40. Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty
LYNX
Harlow is quiet for the drive home. Reserved, like the gears turning over in her head are too loud.
Because I can’t help myself when it comes to her, I reach across the cab of my truck and rest my hand on her thigh. She stares down at it, a tranquil expression on her face.
“What are you going to do with their bodies?” she asks in the same tone one would ask whether the trash was taken out.
“I’m not sure yet.” I glance over at her. “Any requests?”
She shrugs and turns her attention out the passenger window where the sky is a dark gray, the crescent moon a bright white.
“What about the others? What did you do with them?”
She means the other men I murdered for her.
I consider my response, uncertain how she’ll handle it. But then remember she’s a hell of a lot stronger than she’s been given credit for and opt for the truth.
“They’re in barrels in a freezer in my warehouse.”
Her face whips to mine. “Barrels.” She blinks. “Like … oil barrels?” I nod. “Jesus. I don’t even want to imagine the process you follow to accomplish that.”
I huff out a dry laugh. “It’s probably best I never tell you.”
“So … what do you normally do with your victims?” she asks curiously.
“I’d hardly call them victims, Harlow. But it depends on the contract. Most of the time, the buyer doesn’t care as long as the job is done. So we make it look like an accident. Or a robbery gone wrong. Give the family some closure rather than a missing person that they’ll never see again.”
“And the other times? When the buyer does care?”
“They pay a premium to get what they want.”
She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment before saying, “You only kill bad guys though, right? Like, no kids or innocent people.”
“No, pretty girl. No kids or innocent people. The buyer gives us a name and we do our own research before we accept the contract. You’re the first innocent person we mistakenly accepted a contract for.”
“So how did I end up slipping through the cracks?”
My jaw ticks in irritation. “Connor had one job to do in the company: hire PIs to investigate our targets. My guess is he falsified a PI report to make you look guilty of something big enough that convinced Severo you deserved to die. My uncle doesn’t always share those details with me.
But he was damn sure you weren’t innocent.
So he took the contract and that was that. ”
“So you never asked him for a copy of my report?”
I shake my head. “No. I wouldn’t have believed whatever was in it anyways. So I did my own follow-up to be sure.” I glance at her again. “Gut instincts. Always follow them.”
We drive in silence for a little while longer, my hand on Harlow’s thigh, hers knotted in her lap as she gazes out the window.
When we pull onto a single lane dirt road that leads to the abandoned warehouse I purchased for this purpose alone, she perks up, her spine straightening as she takes in the surrounding property.
“So this is where I would’ve ended up had you not followed your gut,” she says, gesturing at the large steel building we’re approaching.
I cock a brow at her and smirk.
“I wouldn’t have brought you here.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Oh yeah? So where would you have taken me then?”
“Haven’t really thought that one through to be honest with you.”
We pull up to the gray garage door, the steel slab parting way in front of my headlights.
When I drive into the open space and the door closes behind us, I kill the ignition and turn in my seat to face Harlow.
She’s jittery and nervous again, attempting to mask her emotions with a veneer of confidence. But that flimsy veneer is cracking, and showing through those cracks are caramel eyes rimmed with dark circles and a complexion that’s paler than usual.
Still, she’s the most incredible creature I’ve ever had the pleasure of setting sights on.
“So where does that leave us then, Lynx?” she asks timidly.
Grabbing her hand from her lap, I lift it to my mouth and brush a gentle kiss over her knuckles, her tired eyes rounding slightly as she stares back at me.
“Ask as many questions as you need to, Harlow. And I’ll do my best to answer honestly.
But don’t ever question where you and I stand or how I feel about you.
That’s not a conversation that needs to happen.
You’re mine in every sense of the word. Mine to protect.
Mine to cherish. Mine to kill for. Mine to fucking die for. Do you understand?”
Tears well in her eyes as she studies my face for any hint of a lie.
She’ll find none. Because this is it.
For me. For her. This is where our worlds collide and melt into one.
She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb and swipe it away.
“It’s us against the universe, pretty girl. Now stay here while I take care of business. Joey’s on his way shortly. Once he shows up, we’re going home.”
