Family Sins

Sixteen

It had been a long and frustrating day for the Wayne family. People’s behavior toward them was shifting.

That fear of lordly power was gone. The head-ducking unwillingness to make eye contact with the family who held the purse strings to the city was all but gone. Mad Jack had even noticed an outright glare from an employee in the restaurant at the golf course. By the time the day was winding down and the family was gathering for dinner, nerves were on edge.

Nita had already informed Jack that she had invited Andrew and notified Cook of the added guest. And because she was so mellow from a pitcher of margaritas and two straight hours of intermittent orgasms, she’d ordered Cook to prepare a rustic bruschetta to pair with the aperitif she’d chosen for the evening. The light wine was meant to spark an appetite. She could only hope that it might soothe ruffled feathers, as well.

Andrew was his usual urbane self, keeping her entertained and laughing as they waited, and she was congratulating herself on finding him. They’d been together now for almost six months, ever since she and Fiona had come back from New York City, and he was still holding true to his promise to be the best she’d ever had. He was pricey, but well worth it to her.

She’d heard the front door open and close several times in the past half hour, which meant more family members were home. Andrew had just moved to the wet bar to refill Nita’s glass when Jack Wayne entered the library.

“Evening, Andrew. Good evening, Nita,” Jack said, and then politely kissed Nita’s cheek.

“Good evening, sir,” Andrew said. “Would you care for an aperitif?”

“Yes, please,” Jack said. His eyebrows arched as he scanned the delicate bite-size toasted baguette slices topped with a black olive and sun-dried tomato tapenade. “How inviting. Is this your doing, Nita?”

“Don’t be so surprised. Mother had fifteen years of my childhood to induct me into the Emily Post way of life and learning what fork went with which course.”

“Touché,” Jack said, and tried one. “Mmm, quite tasty,” he added, and chased it with a sip of the wine.

Blake entered with Charles on his heels.

Justin strode in with his usual “don’t mess with me” attitude and poured his own wine before claiming his favorite chair.

Fiona straggled in last, muttering something about the condition of her hair and how it needed a cut, and the sacrifices that had to be made being stranded in this town and left to the services of people who barely knew how to wash and dry a client’s hair. After delivering that gripe, she went straight to the bar and demanded a drink.

Nita frowned.

“Really, Fee. Andrew is our guest, not a servant.”

“Sorry,” Fiona said, and took her wine without bothering to look at him, then sauntered toward Nita, leaned down and whispered in her ear, “It was an innocent mistake, since I had two solid hours of hearing you being serviced by our guest.”

“You should have joined us,” Nita snapped, relishing the dull flush of red that moved up her sister’s neck and cheeks.

Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “It is times like this when I am grateful for the fact that we live our own lives in New York.”

Nita glared.

Fiona’s lips pursed in disapproval as she headed for the lavishly upholstered chair their mother used to favor. The fabric, huge red poppies on a snow-white background, was still as pristine as the day the chair had been delivered to this house. Rarely did anyone sit in it. It stood mostly as an homage to the mother they’d lost so young, but Fiona felt a little rebellion of her own was long past due and sat down with a defiant glare.

It was noticed by all but remarked upon by none, which made the gesture anticlimactic, so she settled for lowering the wine level in her glass instead.

The next thirty minutes spent in familial proximity and booze had the same effect as always. They were already poking at each other to see who would have the most drastic reaction to some snide remark, which was what passed for conversation between them, until Jack put a stop to it.

“I believe it’s time we moved to the dining room,” he said. He had turned to set his wineglass on the bar when the doorbell rang. “Are we expecting more company?”

When no one spoke up, he frowned. “I’m going to tell Frances to turn whoever it is away. This is the height of rudeness.” Then he left the room in a huff.

Blake popped the last piece of bruschetta into his mouth and was still chewing when he heard shouting in the foyer. Everyone except Justin and Fiona ran out into the hall to see what was happening.

“I’m sick of all this,” Fiona muttered.

Justin shrugged.

