Harlow

38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

LYNX

I’m not sure she’s real yet. My little killer. The pretty girl who stole my heart and holds it in the palm of her hand.

A few long strides close the space between us, and I fall to my knees in front of her, brushing my thumb over the small gash on her cheek.

When she winces at the contact, relief swarms me that she’s not just a figment of my imagination.

She’s alive.

“Harlow,” I rush out.

Her response is to swat my hand away and snip out, “What the hell took you so long?”

My lip twitches at her snark.

But before I have a chance to react, she leaps into my arms and buries her face into my chest, soothing the relentless ache I’ve felt since she aimed my gun at her own head and pulled the trigger.

I collapse back onto my ass and cradle her in my lap, grabbing the knife on the floor beside us and cutting the rope around her wrists and holding her tight.

Nuzzling into her hair, I mutter, “I left him breathing for you, pretty girl.”

She sniffles and peers up at me so I can get a good look at her. Her mouth and chin are caked in blood, her eyes glassy and bloodshot.

“Your face …” I grate out through clenched teeth, swallowing the rock in my throat as I swipe the blood from around her mouth in an effort to locate where she’s bleeding from.

But she simply shakes her head and says, “It’s not mine.”

I glance over at Connor—at my fucking cousin—realization smacking into me when I see his unzipped pants and the mess of blood soaking through the thin fabric of his boxers.

A fresh wave of blinding rage blasts through me. And I wish I would’ve aimed that shot just a few inches higher where it would’ve killed him instantly.

When he groans and rolls his head to face me, I damn near lose my mind.

With Harlow in my arms, I stand and tower over him, pressing the sole of my boot against the seeping hole in his gut.

A gurgling sound comes from his chest, followed by a sputtered cough.

“Please,” he chokes out.

“Put me down, Lynx,” Harlow says softly to me, her fingers dusting over my clenched jaw as she angles my face to hers. “I’m okay.”

Against my volition—and because I can’t fucking say no to her right now—I set her gently on her feet, keeping an arm coiled around her waist as she stares down at Connor’s ashen face.

Explaining this to Severo is going to be a fucking treat.

But that’s a problem for later.

“Who’s the blonde girl you were talking about in the recording?” she asks out of nowhere.

I glance down at her in question. But she’s laser focused on Connor, her fierce expression giving nothing away.

“Harlow,” I say gently.

She doesn’t remove her eyes from Connor when she sneers, “He lured me to Severo’s office with a recording of a conversation. There was mention of a blonde girl being secured. They took someone, Lynx. And I’m not letting him die until he tells us who.”

Connor coughs in response, clutching the hole in his stomach as blood seeps between his fingers.

“I said,” she snarls, jamming the heel of her stiletto into his crotch until he wails in pain, “who was the blonde? And where is she?”

A moment ticks on where I can feel the rage wafting off Harlow.

She’s so fucking brave. So strong.

My pretty little killer with the heart of gold that she refuses to believe exists.

Just when I think Connor might pass out, his droopy eyes wander toward the hall behind the nave.

“Your friend,” he wheezes. “Sage.”

Harlow whips her gaze to a solid door down the hall, her eyes wide with terror now.

I snatch her hand and squeeze before she has a chance to bolt for it.

“Sage. Oh god. Lynx. She’s down there. That’s—“

She shakes her head to clear her thoughts.

“Stay here,” I tell her, brushing a soft kiss across her forehead.

“No,” she screeches. “I’m going with you.”

I cup her jaw in my hand. “You don’t need to relive that place, Harlow. I’ll be right back. Here.” I hand her my gun. “Shoot him in the head if he so much as blinks.”

She exhales a shaky breath and nods. “Okay. Please be quick.”

I pry myself away from her and head to the door that presumably leads into the basement of this godforsaken fucking place. Fists clenched, I open the door and cautiously descend the rickety wooden stairs, pulling my phone from my pocket to use it as a flashlight.

The first thing I notice is the dampness. It’s the kind of cold that settles into the marrow of your bones. The next is the stench. The smell of rot, mildew, and rats.

Aiming my phone light around the space, I stop when I locate a small lumpy cot pushed against a cinder block wall.

The air in my lungs crystalizes when I see a small woman huddled up on the mattress, her knees pulled up to her chest and her back to me.

I don’t need to see her face to know it’s Sage.

And she’s not moving.

Fuck.

I storm over to her and set a hand on her bare arm, exhaling a harsh breath of relief.

She’s still alive.

Just petrified.

“Sage. This is Lynx. Can you move?”

