Chapter 6
SIX
Harry
Present day
“That wasn’t the last time, was it?”
Gigi’s voice pulls me from the depths of the memory. As I rub my eyes to pull my mind back to the present, she presses, “That wasn’t the last time you saw me.”
I rub harder, starting to see weird shapes, if only to stall her questions. But I’m forced to finally lower my hands. Even through the momentary discomfort of having my vision return to normal, Gigi’s tear-stained eyes are blinding.
“No, baby.” I force a swallow. “It wasn’t.”
Her mouth opens and closes until she finally sputters, “You should’ve told me sooner. I … I could’ve—”
“You could’ve what?”
Flustered, she pants, “Anything!”
“Would it have changed anything? Really?”
“I don’t know.”
“You wouldn’t have hated me any less.”
“You don’t know that.”
I shake my head. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking differently because I gave you a sob story about my life. You deserve to feel hatred, Gigi. You’re still worthy of that emotion.”
She tears her face away, inhaling a broken breath.
No matter how hard she tries to deny it, I know she’s struggling with the new information. I can see it in the way she scrapes her nails against the insides of her palms, drawing a thin layer of blood to the surface, and in the way she grinds her teeth so harshly I hear them groan.
“Then tell me.” She turns towards me, her voice slightly weakened but still strong. “Tell me everything.”
I’m forced to crack my neck, fighting the discomfort of opening up further. I’ve kept these memories hidden my entire life. Yet I’d give this girl straight access to my mind, no matter how much it’d kill me to do so.
I promise I’ll tell her everything, if that’s what she wants.
I’ll tell her how I surrendered every thought to her just to have a distraction from my painful reality. Throughout everything, she was the one who kept me sane yet fuelled a dark madness within me; a promise no man would ever hurt her.
“Harry?”
I can’t tell her yet. But I will.
“Soon.”
A loud knock echoes from downstairs. Gigi freezes as if second-guessing the reason she walked into this house. But when the second knock comes, louder and more determined, she quickly pulls herself to her feet.
“No!” I hiss.
I’m already grabbing her arm and pulling her back to the floor before she can take another step closer to the bedroom door. She whips towards me, her brows pulled inwards.
“What are you—?”
I throw my palm over her mouth. She watches me with a wild look but makes no attempt to move. I plead for her compliance with my eyes, asking for the simple lifeline that she’ll listen to me.
“Trust me,” I mouth.
She rolls her eyes, and a smirk tugs my mouth. But the playfulness quickly dissipates when a muffled voice shouts from the front door.
“Gigi!” Richard calls out. “We know you’re in there. Come outside, and we can talk this through.”
Her eyes flare suddenly. The action is subtle, a slight fear hidden in her gaze that was absent before. I remove my hand from her mouth, bringing my finger to my lips to encourage her to stay silent. My palm lingers mid-air until I receive her slow, approving nod.
I cock my head towards the window on the adjacent wall. Gigi’s eyes follow, and we keep our steps quiet as we cross into the corner of Jack’s room. I crack the window open, motioning for her to go through it.
“I know you’re angry, but there was no need to run away. Let’s talk about this—” Richard cuts himself off, dropping his voice to a hushed whisper. “She’ll come out … fucking trust me.”
Neither Gigi nor I question who he’s speaking to, instead directing our focus onto her exit. She extends one leg out the window and balances on the ledge, clutching the wooden frame. Noises pick up from downstairs, a commotion of raised voices and determination to get inside.
“Harry?” Strands of Gigi’s hair dance in the cold breeze, giving way to a healing wound on her cheekbone. I’m half-distracted as she asks, “Why didn’t you tell me about Richard—?” She cuts herself short. “About any of it?”
At the mention of his name and the reminder he’s downstairs, I dare a second glance at her bruised skin. Fuck. I can barely pull myself together, let alone give her a coherent response.
The door handle starts to rattle, followed by another impatient call of her name. Our time is quickly running out, but I can’t give her the answers she’s looking for. Not yet.
“You’ll understand when I tell you the whole story.”
With a defeated sigh, she starts to pull herself further out the window. I grab her arm quickly.
“I will tell you, Gigi. Everything.”
