8. Harper
8
Harper
P aul’s admission sucked all the oxygen from the dark hotel room. Harper struggled to breathe. Blinking, she fought to register what he’d just said. He couldn’t have meant it that way. She had to have misheard him.
“Wh-what?”
It must be the post-sex haze. Her brain was still mush from all the orgasms. If her body could be sore, surely her mind was too.
Turning, he propped himself up on his elbow and rested his chin in his palm. The detached look in his eyes unnerved her. He’d never looked at her like that. She’d pissed him off a time or two back in the day. She could handle that expression, but this one—blank. He was devoid of anything. It chilled her to the core.
“Paul?” she whispered.
He had to have more of an explanation for her.
“Who’d you piss off?” he asked as he tucked her hair behind her ear.
That wasn’t an answer.
She swatted at his hand. How dare he try to be all sweet after telling her she was his job. While they hadn’t actually been in touch, she’d heard a lot about the Ricci family from her siblings. They kept her abreast of the Riccis’ growth and how they’d splintered off into specialties. She was well aware of what Paul did for his syndicate, which made his assertion that much more perplexing.
Her brother, rather jealously, referred to him as Ice Pick Paulie since most of his jobs were resolved with one.
“How am I the job ?” she asked. Surely, if he meant what he said, she would’ve noticed a long, sharp object on him before. They weren’t easy to miss and definitely would’ve been out of place.
“What did you do, Harper?” he asked, as though he were in pain.
Shaking her head, she couldn’t wrap her brain around this either. Scrambling out of bed, she chewed on her thumbnail and paced the dark room. She didn’t bother reaching for her clothes. What was the point? They were in a heap on the floor beside his. The two of them were completely naked. If she was his job, the only weapon at his disposal was his hands.
His very talented hands. Paul wasn’t that brutal of a person. Sure, he fucked like he hated her, but he didn’t.
Dammit. None of this made sense.
“So you showed up at the bar to kill me?” she demanded with her hands on her hips.
“Yes.”
That single word pierced through her heart, and she stepped back as though he’d actually stuck her with his ice pick.
“You son of a bitch.”
“What?” he asked incredulously as he sat up swiftly. The blankets pooled at his waist, covering him.
“What was your plan?” Anger unfurled in her chest, heated her cheeks, and had her curling her fingers into fists. “Fuck me and then shoot me while I slept?”
Did he even have a gun? Of course he did. Men like him didn’t go anywhere without one. Though she couldn’t remember. They’d gotten undressed so quickly before, it’d been a blur.
“No.” He shook his head. “Only a coward would do that.”
“How were you going to do it?” she sneered down her nose at him.
He looked away and pulled up his knees. Resting his forearms on them, he let his hands dangle.
How dare he not have the decency to answer her? As her fury boiled, another question popped into her brain.
“Paul. Who hired you?”
He wouldn’t look at her. Talk about cowardice.
The silence hung between them for far too long. He couldn’t just nonchalantly tell her he’d been hired to kill her without an explanation. She couldn’t stand still. She shifted her weight, chewed on the inside of her cheek, and kept her steely gaze on the beautiful man who could strum her body like a finely tuned guitar. Who was hired to murder her.
This was so fucking messed up. Even for her.
She and Paul weren’t exactly friends from back in the day who had lost touch. They’d been casual fuck buddies at best. It ended in an explosion and made things tense between the Roughneck Riders and his syndicate.
They’d been young then, and stupid, but things had settled. It couldn’t be because of that. Twelve years had passed. She’d been back to Oklahoma tons of times since then. Sure, not so much recently, but if his little Southern Mafia syndicate still had a problem with her, they would’ve handled it then. Why now?
“How could you take this job?” The betrayal hurt the most. The rage storm grew inside Harper. “Answer me,” she thundered.
He snapped back, jumped out of the bed, and stomped toward her.
Reflexively, she backed away, stumbling slightly when her foot got tangled in the heap of discarded clothes on the floor. When she hit the dresser across from the bed, her breath hitched.
Paul continued until he was inches from her, glaring down at her with the ice of a thousand glaciers in his eyes. He stopped just before his bare chest touched hers. Their faces were mere inches apart.
“Anyone else would’ve defiled you and stripped you of your dignity just to send a message. At least with me, you’ll die with respect,” he whispered.
Where did he find the audacity? Fury bubbled inside her, and she planted her palms on his chest, shoving as hard as she could. It must’ve startled him, because he stepped back as though off-balance. If Paul didn’t want to, she shouldn’t have been able to move him.
Darting to the right, Harper dove to the pile of clothing and dug through it.
Sighing, Paul turned and rolled his eyes. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Where the hell had she left it? Frantically, she scanned the room. Ah! There! Scrambling, she headed to the closet door.
“At least put some clothes on before you try to escape.” The smugness in his voice irritated Harper.
Quickly, she unsnapped the small clutch she’d brought with her. Just as she curled her fingers around the handle, he grabbed her arm and yanked her up to her feet.
Perfect. Exactly what she wanted.
Whirling to face him, she locked her elbow and slung the tactical blade with the purple handle, aiming for his neck.
Before it could puncture his jugular, her wrist crashed against steel. His forearm. Pain vibrated through her, but she didn’t drop the blade. Pulling back, determined, she tried again. This time, he grabbed her knife-wielding arm and slammed her against the door.
Her head thunked against the thick metal as he pinned her in place, shoving his knee between her thighs.
“Fuck you,” she seethed, squirming against his grip.
She twisted her arm and pulled toward the weakest point of his hold and got free. Again, she swiped, this time nicking his side as he jumped back and out of the way.
“Calm down,” Paul insisted as he hissed, looking down at his fresh cut.
Harper charged. But instead of jabbing the blade between his ribs, he somehow sidestepped her and tripped her at the same time. While losing her balance, he did some sort of ninja move, twisted her arm, and wrenched the knife from her hand. She stumbled until she skidded on the carpet, burning her knees, and slammed against the bed.
Her chest heaved as she spun around and clambered to get her feet beneath her to stand.
Shaking his head, he held her purple knife. His fiery gaze locked on her, and it was then she realized his cock was at full attention again.
“What the hell ?”
“Keep fighting,” Paul rumbled. “It’s hot as fuck.”
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded, scanning the room for anything she could use as a weapon.
“You just tried to stab me,” Paul scoffed. “It tends to piss me off when someone jabs a knife into my body.”