17. Harper
17
Harper
H arper came out of the bathroom fully dressed in black leggings and an oversized T-shirt to find a quiet house. Odd. After checking the bedroom and living room, she arched a brow. No one. Where were they? Had they left her alone?
No. They couldn’t have. That’d be the stupidest thing to do if they expected her to stay put.
She entered the kitchen and found the back door open. Ah, there they were. Seated on the steps leading out to the yard were the Ricci brothers, speaking in hushed tones.
They’d left her, their captive, unattended.
Shaking her head, she pushed through the screen door and exited the house. Standing on the porch, she placed her hands on her hips and looked down at them.
“You two really suck at this kidnapping thing,” she announced.
Both of them turned and peered up at her.
“I could’ve taken off out the front door, made my way to the road, flagged someone down, and gotten rescued.” She thumbed over her shoulder, gesturing to the front of the house.
“But you didn’t,” Eddie observed.
Standing a bit straighter, she scoffed. How dare they point out the obvious.
The brothers exchanged a look before breaking out into smug grins. Immediately, her blood boiled, and she curled her fingers into fists.
“To be fair,” Paul started as he stood, “you suck at escaping just as much as I suck at kidnapping.”
Letting out a growl of frustration, she rolled her eyes and retreated into the house. Stomping her feet, she knew she looked like a petulant child, but maybe she should show them just how good of an escape artist she was.
Snatching the sneakers out of the bag Eddie had brought, she stuffed one foot in and then the other. The back door squeaked, and she glanced over to see the brothers entering the kitchen, chuckling to themselves.
Assholes . She’d show them.
Harper didn’t bother tying the laces. Instead, she jumped to her feet and took off for the front door. Now or never. If she got enough of a lead on them, she might be able to make it to the street. With her heart racing and her legs pumping, she burst through the front door. She jumped down the cement steps. Stumbling at the bottom, she avoided twisting her ankle and dashed around the black BMW down the long dirt driveway.
“Harper!” Paul shouted from behind her in an exasperated cry, but she wouldn’t stop.
She had to keep going. It didn’t matter how comfortable she felt around them or how well she knew them. They wanted her dead, and she wasn’t about to let that happen.
“Stop!” Paul sounded far too close. She couldn’t look back, though. If she did, she’d definitely trip.
Summoning all the adrenaline she could muster, she tried to go faster.
Her heart sank the moment the arms looped around her waist. When his weight crashed against her back, it threw her off. Tripping over her own two feet, her eyes widened as she went down.
The air was knocked from her lungs when she collided with the ground. The forward momentum didn’t stop, so they skittered in the dirt as he fell atop her. Small grains of sand and tiny rocks bit into her knees, her chest, and her cheek. Pain seared through her as she tried to find her ability to breathe again.
With his knee in her back, Paul yanked at her arms. Wriggling, kicking, and flailing, she did her best to not comply with his wants.
She gasped. When she could breathe again, she wasted no time before she screamed at him. “Get the fuck off me!”
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he said, not sounding winded at all.
Of course not. The fucker was in ridiculously good shape. If she survived this, she needed to get back into the gym and take some new self-defense courses and maybe use the treadmill.
This position made it harder to fight him off. Paul overpowered her and brought her wrists together. The feel of cool, thin plastic had her sucking in a sharp breath.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
The familiar clicks of zip ties filled her ears. That fucking asshole.
“I tried to be nice, but you ran away.”
“You’re going to murder me!” she screeched. “How is that nice ?”
“I haven’t done it yet .” He had the audacity to sound calm, as if they were talking about making dinner and not her death.
With her hands effectively tied behind her back, the pressure of his knee was removed.
“Are you going to be a good girl?” he asked as he gripped one of her elbows.
He had to be out of his mind asking that. “Are you going to kill me?”
“I don’t know,” he said as he tugged her up.
Wait. What did he just say? “Excuse me?”
She glared at him as he brushed her hair out of her face.
Wincing, he clucked his tongue. “You’ve got road rash on your face.”
As his fingers tapped at her tender cheek, she hissed and reared back against the sting. “You tackled me!”
“I wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t run. Really, you brought this on yourself.”
“I’m so kicking you in the balls,” she muttered.
He chuckled, a rich and hearty laugh, while dragging her back toward the house. Bastard . He maneuvered her in such a way that she had difficulty keeping her feet under her and fought tripping repeatedly. Which was why she never got the opportunity to kick him.
Once they returned, Eddie stood, smugly leaning against the post at the top of the porch stairs. She glared at him while Paul yanked her up. Of all the things she needed right now, his mocking expression wasn’t it.
“You’re bleeding.” Paul’s brother gestured up and down.
“I was thrown into the dirt. What do you expect?” she snapped.
Snickering, Eddie shook his head. “Not you.”
Both Harper and Paul stopped and peered down at his side. Apparently, chasing her and bringing her to the ground had reopened his knife wound. A slight and unwelcome pang of guilt jolted through her. She had no business being remorseful over defending herself. If she had to, she’d do it again.
Fingering the edge, Paul cursed under his breath.
“Got any skin glue?” Eddie asked.
“Yeah.” Paul sighed. “In the bathroom.”
As they passed him, Eddie reached out, and Harper jerked away.
“You have leaves and twigs in your hair,” he said before plucking them from her. Holding them before her face, he showed them to her with raised brows.
She huffed in response.
Eddie held the door, and Paul shoved her back into the house. She stumbled but never found her footing and landed face-first on the sectional. The men clomped past her as she rolled to her side and worked to a seated position.
Paul flopped down on the sofa beside her and let out a heavy breath. “Will you please behave while we’re here?”
“Why are you acting like I’m being unreasonable?”
“Because you are.”
Blinking at the absurdity of his request and statement, she shook her head. “At this point, it’s annoying that I have to keep repeating this to you. Were you not hired to murder me?”
“No. It’s an open contract. Anyone can do it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Semantics. Either way, the end goal is my death.”
“I don’t know.”
“Yeah, you said that before. What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know!” Paul ran his hands up the sides of his head, through his short blond hair, and curled his fingers into fists.
Lifting an eyebrow, she regarded him with concern. He was definitely stressed. Another zing of guilt tore through her. Which made no sense. She wanted him to be at the end of his rope. He’d make more mistakes that way, increasing her odds of living.
She was under no obligation to make things easy for her murderer, no matter how well she knew him or how attractive she found him or how talented she knew he was in the sack.
All of that was inconsequential. All that mattered was that he wanted her dead. Maybe.
What was this “I don’t know” bullshit?