She tilts up her chin, just enough to make eye contact. “I’m not sure if I believe you.”
“Then I’ll prove you wrong.”
“How?”
“By giving you a reason to come back to me.”
“If you don’t run away, then tomorrow night I promise to tell you what really happened between me and Greg.”
“Why not tonight?”
“Because it gives you a reason to stay.”
“Don’t you dare.” Her voice is strained as if revisiting the same memory. She lingers on the ledge, half-inside, half-out. “Not this time … not like this.”
“It worked, though, didn’t it? You did stay—”
“Don’t,” she warns.
“Gigi …”
A window smashes downstairs. Shattered glass hits the floorboards, echoing through the home. At the reminder I’m still gripping Gigi’s arm, I turn to her back, encouraging her exit with a gentle shove. She throws her other leg over the window frame, and her palms curl on the outside of the wood.
“Stay safe,” I tell her. “And try not to kill your mother in the meantime.”
The advice is futile, but I try regardless. If Gigi were really determined to kill her mum, she’d find a way to go through with it. The determination and fire I saw in the Circle is only a brief indication of what she’s capable of.
“Are you not coming?” she asks.
“I’ve got some business to deal with first.” I gesture towards the open doorway.
More glass breaks downstairs, and determined footsteps hurry along the wooden floorboards. Gigi grips the frame, giving me a once-over. I’m still not certain whether she wants to kill me, but there’s definitely something unspoken in her gaze.
With a final exhale, she pulls the window closed and descends from the roof. Loud footsteps rush against the upstairs landing. I turn just in time to catch Richard’s stern expression as he skids to a stop at the entrance to Jack’s room.
“Where. Is. She?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Hell if I know.”
“Check outside!” he calls out, dropping his voice lower to address the person at his side. “She can’t have got far – go find her.”
A frown mars my face as I try to peer over his shoulder at who he’s speaking with. I only see a mess of dark hair as they start running downstairs. Richard’s hands curl around the doorframe, blocking my view.
“You’re on thin fucking ice, St. James—”
“Let’s get one thing straight …” I leisurely step forwards until we’re barely centimetres apart.
“I’m out. I don’t have to listen to your bullshit any longer.
” My voice turns stern, deadly. “Though if you think about touching one hair on her head, I swear I’ll fucking kill you.
” My voice wobbles on the word, the seething anger making my jaw shake. “I’ll rip your fucking heart out.”
“You’re all the same, you St. James men.” Richard’s chest heaves. “Fucking pathetic. You, your brother, and your fucking scum father too.”
Though I’ve never given a flying toss about my dad, the way he throws his name around brings forth an anger so strong it forces my upper lip into a snarl.
“I’ll make you pay.” Richard chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, I will.”
Despite how much I despise the man, I’m no fool to play down his threats. I’m half-distracted as two men flank his sides – the large security guards who never seem to be far away. They take determined steps closer, but I remain still, shrugging my shoulders casually to accept the beating.
One grabs the back of my neck tightly, applying a pressure so intense I’m barely able to see the fist connecting with my stomach. My instant reaction is to crouch, but they force my back straight and send my stomach another blow.
Two times. Three times. Four. Five. Six.
I lose count, my vision turning black as one throws a fist across my jaw before finally releasing me. Through the discomfort of my sight flashing from black to rapid colour, I fight the desire to topple forwards.
“Is that …” – a wheeze tumbles out of me, and I spit blood onto the carpet – “… all you’ve got?”
“I’d kill you, but I’d rather watch you suffer.” Richard ushers the guards away, almost exiting the room himself, but he turns back. “I will find her eventually, St. James. And trust me, you’re going to wish you were both dead.”
He disappears from the room, walking downstairs. It isn’t until I finally hear the front door close behind him that my knees crash against the carpet.
I’ll make him pay.
I’ll make him fucking pay.
And I’ll get her back in the meantime. If it’s the last thing I do.
The CCTV cameras in my house give little away despite them covering every street in London. Every side road. Every alley. Every drunken deal, dodgy drug exchange, and embarrassing one-night stand witnessed through the endless screens.
They’re meant to show everything, yet I can’t lay eyes on the one person I’m looking for.
