24. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
HARLOW
I’ll be a good girl, Lynx. I promise.
The lie plays over and over in my head, guilt clawing its way up through the thick layer of rage I keep everything buried beneath. Stomping it back down where it belongs, I remind myself this is a journey of revenge. Not some emotional fucking awakening.
Besides, I’ll have plenty of time to unpack all of that when I’m rotting behind bars. Or six feet under.
Whichever comes first.
Three. Two. One.
Focus.
I push through the dressing room door and am immediately overwhelmed with an unexpected sense of dread.
Ignoring the whispers and glances tossed my direction by the group of girls hovering around the dressing tables, I scurry back to my locker and hide behind the door.
I know they’re all curious where I’ve been and how I managed to keep my job after pulling my little disappearing act.
But it’s none of their goddamn business, and I wouldn’t tell them even if it were because it would only put them in danger.
So instead, I direct my focus at changing into one of my usual outfits—a hot pink leather two-piece, fishnet stockings, and matching thigh-high heels. Once dressed, I touch up my makeup, fix my hair, and remind myself who the fuck I am.
Harlow Kraemer. The rebellious daughter of a dead priest. Survivor of trauma. Seeker of justice.
Bold, confident, and fucking thirsty for blood.
I can feel it in the pit of my gut that tonight’s the night I’ll finally gorge on a big, fat, juicy slab of revenge. But which one of the remaining three will it be?
It doesn’t matter because eventually, they’ll all be reunited, burning in hell together for all eternity.
What a lovely visual.
Strutting past the gaggle of women, I head out to the lounge to start my shift, ignoring the brooding hitman sulking in the darkest corner at the back of the club.
Taking a seat at the bar, I wave Leo down.
He greets me with raised brows and a relieved expression, asking where I’ve been and if I’m okay.
“Your concern for my well-being is flattering, Leo,” I tell him with a smile, flipping my hair over my shoulder. “But I’m totally fine. Just needed some time off to deal with some personal stuff. But I’m back now and raring to go. Now, how about one of your delicious martinis?” I waggle my brows.
Leo stares at me for a beat longer before darting his gaze to where Lynx is seated.
“Uh-huh. Personal stuff, you say. Does that personal stuff require you to have a bodyguard?”
I snort. “He’s not my bodyguard.”
Two lines form between his pinched brows. “Boyfriend?”
I swat the air. “Oh puh-lease. No man could ever lock this down.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, judging by the way he’s looking at you, I’d say you’ve got him locked down.”
I glance over my shoulder to find Lynx watching me like a hawk, his blue eyes dangerously dark and his big hand wrapped around a crystal glass on the table. He appears to be deep in thought. Probably conjuring up some stupid excuse to get me out of here.
Just because I enjoy aggravating him, I blow him a big, fat, juicy kiss and turn back to Leo, who’s staring at me with a cocked brow and an all-knowing smirk on his face.
My expression falls flat and I grumble, “Not a damn word, Leo.”
Leo raises both palms in the air in surrender and gets to work mixing my drink.
All the while, I slowly begin to unravel, a strange sensation picking at my seams until I’m practically squirming in my seat.
When Leo slides a martini glass in front of me, I snatch it up, slip off my stool, and stroll back to Lynx.
Stopping in front of his table, I tell him, “This isn’t working. You need to leave.”
He doesn’t so much as move a muscle. And that only irritates me further.
Firmer this time, I say, “I can’t focus with you here, Lynx.”
He takes a sip of bourbon before saying, “That sounds like a you problem, pretty girl.”
My sigh is one of frustration. “Can’t you just … I don’t know … wait outside or something?”
“Not a chance. We had a deal. Unless you’d rather go back on your word …”
He props his elbows on the table, crooking a finger for me to come closer. Rolling my eyes because I hate that he has this kind of power over me, I take a wobbly step forward and lean in toward him.
In a threatening tone that leaves no room for protest, he growls, “I’d have no problem dragging you back to my house and tying you to my bed again.
But this time, there’s not a chance in hell I’d leave you alone in there.
I’d have you naked, your body writhing beneath me, and pussy weeping within minutes.