When the noise from the foyer began coming closer and Justin could hear Uncle Jack shouting at Blake to call their lawyer, he stood. It was a gut reaction, an attempt to avoid being in a vulnerable position should trouble come through the door. And come it did, in the guise of the county constable and the local chief of police, followed by a pair of deputies. He saw the looks on their faces and knew he had nowhere to run.

As he feared, the two deputies headed for him without hesitation.

“What the hell are you doing?” Justin yelled.

Riordan began reading him his Miranda Rights as the deputies cuffed him.

“Justin Wayne, you are under arrest for the attempted murders of Bowie Youngblood and Talia Champion. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided to you. You-”

Justin’s ears began to roar. His family was looking at him as if they’d never seen him before, and he was wondering what the hell he’d missed this morning that had led to this happening.

In the middle of it all, Jack started shouting again.

“I demand to know what insanity prompted this!”

“He tampered with the brakes on vehicles belonging to both Bowie Youngblood and Talia Champion.”

Jack threw up his arms in disgust.

“This is just a witch hunt, isn’t it, Riordan? You don’t have anyone to arrest for murder, so you cook up this pathetic charge to-”

“No!” Chief Clayton interrupted. He knew he was putting his own job in jeopardy, but he also knew this was one more nail in the incident that would eventually bury this family, and he wanted to disassociate himself from them before that happened. “This is not a trumped-up charge, and there’s nothing ‘pathetic’ about attempted murder. It was only providence that kept Bowie’s truck from going off the road and down a cliff as he drove home earlier today. Unfortunately, Miss Champion was not so lucky. Her brakes went out on that same mountain road about thirty minutes later, and she did go over the cliff. She’s in the hospital as we speak, with an assortment of injuries. We recovered security footage from a neighbor that clearly showed Justin Wayne in the act of vandalizing both vehicles.”

Jack’s face paled.

“Oh my God,” Nita muttered.

Blake recoiled as if he’d been slapped, and Charles staggered backward to the nearest chair.

Fiona gasped. “Beast!” she cried. “You killed Stanton Youngblood, too, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that!” Justin shouted.

“I don’t believe you,” Fiona said.

In that moment Justin realized what he’d done. Thanks to his own rash behavior, his family had given him up as the scapegoat.

The authorities swept him out of the mansion as swiftly as they’d entered, leaving a stunned and silent family behind.

Finally it was Fiona who stood up, set her glass aside and announced she was going to dinner.

One by one, the others followed.

The killer ate with a sense of relief. The law wouldn’t be after him anymore, but it was yet to be determined what his family would do to him once they found out what he’d done. And find out they would, because right now he had no earthly idea how to cover up the money he’d taken for the resort.

Two words.

Words Bowie had been waiting to hear.

“…love you,” Talia said, before she fell back into a drug-induced sleep.

Now he was sitting at her bedside once again and watching her sleep, remembering a day from the time before, when they were young and full of love and lust.

Watching the sunlight on the rippling lake water was like watching starlight at night, always the light against the darkness, the way life was supposed to be lived.

Bowie lay on his side watching Talia sleep while the afternoon wore its way toward evening. He would have to wake her up soon to take her home, but this day together at the lake had been magic. Today, their lovemaking had seemed like so much more than just mind-blowing sex. The laughter came easy. The fun in the water was something more than manic play. Sharing food had become a quiet moment of refueling more than their energy. Today felt like a rift in time where nothing could hurt them and everything was possible.

And now she slept beside him with utter abandon and implicit trust that she was safe and she was loved. It was the greatest gift she had ever given him, and in those moments when anything was possible, the inherent consciousness of being alive had infused itself into every cell in his body.

It was their heaven on earth.

The memory of that day faded as Bowie’s phone signaled a text. He looked down, noticed it was from Chief Clayton and pulled it up.

Justin Wayne arrested for attempted murder. Security footage from Talia’s neighbor shows him vandalizing both vehicles. Your mother has been notified.

The shock of such a rapid response to today’s accidents after the unforgivable delay in reacting to his father’s murder filled him. He was still absorbing the facts when Talia’s doctor walked in.

Bowie immediately stood. “Good evening, Doctor Rollins.”

“Good evening, Bowie. Any noticeable changes in your girl?”

“She woke briefly again and knew who I was.”

