24. Harper
24
Harper
T his was a bad idea. The house was safe. It was out in the middle of nowhere. Harper was pretty sure only Paul and his family knew about it. Why take this stupid risk and leave? People were looking for them. It made absolutely no sense to come out of hiding just to talk to her dad. Especially when Harper was willing to bet he didn’t know a damn thing about any of this.
Sitting in the passenger seat of Paul’s BMW, she gnawed at her thumbnail as the ball of nerves twisted within her gut. She should’ve fought harder against going. As much as she wanted to see her father, it wasn’t the right move. Not right now. A video call could’ve reassured him.
Then again, a video call might have given their location away. He might recognize something in the background.
Who was she kidding? Her dad wasn’t that observant. Even if he’d been to the house a dozen times, he wouldn’t put two and two together. And he didn’t have anyone in his club who was tech savvy, so it wasn’t like he could geolocate them or anything. Besides, Paul was smart. That phone he left at the house definitely wasn’t traceable.
Pulling into the lot of the body shop, Harper couldn’t shake the bad feeling chilling down her spine. Scanning the area, she spotted several Harleys lined up along the wall of the building. Her father’s was closest to the door, and the rest she couldn’t place. It’d been so long since she’d been around anyone in the club but him. She wasn’t as familiar as she’d once been.
After Paul put the car in Park, he turned to her. “We’ll be in and out.”
She nodded. There was no need to prolong this visit. The longer they were out in the world, the more likely they’d get shot at. One bullet was enough for her.
“Here.” He extended his hand.
Looking down, she smiled, seeing the purple handle of her blade. She took it from him and wrapped her fingers around her old friend.
“If shit hits the fan, I want you to defend yourself,” he said, then reached over her to pop open the glove compartment. “Do you want a gun too?”
“God no!”
He looked at her in confusion.
“I don’t like them,” she asserted, completely aware it was a strange stance to have, considering her background and their current situation. “Statistically, you’re more likely to get shot by your own weapon than to effectively use it to defend yourself.”
“I guess if you aren’t familiar with using one,” he said as he slowly closed the glove box.
She stuffed the blade into the back pocket of the jeans she put on earlier. “I know how to use them. I just prefer knives.”
Shaking his head, he sighed. “That’s something we’ll work on. You need to be comfortable using a gun.”
It wasn’t about comfort, but she wasn’t about to explore that with him now. If he brought it up again, it would be a discussion for sure. She didn’t like guns, and she didn’t want one. They were too deadly for her liking. She didn’t want to carry that on her conscience. At least with a knife, the person had a chance of survival while mitigating the threat against her.
The two of them exited his sleek sedan with their heads high and hyperaware of their surroundings. The slightest movement, the faintest of sounds, had them on edge. Harper’s heart raced inside her chest, and she did her damnedest to keep her breathing calm. She had to appear confident—like this was all according to the plan.
What plan?
They had no strategy. Winging it definitely wouldn’t cause their deaths.
This was a horrendous idea.
Paul opened the door to the garage portion of the body shop and peered in anyway. There was a time and place for chivalry, but this wasn’t it. Not when people were poised to have quite the payday upon confirmation of their deaths.
Taking her hand, he led Harper into the large space where two of the bays had cars lifted high into the air and the other one sat empty. Her father emerged from behind a half-built Corvette.
“Harper!” The relief in his tone did nothing to calm her nerves.
He trotted toward her with his arms out.
“Who’s here with you?” Paul asked, his gun in his hand and his gaze sweeping the area.
“My men,” her dad said dismissively as he wrapped her in a hug.
Closing her eyes, she tried to find the reassurance in his embrace. Desperately, she longed for the safety she once felt in his presence. Unfortunately, she remained a ball of staticky nerves as she cautiously returned his affection.
Pulling back, her father, looking older and wearier than when she’d last seen him, cupped her face.
“What happened to your cheek?” he barked, more to Paul than to her.
“It’s nothing,” she said and rested her palm on his hand. “I’m fine.”
His eye twitched as he slowly let his hands fall away from her. He stuffed them into his pockets before turning his attention to Paul. “What the fuck is going on?”
The muscles along Paul’s jaw tightened, and the death glare he shot her dad was unmistakable. “You don’t know?”
This would not go well. Paul already had beef with her father from decades ago.
“I told you,” Harper tried. “It has nothing to do with him.”
Her dad flicked his gaze between them but returned to Paul when he spoke. “I know a lot of things. Shit has been out of hand lately. Some deals went sour. We’re having a rough go of it.”
Harper glared at him. “Rough go?” What the hell did that mean? She’d purposely stayed out of his business affairs—conflict of interest and all—but that seemed to have been a bad idea.
“We’re still managing the fallout from what Diesel had to do.”
Her brows rose. Diesel—Dwight. “Wait a minute.” She held up a hand. “You mean where he shot up that strip club, and you begged me to defend him? You said he made a mistake. It wasn’t sanctioned, and you’d handle him yourself. Now you’re saying he had to do it?”
Her dad inhaled deeply and lifted his chin. “He’s my VP.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” All her confusing and conflicting emotions about this meetup had gone right out the window. Now she was pissed.
“I need him on the outside. No one would’ve given him a better shot at that than you.”
She shook her head. If it were possible to spit nails, she would. She was so angry with him right now. “You ordered him to do it, then had me try to get him off for it?”
“I did what had to be done for my club.”
“What about your daughter?” Paul snapped.
Yeah. What about her? Did he care that he put her in the line of fire for all this?
“You realize you could be the reason there’s a target on her back right now?” Paul roared.
Her dad refused to look at her. Instead, his bushy beard shifted ever so slightly with his jaw. “Shit’s messy.”
“Ya think?” Harper wanted to kick him square in the nuts.
“Listen.” He finally made eye contact with her, and to her surprise, despite being bloodshot, they were soft. Almost as though there was some remorse in there. “I thought I could handle it. You’d do your thing and be in and out. I didn’t think there’d be enough time for this.”
She shook her head, her heart breaking that her dad would be so careless with her life.
“You’re probably in the safest hands,” he said softly, catching her off guard.
Paul narrowed his eyes at him, clearly unprepared for that statement.
“The clubhouse is…” He trailed off and reached for her hands.
Pulling away, she eyed him warily.
His shoulders slumped, and his arms dropped to his sides. “Paul’s crew is better equipped to keep you safe right now. I hate to admit it, but I’m not stupid. Until this war dies down—”
The loud crack echoed off the walls moments before the dark hole appeared in her father’s forehead. His head flew back. Warmth splattered across her face. A series of booms followed, and his arms flailed, his chest shaking, as he dropped to the ground.
Wide-eyed, Harper froze, taking far too long to register what happened. A freight train collided with her side, and pain rocketed through her shoulder and hip as she hit the dirty cement ground.
Then all hell broke loose.