Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Harry
The house has been quiet all day, but I’ve come to learn stillness isn’t peace; it’s usually a warning.
I used to revel in the silence when I was a part of the Circle, basking in it after the heaviness drained both my body and my mind. Now the quiet is spoiled by my own demons – though I find them a necessary toxicity to remind myself what I’m fighting for every day.
Although sometimes the endless list overspills its allotted place in my brain. That’s why I’m pathetically tapping a ballpoint pen against the crumpled paper.
Find out what the fuck is happening with Andy.
Find the trafficking ring. Save the girls.
Kill Richard and the fuckwit, Jamie Callahan.
Find Gigi.
My jaw tenses as I force myself to cross it out, the pen making a tear in the paper.
One week. One fucking week since she came on my tongue only to waltz off with another man. Not just any man – her ex-boyfriend.
Does she realise what kind of fuckery that does to a man’s brain? To my brain?
The egotistical part of me is torn between the comfort of having Jamie believe he can win her back while she’ll always suffer a weakness for me and the blazing fear she might settle for someone else.
But she’s mine. She’ll always be mine. Yet with each day that passes, the terror closing in on my chest digs itself deeper.
Maybe she’s being held against her will. Maybe she wants to be with him.
At what point do I allow her to be the independent woman she wants to be? And at what fucking point do I take what’s rightfully mine?
Fuck, I don’t know.
I spin the knife on my kitchen island, my eyes drilling into the weapon. Everything is quiet except for the rhythmic tick of the old clock and the swirl of the blade.
I toss the knife into the sink, rubbing my face with a hand that smells faintly of ink and metal.
What can I be missing?
I pull my palm from my face with a heavy exhale. Across the top of the mangled piece of paper, a small, artificial red light moves, spreading the length of the kitchen island. Confusion barely has a moment to settle in before something just … cracks.
I throw myself across the floor as the windows burst open one by one, spitting shards of glass across the floorboards. I throw my arms above my head to protect myself from the raining debris.
Well, it’s about fucking time that asshole did something drastic—
The thought is cut short as another load of debris flies haphazardly across the room.
I lift my head, smelling the thick stench of smoke before I’m able to twist my head over my shoulder to see the hallway engulfed in the orange light of a rapidly growing fire.
Glass shreds my face as the kitchen lights die with a pop, the wiring melting.
Darkness rushes in, smoke curling along the ceiling.
I rise to my feet, stumbling half-blind, but the second I stand, the floor begins to moan. Long, aching sounds of old timber surrendering to the heat.
I’ve never kept sentimental items in my house for this specific reason, knowing things can disappear in an instant.
But there’s one photograph of my mother hidden in the bottom of my drawer that has me stumbling down the hall towards my bedroom, splaying my palm against the wall through the darkness.
As I reach for the handle, the door cracks, bursting open in a fit of sparks. Chunks of plaster fall round me, just inches away, smashing into the floor. Embers rain down, scorching through my T-shirt until they sting my shoulders and my neck.
Fuck.
Lungs tightening with the inability to breathe, I sink to my knees in the hallway, coughing into my arm, the fire roaring louder until I taste blood. The smoke drags its fingers down my throat like it’s desperate to pull me under.
The floor trembles further, shaking beneath me, the ceiling groaning simultaneously. It must be about to cave in. Something slams against the front door, the noise barely distinguishable through the burn of the timber.
But it comes again. Twice. Three times. Another crash hits the door, and then, after a sharp, metallic crack, the front door bursts inwards. Boots crunch against glass as someone steps inside.
“HARRY!”
My head snaps towards the voice.
Framed by firelight and darkness, Gigi appears through the fog. One hand raised to shield her face, she coughs until her throat turns raw.
Shock barrels through me. “Gigi?”
She turns her head to me quickly, and our eyes clash. A large piece of timber separates us, but I can see the panic in her wild eyes, quickly overcome with relief. She gasps, exhaling a sound close to a cry.
I shout over the debris falling round us, “Turns out you don’t hate me!”
“I did,” she pants through the thickening smoke. “Until I realised losing you would utterly destroy me.”
Relief pours out of me in a smile and a breathless laugh. Through the darkness she smiles back, tired and exhausted.