Rollins nodded as he checked the log with her readouts and numbers, then checked the wound on her head. Only the slightest bit of blood was seeping from beneath the staples. Luckily her broken ribs hadn’t punctured any internal organs. Her shoulder was almost as badly bruised as her knees, but she would heal. Satisfied with what he saw, he gave Bowie the news.

“I’m upgrading her status and pleased with her progress.”

“Thank you for the good news,” Bowie said.

Rollins smiled. “I can’t really take credit for any of that. She’s the one making strong strides toward healing,” he said, and then he was gone.

Once the room was theirs once more, Talia’s silence no longer felt ominous to Bowie. In his heart, he’d asked God for her to be alive, and she was. He wouldn’t ask for more. Not yet.

Talia was still sleeping when Amber Stewart returned, carrying a tray of food.

“This is for you,” she said. “I’m going off duty, and I know you’re not budging. Didn’t want you to go hungry, although you may wish you had once you take a bite. It’s cafeteria food, but it sustains us, so I think it will do the job for you, as well.”

Bowie took the tray and set it aside.

“Thank you for being so thoughtful,” he said. “I keep meaning to ask, if she wakes up again and asks for water, is she allowed anything…even ice chips?”

“She didn’t have surgery, so I’ll check the doctor’s orders. If she can have anything, I’ll ask one of the nurses on duty to bring it.”

“Thank you so much,” Bowie said, and then gave her a quick hug.

“You’re more than welcome, cousin,” she said, and waved as she went out the door.

Bowie eyed the food, took a bite of the sandwich, then dumped the chips out on the plate and ate until all of it was gone. The ice in the sweet tea was melted, but it was still cold, and he downed it, too. He used the small bathroom to wash up before returning to the seat beside the bed.

About a half hour later, a nurse came in with a cup of ice chips and a spoon, gave him directions as to how much and how often Talia could have them once she woke up, and took away the tray.

Bowie glanced at Talia again, wishing for another sign, then leaned down and whispered near her ear, “Hey, baby, this is Bowie, and I want you to know you aren’t alone.”

After a brief kiss on her forehead, he moved to the window. Night had come to Eden. Street lights were lit. The security lights in the hospital parking lot were burning. He could see a steady stream of headlights coming and going beyond these walls.

For the first time in his adult life, he was bothered that he didn’t own a home or even rent an apartment. His way of life had been reduced to six to eight weeks on an offshore platform and a week off, during which time he either traveled the area sightseeing or just rented a motel, and ate and slept to suit himself. He’d never thought much about it before, because it was what he’d had to do to get over losing her. Now everything was different. Maybe it was meant to be that he hadn’t put down roots. Maybe that was something they needed to do together. His parents had instilled money-handling skills in all their boys, so he could afford whatever they decided to do. He just needed her to get well.

He’d put in a call to his boss a couple of nights ago, updating him on what was happening and inquiring about the possibility of an onshore nine-to-five job within the company. He was still waiting for an answer.

Through the window, the looming darkness of the mountain against the night sky seemed almost ominous, but he knew it as home. As he was looking up, a bit of heaven fell from the sky, burning across his line of vision before it hit Earth’s atmosphere and flamed out. He often saw shooting stars on the rigs at night, but they seemed more special at home. He was still watching the stars when he heard a soft moan and something rattling against the bed rail. He spun toward the sound just as Talia lifted her arm.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he said, and raced to her bedside.

Her eyelids were fluttering again. He could tell she was trying so hard to wake up. He took her hand, and when her fingers curled around his just as they had when he’d pulled her out of the wreck, he lost it.

And that was what Talia saw when she opened her eyes, the tears rolling down Bowie’s cheeks.

“Alive,” she whispered.

“Yes, thank God, you’re alive,” he said.

“Brakes,” she said, just as she had earlier.

“Yes, I know. That’s something for another conversation.”

She squeezed his fingers to indicate understanding, and then licked her lower lip. “So dry,” she said.

“You can have ice chips. Do you want one?” he asked.

She nodded, then winced.

He scooped one tiny sliver up into the spoon. She opened her mouth like a baby bird so he could place it on her tongue.

