. Drink plenty of water. And if you need me for anything, you call me.”

  Nico nodded, and I wondered if he knew how lucky he was to have Killian in his corner. I was tempted to take Nico aside and caution him not to squander the faith Killian had in him. But maybe this kid was smarter than me. “Thanks,” Nico said.

  Killian walked him to the door and clapped Nico on the shoulder, saying something in a low voice I didn’t catch. A pep talk, or words of advice, maybe. Killian had taken Nico under his wing nine months ago when he opened this gym and I got the feeling Nico wanted to follow in Killian’s footsteps. Once upon a time, Killian had been a UFC champion. When his opponent, Johnny Ramirez, died of his injuries two years ago, Killian walked away from his MMA career. It had been an accident, but Killian’s guilt ran deep, and he vowed never to step foot in the Octagon again. Instead, he coached guys like Nico.

  After Nico left, Killian joined me on the mats.

  “How’s Nico doing?” I asked, knowing he came from a similar fucked-up background as we did.

  “His piece of shit stepdad put his mom in the hospital.”

  “Fuck.”

  “She won’t leave him. She’s too scared of being on her own,” Killian said.

  It was easy to judge someone from the outside looking in, and a lot of people thought it was easy to just up and leave. Why stay with an abusive partner? Why not report an abusive parent? But it wasn’t always that simple. “And Nico feels it’s his duty to protect her,” I guessed.

  “Yeah.” We worked in silence for a while, mopping the mats with disinfectant.

  “Heard you got a new tattoo,” Killian said.

  “Yeah. Eden stopped by to offer moral support.”

  At the mention of her name, his lips curved into a smile that came more easily now than it used to.

  “Jared’s looking to sell his shop,” I said, introducing my reason for stopping by. “He’s giving me first dibs.”

  “You ready for that?” I heard the doubt in his voice that told me he didn’t think I was.

  “It’s time I take some responsibility.”

  “Running your own business is a full-time job. You can’t take off whenever you want. You can’t just turn up, do the tattooing, and leave when your shift ends. It’s a hell of a lot of—”

  “I know that,” I said through gritted teeth. I took deep breaths through my nose, trying to calm myself. I am peaceful. I am strong. My past does not define me. “How about a little support? Like, ‘hey Connor, good job. You’re a kickass tattoo artist. I believe in you.’”

  He clenched his jaw, and we completed the chore in stony silence. Maybe Killian was full of surprises when it came to Eden, but with me, the struggle was real. I had nobody to blame but myself. In the past, he’d given me more chances to make things right than I’d ever deserved. But now that I was doing all the right things, it was too little, too late.

  In a parting shot as we left the gym, he said, “If you’re serious about this, you should talk to Zeke.”

  “What a great fucking idea. I’ll ask my ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend for help.”

  “Do you know how to put together a business plan? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” I straddled my Harley and his hand gripped my bicep to stop me from putting on my helmet and leaving.

  “I want to believe in you,” he said.

  He released my arm, and I stared down the street at the warehouses that lined the block, their corrugated metal doors shut for the night. A tricked-out black Caddy cruised past, rap music blasting from the open windows, the sound fading into the night air as it turned down the next block. “But you can’t do it.”

  Killian rubbed his jaw and squinted into the distance. “I’m trying. That’s the best I can give you right now.” He turned on his heel and strode away, beeping the locks of his SUV.

  That’s the best I can give you right now.

  At this point, I’d need to perform three miracles and get canonized for sainthood before he put his faith in me.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I slid it out, checking the screen. Tate. “How did today go?” he asked, skipping the greeting. I checked over my shoulder. Killian was already pulling away from the curb, burning rubber to get home to Eden.

  I gave Tate a recap of my day without bullshitting him. He was like my priest and I was the sinner sitting in the confessional box. Tate was a good sponsor, and he’d talked me down from the ledge more than once over the past year. When shit got too much to handle, I called him instead of trying to score.

  He listened, without interrupting, and when I finished, I waited for his words of wisdom or encouragement or whatever was on today’s menu. Chicken soup for the soul, and all that shit.

  “Sounds like you made a lot of progress,” he said.

  “Which part of what I told you was progress?” I asked, rubbing my hand over my chest. The tattoo was starting to itch like hell, and I could still feel the ridges of the scars under my fingertips, but you couldn’t see them anymore. Progress.

  “Have you tried to score today?”

  “No.”

  “Was your first thought … I need to get high to make it through this day?”

  “Not my first thought.
” But it was always there, that little voice in the back of my head telling me it knew a sure-fire way to take me away from it all, make me forget the world. It promised me euphoria, and sweet relief, however fleeting.

  “There you go,” Tate said. “Progress.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah. I’m in a great place.”

  “A hell of a lot better than last year. Just take it one step at a time. Keep doing the work, and the big shit will sort itself out.”

  “Right.”

  After a beat, he said, “Keeping shit like that inside eats away at a person. He deserves the truth.”

  Tate hadn’t brought this up in months, and I’d been grateful for it, but I guess he felt that it deserved a mention on the one-year anniversary.

  “That’s all I’m gonna say about that. Call if you need me.”

  “Thanks.”

  I cut the call and pocketed my phone. Maybe Killian had a right to know, but the truth was ugly. How could divulging it help?

  Would Killian believe that I withheld the truth to protect him? I warred with myself daily. I didn’t know what Ronan Shaughnessy was fully capable of. He’d been the puppeteer pulling all the strings, and he’d made me dance for him. If I told Killian, I doubted that he’d just let it go. That wasn’t his style. He’d storm the castle, trying to play the white knight, but he’d fail just like I had. She didn’t want to be rescued. She’d chosen her second family over her first and left me and Killian behind without a backward glance. I envisioned Keira Shaughnessy, the sister Killian knew nothing about, the sister who had no clue we were related. Attempting to get close to her had been my downfall.

  There was no easy way out. But then, had there ever been?

  I lit a cigarette and took a drag, wishing all the bad shit didn’t taste so damn good. I briefly entertained the idea of calling Claudia and taking her up on her offer. Or hitting up a bar, ordering a club soda and lime, and finding the first hot girl willing to have sex. It wouldn’t be that difficult, and maybe that sounded cocky, but girls were attracted to my physical appearance. Pretty on the outside, something entirely different on the inside.