Something splits above our heads, tearing through the ceiling. A wooden beam loosens, the plaster falling quickly above where she stands.
I roar, “GIGI!”
Everything tumbles, blossoming in a thick puff of smoke that separates us both as it crashes into the floor. My hands shake as I move the timber, the embers burning my eyes.
“Gigi!” I shout again.
Nothing.
Panic pushes me forwards, persevering through the pain. Just so I can fucking find her.
She can’t die.
She can’t.
Yet as each second ticks by, concern has my heart surrendering. The more the house groans, the closer it is to falling apart, and the more I’m certain I won’t leave here alive if she isn’t by my side—
Fingers clasp round my wrist, gentle but alive.
I wrap my hand round her forearm, gripping her tightly. I tug her desperately against my chest. Ash marks her cheeks, a thin slice across her brow from which blood seeps over her skin, dripping close to her eye.
Drowsy and tearful, Gigi tilts her chin up, staring directly into my eyes. She whispers, “Harry—”
I cup her face, slamming my mouth against hers.
Longing and desperation, all roped into a kiss that has me pouring every ounce of emotion into her.
My tongue slips between her lips, and she finds me simultaneously.
I thread my fingers through her hair, tangling them in the roots and tilting her head back, not leaving an inch of her mouth untouched.
Her grip is firm against my T-shirt, her soft fingertips scoring the fabric. I pull her close, feeling her heart slamming against her chest and tasting the smoke in her mouth.
Thankfully, she has the common sense to pull away, her breath mingling with mine.
The house groans like a final warning. Gigi grips my hand suddenly, and with her palm tight in mine, we dart underneath the falling debris, narrowly missing the wreckage that falls from the opening in the roof.
We barely make it out of the front door before an explosion rumbles from inside the house, throwing us out onto the driveway. We tumble, rolling onto the pavement with the stone at our backs and the dark sky blooming above our heads.
I heave air into my lungs, coughing hard into my shoulder as the thick air tries to claw its way down my throat. Wiping my bloodshot eyes against my shoulder, I curse the burn.
Gigi’s at my side in a blink, pulling at my arm to help me rise to my feet. Worry marring her every feature, she breathes, “We need to go.”
A motel room on the edge of town: cheap, untraceable, and a safe haven. For now.
The door clicks shut behind us, flimsy and hollow, just like everything else in this place. It won’t keep Richard out – not really – but it’s the best we could manage with the time we have.
Gigi and I are both still heaving. My shirt is torn, singed in places, clinging to me with sweat. She stands in front of the window, backlit by the neon “VACANCY” sign outside, which casts a red light round her silhouette.
I can’t stop looking at her.
She’s here, shaken and alarmed, but breathing.
Ash streaks across her collarbone, a smudge of soot on her lips and dried blood at her temple. She’s still trembling – whether from adrenaline or something else, I’m not sure. But her fists are clenched, jaw tight. She’s trying to keep it together, and so am I.
Because all I want to do is touch her.
I want to hold her as if I’m anchoring myself to her. My hands curl at my sides, trying to find control, but it slips fast.
“Gigi.”
Her voice is barely a rasp. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
I cross the room in three strides.
She grabs my face as I approach, fingers smearing across my jaw. I kiss her like I’ve forgotten how to do anything else. Her mouth opens, desperate and messy as our teeth clash.
I move closer, cupping the other side of her neck to kiss her deeper. It takes her a moment, as though her mind is catching up with her, before she finally slips her fingers into my hair on either side of my head.
Dropping one of my hands to slip it round her back, I demand, “Up.”
She bows into my touch easily, allowing me to take her weight. She wraps her legs round me with ease, squeezing the insides of my hips, her feet pressing into my spine.
I palm the underside of her thighs, desperate to have my hands on her, as I lead us to the bathroom. She mutters something inaudible into my mouth, but I push my tongue in further.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she manages.
I grip the back of her head, tightening my hold in her hair to tug her backwards and away from my mouth. She pulls back with a gasp.
“Then I’ll have to make you beg.”
Gigi meets my mouth with eagerness again, but she struggles to keep the kiss close as I lower her onto the bathroom floor, turning on the shower.
We’re a mess of tangled limbs and clashing teeth as we strip each other of our fire-damaged clothing.