A shiver racks her body but she doesn’t respond.

Dialing Joey, I order him to get his ass over here ASAP and to bring water and whatever he can grab for food.

Then I grab my knife from the back of my jeans, cut the rough ropes binding Sage’s ankles and wrists, and wrap her up in the thin cotton sheet she’s been given.

“You’re alright. We’re getting you out of here,” I tell her, gently lifting her into my arms.

Finally, her eyes crack open and she peers up at me, her gaze distant.

“Rebel,” she rasps, her voice cracking.

“She’s fine. She’s upstairs.”

Sparing the dank, dark space one final glance, I carry Sage up the stairs and into the nave, finding Harlow still looming over Connor with the gun aimed at his head.

When she spots Sage in my arms, she rushes over to us.

“Oh my god. Sage. I’m so fucking sorry.” Tears track down her cheeks.

I set Sage on a pew and let Harlow fuss over her for a moment before telling her, “Joey’s on his way here. He’ll take her to Severo’s.”

Harlow’s gaze whips to mine. “She needs a doctor.”

I nod. “She’ll get one there. One of the best.”

Brows furrowed, she accepts what I’m telling her and turns her attention back to Sage, hugging her and asking her questions to keep her talking.

Surprisingly, Sage brightens up and begins speaking. She’s reserved and has definitely been assaulted.

But she’s alive. And all things considered, that’s a win.

As promised, Joey makes a quick appearance with a small jug of water and snacks in tow, only pausing briefly to scan the clusterfuck that is the situation and shooting me a questioning glance.

“Get her to Severo’s safely,” I tell him after carrying Sage out to his truck and getting her settled in the passenger seat.

“You got it, boss. Need anything else while I’m here?”

I shake my head. “No. I’ll take care of this one myself.”

He takes off down the road, and I head back inside to find Harlow looming over Connor again, surprised to find he’s still alive.

Dragging a hand through my hair, I watch her closely as she circles him.

“Mercy. Is that what you want, Connor?” she asks calmly—too calmly—angling her head at him. “Poor little boy.” She leans forward and props her hands on her knees to get in his face. “Such a pity.”

Connor whimpers, and I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips as I watch Harlow toy with the shithead I never fucking liked. Something was always off about him. My gut told me so. But he was my uncle’s grandson. My cousin. He was family. So I let it go.

But now …

Harlow tsks and begins circling him again, like a predator circling its prey, looking every bit as crazy as she fucking is.

Christ, she’s magnificent.

“I guess you should’ve thought that through before you showed me none.

Slicing and dicing my legs every chance you got, just to make me scream because …

“ She pauses at his head and glares down at him. “What was your reasoning for that again? Oh, that’s right. Because fear and pain made my muscles tense up. It made me tighter.”

Any smirk I had on my face vanishes at her words, and I have to physically refrain from taking his life in a brutal display of revenge right in front of her.

Because the last time I did that to her …

Fuck.

She needs this. She needs to assert her power over him before he takes his last breath.

Little does she know the last of the six—Franklin—is unconscious in the back of my truck.

A two-for-one deal for my little killer.

She sighs and carries on, her hips swaying in her little pink dress as she taunts the man who assaulted her relentlessly.

“Tell me, Connor. Was it you or Franklin who ordered my hit?”

I glance at Connor again, studying his expression as his mouth opens and closes.

“Tell her,” I snarl.

“M-me,” he stammers. “I did.”

She stops at his hips and presses the heel of her little strappy sandal into his crotch again and grinds down on it. He howls out in pain, too weak to do anything else.

“Guess you didn’t count on little old me winning over the hitman, huh? You underestimated me, Connor. Big fucking mistake. Because I’m no longer the weak little girl you once knew. I’m a monster. One you and the other five created. Ironic, really, considering I’ll also be the one to end your life.”

She steps back and picks up the knife on the floor—Connor’s knife—and holds it in the air, admiring the glint of the silver steel as it winks at her.

So goddamn hot.

“But first …”

“No,” he cries out. “Please. Lynx. Don’t let her do this. Come on, we’re family. Cousins.”

Harlow freezes and stares at me wide-eyed. “What did he just say?”

I swallow. Shit. I guess she doesn’t know that tiny detail yet.

Wetting my lips, I close the distance between us and grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “He’s my cousin, Harlow. I didn’t know. I swear. Neither did Severo.”

She stares up at me for a moment longer before huffing out a humorless laugh.

“Of course he fucking is. Because without bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”

“You’re not mad?” I ask, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her close.

She shakes her head. “You said you didn’t know. And I believe you.”