And trust me when I promise, Harlow, that if I fuck you in my home—in my bed—that I’ll never let you go.
You’ll be mine and mine alone. And there’s not a goddamn thing you could do about it. ”
He relaxes back into the leather booth, stretching his arms out over the back of the bench as I stumble backward, all the blood in my body pooling in that traitorous space between my thighs and making me dizzy with need.
“Now tell me, pretty girl, do we still have a deal? Or should I make good on my threat?”
Since words have completely failed me, I simply exhale a breath, nod in understanding, and scurry off as Lynx’s cynical laugh floats lazily through the air behind me.
Desperate for some space, I beeline it for the back exit and bust through the door. The cool autumn air smacks against my sweat-slicked skin but does nothing to calm the raging inferno blasting through my veins.
Folding myself in half, I clutch my roiling stomach and gasp for oxygen, grateful that nobody else is out here to witness my mental breakdown.
Until the door slams open and smacks against the concrete wall and someone comes barreling into me from behind.
Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
A whistled tune drifts down the stairwell as a pair of shiny black dress shoes squelch down each step, the dull thud of a cane matching the rhythm.
You are my sunshine. My only sunshine.
The blood in my veins freezes, and I curl into the fetal position, my nails carving half-moons in my palms as I make myself as small as humanly possible.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
Even if I could escape, there’s nothing beyond these walls for me. I learned that the first time I tried to run. Even if I could muster the strength, even if I could find a way out, he’ll hunt me down. He’ll drag me back here. And my eternal hell will pick up where it left off.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.
I stare at the small mahogany table beside my cot, a thin layer of dust coating the painted surface. I begin counting the tiny grooves I’ve carved into the wood with my fingernails.
So please don’t take … my sunshine … away.
The whistling and footfalls cease. So does my heart.
Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
“Good morning,” a raspy voice crawls up my spine, scratching along the back of my neck.
I can smell him now, his salty body odor tinged with cologne, stale cigarettes, and last night’s whiskey.
The bed dips with his weight, and I clutch myself tighter, squeezing my eyes shut to avoid peering up into his soulless gaze.
This is how I know God doesn’t exist. Because what God would allow such evil humans to roam His beloved earth?
It can’t be real. None of this is real.
“Time for your atonement, sunshine.”
Cold, clammy fingers drag across my forehead and down the side of my face. He cups my jaw and squeezes, the bruises on my cheeks smarting beneath his rough grip.
“Open your eyes.”
I oblige, peeking through cracked lids as hot tears track down my cheeks.
He sighs, his hands coasting down my throat and over my collarbone, pausing to squeeze my breast through the thin fabric of my nightgown. A pained whimper escapes me.
It all hurts, the pain perpetual and never relenting because there’s never enough time to heal between assaults.
When his fingers trail further south, lifting the hem of my starchy nightgown up my thighs, I suck in a breath and hold it. I know what happens next. But I don’t react, because fighting him will only provoke his wrath.
He props his arm on the dragon-head handle of his cane and leans in. Hot, acidic breath wafts over my face, a thousand tiny bugs scattering beneath the surface of my skin.
“Spread them,” he whispers in my ear.
With quivering legs, I pry my knees apart, my fingers finding purchase in the thin polyester sheets of my cot.
“So pretty and pink.” He inserts a finger, the dry friction causing me to wince as my body rejects his touch. His thumb finds my clit and he massages it tenderly.
My stomach roils, vomit threatening to erupt from my throat and spew all over him.
Someday, I’ll kill him.
If he doesn’t kill me first.
“There we go,” he purrs. “Doesn’t that feel good, sunshine?”
He increases the speed and pressure of his thumb. It hurts, but I nod eagerly anyway to placate him. It isn’t long before he withdraws his hand and steps back, and I slump in relief that he’s not taking this further the way he often does.
“I’ll be back after dinner, sunshine. Don’t go anywhere.”
He winks at me before climbing the stairs and disappearing from view. The door clicks shut, and I hear the lock engage. And just as I knew it would, a quiet terror cloaks my mind and body like a heavy fog.
Once again, I’m left in the dark, alone and hungry, with nothing but the rats to keep me company.
Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.