As soon as it was gone, she opened her mouth again.

He fed her a good dozen ice chips before she quit, and when she tried to move her head, she moaned instead.

“Hurts…”

“I’ll ring the nurse,” he said. “Just rest. I’ve got your back on this. I won’t leave you alone.”

She squeezed his fingers again.

“…you forever,” she whispered, and then closed her eyes.

Bowie felt the words all the way to his soul as he watched her drifting back to sleep. She would heal, and then they would leave here to heal some more, and he would never leave her behind again.

Constable Riordan was pleased and not entirely unsurprised when the news about Justin Wayne’s arrest spread through Eden like wildfire. People were in greater shock that the arrest had actually happened than learning what he’d done to cause it. In their eyes, that family had lived above the law for as long as they’d been here. It was about time someone finally paid.

Back in Chicago, William Frazier received a text from Leigh Youngblood that only added fuel to the fire his story was going to cause.

Justin Wayne arrested for attempted murders of my son Bowie and Talia Champion. Investigation continuing re: whether he’ll be charged for Stanton’s murder as well.

He responded with a message of his own.

Investigation building. Don’t worry. Stay safe.

Dinner was over. Dessert had been served and eaten as if the earlier events had never even occurred.

Jack Wayne set down his empty coffee cup and pushed away from the table.

“I’m going out onto the terrace for a cigar. Anyone care to join me?” he asked.

“I have some work to do,” Blake said.

“I’m going out,” Charles said, and headed upstairs to change from his dress clothes to something more casual.

Fiona left without speaking to anyone, leaving Andrew and Nita on their own.

“I’m sorry tonight was so stressful after the wonderful afternoon we shared,” Andrew said.

Nita gave his hand a quick squeeze.

“Thank you, darling. I’m going to indulge in a hot soaking bath before bed.”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You run on up to your room. I’ll let myself out.”

Nita patted his cheek, and when he helped her up, she slid a wad of bills into his hand and walked away.

Andrew followed her to the staircase, blew her a kiss after she reached the top, and then counted the hundred dollar bills on the way out of the house.

He was just about to get into his car when Charles came running out behind him. Charles aimed the remote at his own car, which automatically turned on the lights as it unlocked the door. Then he impulsively threw his arms around Andrew’s neck, gave him a hard, lingering kiss and shouted, “Race you!”

A little taken aback, Andrew glanced up toward the second floor, but the windows were all dark. At that point, he grinned.

“Last one to the lake house is the last one to get a blow job, but no speeding,” he said.

Charles laughed again, and then jumped into his car and sped up the driveway.

Andrew followed, because winning wasn’t the point when you were getting paid either way.

Nita was standing naked at the window, lights off for a better view, watching Andrew leave and thinking of what a fabulous afternoon they’d had before all that unpleasantness with Justin.

She was just about to turn away when she saw someone running up behind him. Charles. Curious, she leaned closer to the glass. And when she saw Charles throw his arms around Andrew’s neck and kiss him with unmistakable passion, she pressed a hand to the window in disbelief. Charles was gay? And when it dawned on her that Andrew had two Wayne clients instead of one, rage rolled through her in waves. When she saw that they were talking she dropped to her knees and opened the window just enough so she could hear what they were saying. The conversation was brief, but it rocked her back on her heels.

Race you? Last one to the lake house is the last one to get a blow job? What the fuck? As she watched them drive out to the road and turn in the same direction, rage blanked out conscious thought.

Within minutes she was dressed, purse and car keys in hand. She ran through the halls to the office, snagged an extra key to the lake house, then stormed out without telling anyone where she was going. It had been ages since she’d been to the lake house, but she could find it with her eyes closed. If she was lucky, she would catch them in the act and rain hellfire down upon both their heads. She would teach Andrew to two-time her with her own damn family, not to mention she was going to teach Blake’s little boy how big a mistake he’d just made.

Charles was naked on the bed and waiting for Andrew when he heard the door open. Listening to Andrew’s footsteps moving through the house toward the bedroom was a turn-on he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t just lie there waiting when he knew how good this was going to be, so he got up and met him at the bedroom door.