“Hmm,” I hum, dragging the tip of my nose down the bridge of hers. With my lips hovering dangerously close to her mouth, I growl, “You trust me.”

Her sigh is long and dramatic. “You already know I do.”

“Good. Because there’s one more thing.”

She gazes up at me, that spark of defiance dancing like a flame behind her irises.

“Franklin’s in my truck. This seems like a fitting place to end it all if you ask me.”

Her mouth pops open.

“Stay here.”

She nods and I release her, sparing Connor one last glance before marching out of the church to retrieve Franklin from my truck.

The frail old bastard is still out cold, so I barely break a sweat dragging his limp body across the asphalt and into the church, dropping him at Harlow’s feet like an offering.

“Your call, pretty girl. So what’s it going to be?”

She scowls down at Franklin, her brows pinched tight as she considers her options.

When her eyes lift to mine and she says, “I don’t know,” I take the lead, sealing myself to her and taking her in a deep kiss.

“Fuck, Harlow. You taste of blood and sin and something sweet. My little killer.”

And then I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. A look of confusion crosses her face, right before it dawns on her that I’m opening the vibrator app.

I click it on and her breath hitches.

“Lynx,” she half scolds, half breathes out on a moan. “God.”

“This may be God’s house, pretty girl. But he’s not here right now. I am. And you’ll pray to me from now on.”

Her knees buckle as her fingers fly to my chest and find purchase in my shirt.

She closes her eyes and exhales a ragged breath.

“Wake him up, Harlow,” I tell her gently, gesturing to Franklin. “Then come back to me.”

“O-okay.”

She pulls away and jabs at Franklin’s wounded shoulder with her foot.

“Hey, asshole. Wake up.”

He groans in pain, his eyes fluttering open. When he realizes where he is and who’s looming over him, the remaining blood in his body—which can’t be a whole hell of a lot judging by how much he’s lost—leaves his face.

“N-no,” he stutters. “Connor.”

Connor responds with a wheeze as an air of satisfaction settles over Harlow. She returns swiftly to my side.

“What are we going to do with them?” she asks, peeking up at me.

I gaze down at her beautiful face. At the modest cleavage of her pink dress. She wore it to impress my family. And now I want to rip it to shreds with my teeth.

“Nothing yet. But you”—I turn to her and cup her jaw—“are a different story.”

Her bottom lip juts out slightly. I want to sink my teeth into that too.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m going to have my way with you.

” Her eyes widen. “Right here.” I take a step forward and she takes one back.

“In front of them.” Another step that she matches.

“I’m going to make you come, Harlow.” Another step.

Her mouth rounds into a beautiful O shape.

“First with that vibrator.” With my phone still in my hand, I amp up the intensity and watch in fascination as she sucks in a sharp breath, a pink hue creeping into her cheeks.

“Then with my mouth.” Another step. “And finally with my cock.” One final step and she has nowhere left to go.

Pressing her ass against the table beneath Jesus, she coils her fingers around the edge of the wooden surface and gazes up at me.

“Yes or no, pretty girl.”

Her throat works as she swallows, her eyes darting back and forth between Connor and Franklin and me.

But when I switch the vibrator over to a steady pulse, her head tips back on a moan as her eyes roll back.

“Yes,” she rasps.

That’s all the consent I need to lift the hem of her dress and slide her panties to the side.

Smearing her juices around the tail of the vibrator inside her, I hiss, “You’re soaked, Harlow,” and strum her clit with my middle finger.

She bucks against my hand and cries out, her moans an intoxicating symphony that echoes throughout the vaulted ceilings.

“That’s right,” I growl against her neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh beneath her ear. “Come for me.”

It doesn’t take her long. Just a few more flicks of her clit and her orgasm tears through her.

I waste no time gently pulling the vibrator out of her and sinking to my knees. Her panties are shredded from her body right before I latch onto her clit with my mouth, sucking and teasing and grazing my teeth against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Her hands delve into my hair, her nails scratching against my scalp as she tugs at my strands.

“Lynx. Fuck,” she cries, barely down from her first orgasm before another one builds. “I can’t … Jesus Christ.”

Gripping her hip, I press her into the table and use my free hand to insert a finger into her pussy, then a second, watching in awe as she comes undone.

For me.

Fuck.

She’s perfect. Chaotic and bold and fucking insane.

A wild ride I never want to get off of. A storm I never want to seek shelter from.

Even when this is all over and she’s safe to carry on with her life, I’ll never let her go.

Because she’s. Fucking. Mine.