Crossing my ankle over my knee, I ask aloud, “Where are you, princess?”
It’s been nearly a week since I confronted Gigi in her brother’s room. I thought I’d at least catch a glimmer of her whereabouts, having kept my primary focus on the Thomas family home, believing Gigi would follow through on her desire to kill her mother. But nothing.
She’s strong – far stronger than I give her credit for. I thought she’d have caused major harm by now after the consistent mindfucks thrown her way. Not only did her family lie to her, but I lied to her too.
Sick. I’m fucking sick. And I’m sorry—
Am I sorry?
No.
No. I’m not fucking sorry. But I am sorry for how things panned out; how the past played into our present.
Refusing to tell her that her blood is poisoned with evil only intensified my hope of protecting her soul before it shattered completely.
But she’s clearly nearing the edge, preparing to unleash an anger so intense it’ll be life-threatening.
I know firsthand how rage can make you do unspeakable things.
Her anger should be screaming at me, pinning me down for the turmoil I’ve put her through, but it’s directed at her mother instead. A mother who had no option but to withhold the truth for years.
The possessive streak in me itches to chase Gigi down, claim her, fucking chain her to keep her if I must—
“Have you stopped moping yet?”
Fucking Poppy.
To be frank, I forgot she was here.
I lift my gaze from the computer screen, taking in the tilt of her hip and the disapproval practically oozing off her. She slouches against the doorframe, her brows raised in mock enjoyment.
“You’re an obsessive freak – you know that, right?” She brushes off my smirk with a roll of her eyes and an impatient gesture over her shoulder. “Pete will turn into a rotting corpse if we leave him in the car much longer.”
“But I haven’t found her yet—”
“Harry,” she sighs, exasperated. “Give her time.”
I don’t have it in me to argue, having pushed my luck by leaving one of Richard’s men in my car for three days now.
He’s a nobody in the grand scheme of things, merely a phone contact of one of the cunts who attended the women’s bidding war, but it’s a breadcrumb I’m not willing to lose.
I’ve delayed wrapping the surveillance room in plastic sheets, knowing what will come of Pete before I kill him, and directed my focus onto the CCTV footage.
But business never stops, and we need information.
Information on where vulnerable girls are being held.
I reluctantly turn my attention from the cameras and stand up from the desk. “You grab him, and I’ll start wrapping up.”
Poppy makes quick work of unloading Pete from my car and ensuring he’s unconscious for the short journey, while I get to work protecting the floor. My limbs groan from the bruising on my stomach as I start taping down the corners.
“Some help over here!” Poppy shouts.
I pull myself to my feet, meeting her in the entryway of my house as she struggles to get Pete over the threshold. “Christ!” I jog over, grabbing him behind the shoulders and hurling him up. “Someone could’ve fucking seen you.”
She grunts, “Then Pete would have a buddy for me to play with.”
My abs scream in protest as we manoeuvre him through the house, narrowly missing the kitchen worktops.
It’s a mission, quickly interrupted by a ringing phone.
Poppy pays it little attention as we try to divert the body around the dining table.
The phone cuts out, only to ring again. Whoever is trying to get hold of her is clearly doing so with urgency.
“Are you going to get that?” I deadpan.
She sighs, aggravated, dropping Pete’s feet from her grasp. I tighten my grip on his shoulders, fisting the material of his shirt, and Poppy manages to prop the phone between her chin and her shoulder to haul up his legs again.
“What is it? I’m a bit busy right now,” she pants breathlessly into the phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Her distraction from the other end of the line causes her to loosen her hold on Pete’s legs, the soles of his shoes brushing against the carpeted runner in the hallway and leaving a trail of fine dirt.
“Poppy,” I bark, frustrated.
She hangs up and looks at the phone, dumbstruck. “I have to go.”
I raise my brow, awaiting her answer.
“Someone has set the Circle headquarters on fire.”
I rear my head back, shock and confusion slapping me across the face.
“Your woman really knows how to execute her revenge, doesn’t she?” Shocked laughter slips from Poppy’s mouth. “She’s good – I’ll give her that.”
Pride overwhelms me just as fast.
Go get ’em, baby.