Charles was laughing as he reached for Andrew, but Andrew sidestepped the embrace and shoved him backward to the bed. Tonight Andrew was the man in charge, and Charles was loving it.

Nita’s heart was pounding from shock and anger as she drove out of Eden, but the closer she got to the lake house, the more focused her anger became. She wasn’t a Wayne for nothing, and payback was a bitch.

She turned off her headlights as she drove closer to the house, finally coming to a stop on the far side of Andrew’s car.

The house was dark except for a light in the back, where the bedrooms were located. She turned off the dome light inside the car, so that when she got out it wouldn’t come on, and then slipped across the yard toward the front door.

The sky was beautiful. There was a faint breeze coming off the lake. A chorus of frogs along the shore had been tuning up when she got out of the car, but they were silent by the time she reached the front door. It was the only warning Andrew and Charles were going to get, and they were undoubtedly too involved in the business of sex to pay attention.

Nita put the key into the lock. It turned soundlessly as she slipped in and eased the door shut, then paused in the darkened front hall to listen.

Charles’s sudden and loud guttural groan startled her. Then it dawned on her that he was just being fucked, not murdered, and this was most likely how Fee must have felt listening to her and Andrew do the deed. Whatever.

She was actually ambivalent over the fact that Andrew was screwing around, because he was basically just a dick for hire. What pissed her off was that he was doing business with a member of her family, and that her nephew had no qualms about taking advantage of that. She imagined Charles laughing behind her back that they were both using the same paid whore.

Betrayal was a bitch, and she was about to break up the party.

She headed deeper into the house, maneuvering through the darkened rooms like a homing pigeon. By the time she got to the bedroom with the light beneath the door, she was pitched to throw one hell of a fit.

She turned the doorknob and shoved the door inward. It slammed against the wall with such force that it knocked a picture to the floor.

“You sorry-ass piece of shit!” she screamed, and picked up a vase from a nearby table and threw it at both of them.

Charles flew out of that bed as if he’d been shot, holding his hands over his crotch, like that would hide what he’d been doing.

“Aunt Nita! What the hell are you-”

She threw a paperweight that missed Charles and went straight through the window beside the bed. The sound of shattering glass punctuated the sudden silence, and it occurred to Nita that Andrew had yet to say a word.

“Well, hell, Andrew Bingham! What do you have to say for yourself?” she screamed.

“Nothing, actually. This is just business,” he drawled, and began looking for his clothes.

“Have you no sense of decorum? What were you thinking, screwing multiple members of the same family? You’re not half the stud you purport to be. Your hair is thinning, for God’s sake.” She didn’t give him time to respond as she lit into Charles, who was desperately trying to get dressed. “And you, you little bastard! You knew he was mine!”

“You don’t have the market cornered on an itch that needs to be scratched!” Charles shouted.

Nita stepped forward, grabbed him by the arm, and raked her fingernails down the side of his face and neck.

He cried out in pain, and then slapped her so hard she staggered backward, fell over a chair, and hit the floor butt first. The moment she went down, Charles grabbed his shoes and ran for the front door.

Nita got up cursing.

“You little bastard. I’ll teach you to lay a hand on me!” she shouted, and chased after him.

Andrew was still smarting from her remark about his hair and disgusted with himself for letting it matter. He’d hoped to get a few more months out of this gig, but considering the legal mess the family was in now, it was probably a lucky break for him that it was over.

He heard the front door slam as Charles left the house, and then heard it slam again as Nita followed. He glanced out the window just in time to see both of them driving away. Now it was his turn to make an exit. He dressed, patted his pockets to make sure he had everything, then proceeded to go from room to room, recovering the video equipment he’d hidden here months ago. It had motion detector switches that turned it on, and a timer that turned it off after two full minutes of no activity. He’d changed the discs every week and had recorded plenty of his encounters with Charles. Never could tell when they might come in handy.

He snagged one camera from the bedroom, a second one from the living room, and the one he’d secured in the kitchen area last. Then he locked the house and tossed the key in the lake.

He drove all the way back into Eden with only one thought. Get his things from the hotel where Nita had put him up before she thought to have him locked out, and then get the hell out of Eden. His time in paradise was over.