Harper
Wade delivers his findings, standing in the center of my office as I lean back against the edge of my desk facing him, arms folded over my chest. He’s at attention, hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed out.
Not to make himself look bigger, though.
I think he’s just…big. I can’t tell if he’s waiting for me to dismiss him or for his next set of directives.
“That will be all for now, Wade. Thank you.”
“Ma’am, do you want me to take care of the problem? I doubt it will take me very long,” he offers.
“No, I need to take a minute, think before I decide what to do. Thank you though. I won’t need you for a while, and I won’t be leaving this office until it’s time for me to leave for Sadie’s house tonight.”
“Very well, ma’am,” he replies, turning on his heel to glide towards door. For a man of his size, it feels wrong for him to be able to move with languid and sleek grace.
“Wade?” He turns back to me, palm on the door handle, ready to wait on the other side as a silent sentinel.
“Yes ma’am?”
“Enough with the formality bullshit. When you call me ma’am, I feel ninety. Also, I want you to give me your opinion freely. Is that clear?”
“Yes, it is, ma…Harper.” He looks a little pained at using my first name. One of those things that probably feels illegal, but isn’t. Like taking a free sample and then not buying anything, or taking a sick day from work when you’re actually sick.
Wade starts to shift back to the door and pauses, glancing back at me. “You have a plan, don’t you?” he questions.
“Yes. Well, maybe. Ugh, yes but I’m going to be honest, it’s a terrible plan,” I give him a small self-deprecating smile.
“Can’t wait to hear it. Harper.” He gives a curt nod before he opens the door and slinks out of the room.
I lean back, closing my eyes and tipping my head back. A moment of silence, then I’ll be good as new. Just one moment, where my worries and panic aren’t crawling over my skin to wrap around my neck. A necklace I’ve worn since Wade and Sadie showed me the box of goodies.
I didn’t hear him come in, but I feel him before I even open my eyes, a hand on my waist and one coming up to curl against the back of my neck.
A simple touch, and just like that the necklace loosens and I breathe deeply, letting his scent wrap me tightly like the best weighted blanket.
I exhale and relax into his touch, his chin coming to rest on the top of my head.
“What’s wrong Harper?” Colton takes a step closer, bringing our bodies flush as he squeezes the hand at my waist gently before releasing.
It’s getting harder and harder to hide my worry throughout the day, and what’s worse is that after two weeks of trying to keep Colton as far away from me as possible, it only took one sentence to make me want to completely abandon the pretense that his touch doesn’t soothe my panicked soul.
He hasn’t pushed for answers, has just been there, hand on my leg or the small of my back.
A reassurance that he is with me, that he has my back, even when he doesn’t know I’m his biggest threat.
Until now.
I gave an inch, and he’s trying to take a mile.
I’m not ready to see the look of affection be replaced with repulsion.
He says he wants to know, but ignorance is bliss after all.
Would he still be wrapped around me if he knew what was dropped at the gates?
Would he still want me if he knew what I was dragging him into?
The world I belong to? I know my reputation and how I earned it, but even I have lines I won’t cross. Pushing drugs is one of those lines.
Would he believe me if I told him this wasn’t by my own design? That I wasn’t responsible for what brought them here. I hope he would, I hope he would choose to believe me.
Hope. A weapon wielded against the most caring hearts to bring the most devastation. The worst part about having hope though, is that we do it to ourselves. Masochism at its finest.
I let go of silly emotions like trust, hope and love ages ago. Hope made me weak; trust made me vulnerable, and love made me blind.
I remade myself from victim to villain, but I have never been a damsel. This is my mess, and I will clean it up.
I might want him, but I don’t need him.
“Nothing is wrong, just working through the schedule for the week with Wade since I have some offsite meetings,” I tell him, pulling my head away from his chest and standing, forcing Colton back a step to allow me to straighten. Even a step back, his hand remains tight on my waist.
The mask is getting heavier to wear, my armor suffocating me from the inside out. But buried alive is still preferable to a broken heart.
“Something is wrong. You’ve been hiding out here for over a week.
Ever since you, Wade, and Sadie walked out of here looking like you saw a dead body.