I take her bra in my hands, lacing it round her wrists and tying it to the gushing shower pipe.
The water hammers down onto her naked body, decorating her skin with droplets.
They glisten against her breasts, the dips in her waist, and the soft skin of her stomach.
As it makes contact, her back bows. I drop my head, pulling her erect nipple into my mouth and toying with it between my teeth.
I hum against her, watching her through dark lashes, and she whimpers, bowing further into my touch.
She whines, “Please.”
I groan against her skin, not having enough patience to drag out her desperation when all I want is to feel every inch of her hugging my cock.
Without me having to ask, she wraps her legs round me, pulling me between her legs.
“Good girl.”
Fisting her flesh in my hand, I nudge my cock against her clit, earning a soft hiss from her that has me chewing on my bottom lip to hold back a groan at the sweet sound. I nudge into her, inch by inch, feeling her stretch to accommodate me.
My eyes roll, and I drop my head into the crook of her neck, biting down to control the moan that tumbles from my lips.
“H-Harry.”
Pushing myself in to the hilt, I slam my palm on the wall beside her head, picking up a rhythm quickly. She opens her legs wider, her mouth gaping on silent cries. I move one hand higher, cupping her ass and palming the flesh.
Her back sinks against the shower wall. Growling into her skin, my fingertip parts her back hole, and I slip a digit inside. She cries out, pushing back against my hand. My mouth covers hers on a scream, eager to swallow every sound.
“You like that?” I breathe.
She nods breathlessly.
I hold her up by pushing us against the wall, still fucking both holes with my cock and my finger. With her head tilted back, the hose pours warm water over her skin. My grip on her thigh slips, and I hike it round my hip instead, fucking her with a deeper thrust, pushing my finger in harmoniously.
I order, “Turn round.”
I slip my cock and my finger out of her as she moves, doing as she’s told.
I press down on her lower back, and she leans forwards, spreading her legs, baring herself to me even with her wrists still restrained.
I fist my cock in my hand, running the engorged tip up her slit and soaking myself with her arousal.
I hesitate near the tight ring of muscle at her ass, pressing into it just slightly.
Then, fisting her hip, I push into her slowly.
“O-oh fuck.”
She hugs my cock tightly, making it near impossible to move. My chest constricts, and I slip my arm round her as I press into her fully. I drop my hand down to her clit, rubbing with friction and precision.
She pushes herself up on her tiptoes as I push into her deeper.
She begs, “Please. Please. Please.”
Her ass slaps against my hips with each of my thrusts forwards, her body near trembling as she throws her head back on my shoulder. My teeth find her ear, and I bite down, my eyes screwing shut as my balls start to tighten. I feel her entire body tense right before an orgasm rips through her.
“Christ, Gigi.”
My hips stutter as I come, spilling into her and almost bearing my whole weight down on her back. I throw my hand up, clasping the restraint round her wrists to stop myself from stumbling forwards. She’s still coming undone under my other hand.
Breathlessly, my lips stroke across her neck, moving across every droplet of water. My heart slams against her back as it works tirelessly to regulate.
She turns to me over her shoulder, fighting a smile as tiredness sweeps over her, water dripping from the ends of her long lashes.
“I’m going to pull out, okay?”
She nods, and I gently pull myself from her ass, careful not to hurt her. Gigi gasps at the loss of contact, righting herself, back straight, as I lean up and free her of the strap round her wrists.
I pull one of the towels from the rack, spreading it out for her as she carefully steps out of the shower, her body disappearing inside the white cotton.
She tucks the towel underneath her armpits, stepping towards the bed and settling down on the mattress.
Wrapping a towel low on my waist, I slip into the bed behind her, bringing my arm round her middle and pulling her close.
Returning my lips to her skin, I mumble against her, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Voice quiet, she says, “I want you to tell me the rest of the story.”
I’m silent for long enough that Gigi turns towards me, her face just a few inches from mine on the pillow. Her hand cups my jaw, something sad hidden in her gaze.
“You promised …”
“I kissed you once.”
Brought to silence, she blinks before her face turns a shade paler.
I clear my throat. “You didn’t remember it happening. You didn’t know who I was.”
“How wouldn’t I remember that?”
“I can tell you … if you like.”