“Home,” she parrots.
“Yeah, pretty girl. Home. With me. Where you belong.”
Joey shows up exactly as promised, giving me a firm nod when I tell him to barrel Franklin and Connor up temporarily until I decide what to do with the rest of the bodies in the barrels.
I know I’ll need to answer to Severo at some point as well. But that’s a conversation that’ll have to wait until I get Harlow home and cleaned up.
Firing off a text to Lily, I ask her to remove the painting of the cliff on the wall in my mudroom and give her the green light to leave my house and head back to Severo’s.
She responds with a series of questions, all of which I assure her I’ll answer in the morning after everyone’s gotten some rest.
And then I haul ass home with Harlow in my passenger seat.
She doesn’t protest when I scoop her up and carry her inside. Just hides her face in my chest and lets me take care of her.
We pass through the mudroom where she lifts her head briefly to peek at the empty hook where the cliff painting once hung.
Glancing up at me, she mutters a quiet “thank you,” then rests her cheek on my chest as I carry her through my house and back to my ensuite.
Setting her on the vanity beside the sink, I make quick work of turning on the shower, checking the temperature, and swiftly returning to her to help her out of her bloodstained dress.
The sight of her coated in the evidence of what Connor did to her makes my blood boil.
But I simply clench my jaw and breathe through the desire to rip his corpse to shreds and feed it to the sharks because Harlow has enough to work through on her own. She doesn’t need me adding to it.
She doesn’t speak a word as I peel out of my clothing and lead her to the shower.
Lathering a plush cloth with her candy-scented body wash, I stand behind her beneath the hot spray and rub gentle circles over her back, taking my time as I inspect the bruises from Connor attacking her tonight.
Guilt stabs at my chest that he was right under my nose the entire time and I couldn’t fucking see it.
But I force it down and focus on taking care of Harlow. As much as I wish I could go back in time and change the way things unfolded, I fucking can’t.
The only option is to move forward and pray to hell she doesn’t wake up one morning resenting me.
When I begin massaging the tense muscles in her shoulders and neck, a soft moan echoes through the shower as she tips her chin to her chest and closes her eyes.
“Turn around for me, pretty girl.”
She obliges, sagging against me like a limp doll as I tip her head back and wash her hair, the blood-tinged water at our feet swirling down the drain and disappearing.
Once she’s thoroughly cleansed, I make quick work of scrubbing myself, then wrap her in a fluffy white towel, tuck her into bed, and crawl in behind her, pulling her against me so her back is to my chest and my knees are tucked up behind her.
Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, I whisper into the dark, “Get some sleep, little killer. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
She wiggles against me like she can’t get close enough, then drifts off in my arms almost instantly.
I, however, lie there for hours on end, listening to her shallow, steady breaths and feeling her heartbeat against mine.
When she rolls over, nuzzles into my chest, and whispers, “I love you, Lynx Archer. My big, dumb hitman,” I forget what I was thinking about and roll her onto her back, settling my weight between her gorgeous thighs.
Hovering over her, I toy with a lock of glossy black hair and stare into the big caramel eyes that stopped me in my tracks in the diner.
“I love you too, Harlow Kraemer. My pretty little killer.”
She squirms beneath me and releases a long exhale that sounds a little like she’s been holding her breath for years.
The thought of her relaxed, sated, and safe in my bed sends all the blood in my body south.
“I don’t know how to love someone,” she admits sheepishly. “This is new for me.”
“Same here, pretty girl. But we’ll figure it out together.”
“I might run,” she blurts.
Chuckling against her neck, I respond, “I know. And I’ll chase you every time.”
“Promise?”
Planting a kiss on her throat, I say, “I promise. Not even the devil himself could keep me from you.”
She wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me closer. “Good. Now make love to me, Lynx. We can fight about it in the morning.”
On that note, I slip inside her with ease, smiling at her reference to the time she asked me to fuck her like I love her.
We both sigh at the connection, falling into a comfortable rhythm as I thrust in and out of her at the same pace as the beat of my heart.
A heart now owned by her.