” Colton leans his shoulders back from me, twisting slightly and using his free hand to gesture around the office space.
“I don’t see any bloodstains, so I doubt there were body parts in that crate. ”
Bloodstains in my office? I would never be that sloppy.
He looks around the space and then back at me, as if the idea that I might cut into someone’s flesh in this neat, luxurious office would be absurd. After all, what sane person would do something so horrific?
He has no idea what I’ve done to get what I want and punish others with what they deserve; what I would be willing to do to protect what I built, what I fought for, what’s mine.
That idea of hope? I’ll leave that for the dreamers like Sadie, who sees the beauty in everyone and everything, creating smiles in her wake, not terror.
For Stella, who sings like her heart has felt love’s embrace and believes she will feel that touch again.
Hope belongs to people like Colton, who can look at a lost soul like mine and think the sun still shines through their eyes.
“It’s not for you to know,” I tell him. Lifting my chin to hold his stare.
His hand drops from my waist, taking a step back, giving me the space I’m desperately trying to pretend I want between us. He chuckles softly, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he turns away from me, towards the exit.
Before he reaches the door, he swiftly pivots again and storms back in my direction, pausing halfway to me.
Fight over flight apparently.
“So, what am I allowed to know? I’m not allowed to know when something is wrong, even if I could help you?”
At this, I wrap my arms across my chest and scoff, his eyes darkening at my dismissal of his help, jaw tightening.
Fuck, that’s distracting.
“You know what I choose to tell you. This is my club, and I will decide what information to give to my employees,” I snap.
“An employee, is that what I am Harper?” He seems to relax, which makes my hackles rise. Why is he getting calmer when I can feel my blood pressure spiking.
“Yes.”
He calmly starts walking back to me, as if he’s moving in slow motion, dragging out each step.
“I’m only allowed to know the things that apply to me, is that it?
Was I allowed to know that you paid for Emma’s treatment?
Was that relevant enough for me to know about?
I must have missed when you told me about that, which is pretty fucking unlikely, considering I hang on your every word.
Even the lies.” I’m breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, he’s only one step away from me now.
“I didn’t pay…” I’m cut off by Colton’s body crowding me against the desk, pulling my hands up to his chest, daring me to push him away, before bracing an arm on either side of me.
He leans down and buries his face into my neck, breathing deeply as his heartbeat ticks faster and faster under my palm. He slowly drags his nose up the column of my neck, making me shiver and curl my palms against his shirt, torn between pulling him closer or pushing him away.
“What about what you did to Cassie Harlin? Was that for me, Sunshine? Were you protecting what’s yours?” He nips my ear for emphasis, making me yelp at the shock of the small bite or being called out I can’t tell. “What am I, Harper?”
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
My head sounds like those stupid birds from the movie about the lost fish. Chanting, desperate to tell him, to let the words burst from my lips and crumble my resolve.
Instead, I don’t answer him, tilting my head to give him better access to lick and kiss his way back down my neck, reaching the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
He grazes his teeth across the smooth expanse of skin, teasing me.
I move my hands down his chest, looping my fingers through his belt loops and tugging his hard length against where it presses against my stomach.
He lets out a deep rumble that vibrates against my skin, and I feel my thighs shift, wetness pooling under my skirt.
My hands trail against the waistband of his pants, and when I trace the edge with a painted nail towards the center of his abdomen, his control shatters.
His hands, which have been planted against the surface of the desk, reach down to palm my ass and lift, hauling me up to sit on its edge, scattering papers and pens in the process.
He pushes forward once I’m seated, spreading my legs apart to cradle his hips, the hem of my skirt pushed obscenely up my tanned thighs.
My legs wrap around his waist, digging my heels into his ass until he’s close enough to feel his hard bulge press against my center.
We are both staring down where our bodies collide, as I try to shift against him, silently pleading for more.
He grips my chin and tips my face back up to meet his.
“Do you see how perfectly we fit together, Sunshine. This body was fucking made for me,” he growls against my mouth, still gripping my jaw when he puts me out of my misery, crashing his lips against mine.
This isn’t slow and sensual, it’s hungry and fevered, a battle without words.