31. Harper
31
Harper
T he television in the safe house wasn’t connected to cable, satellite, or anything like that. There was a stash of DVDs and a player in the entertainment unit, but none of the titles interested Harper.
She was delighted to find that the large screen was set up to display the feeds of the security cameras throughout the property. So, instead of hiding in the small closet of a room where the small screens were mounted, she could sit on the comfortable couch and enjoy the scenery while she devoured a bowl of strawberries. It was like watching a nature documentary without any of the voice-over commentary. If she didn’t think too hard about it, she could pretend she was on vacation and had voluntarily unplugged from society.
As the images of open fields, trees, and squirrels doing squirrel things flashed on the large screen, her mind wandered. She flinched as the memory of her father getting shot replayed through her mind. Her eyes welled with tears, and her heart broke again. She really wanted to talk to Remi or Colt. Hell, she’d settle for Weston or her mother at this point. Mourning the loss of her dad with her family would make all of this that much easier.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible. A price on her head and any motherfucker with bills to pay looking to cash in made it too dangerous to be around them. She didn’t need to bring that heat to their door. Their entire world had just been turned upside down; she didn’t need to add to it. Which meant she had to grieve alone.
After she popped a fresh strawberry into her mouth, something flickered on the screen. Movement. Something different. It changed before she could get a good look. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Had a fox or something darted across the screen?
As she debated the possibilities, the sound of tires crunching up the dirt drive drew her attention. Her heart stopped. Quickly, she dashed to the security room and scanned the monitors. Dammit. Paul hadn’t told her what Sam drove. How was she supposed to know if it was him or not?
Crossing her arms, she wrapped herself in a hug and intently watched the sedan with the tinted windows approach the house. It had to be Sam. Paul told her no one else knew about the place. No one knew she was here.
If she repeated that, maybe her heart would get out of her throat. Her anxiety might be lower if she convinced herself it was Sam.
But if it was Paul’s cousin, then why was he taking forever to get out of the car? Maybe he was on a phone call. He was a part of the organization, so yeah, it would make sense that he could be talking to someone.
Pacing, she brought her thumb to her mouth and chewed on her stubby nail. It was a habit she really needed to break, but not today. Maybe when— if —things calmed down, she could work on that.
“Get out of the car,” she said to the screen as though the person in the sedan could hear her. “Come on, Sam. Stop playing around.”
Eventually, after what felt like seven hours, the doors of the sedan opened.
Wait. Two doors. That wasn’t right.
Harper dropped her hand and stepped closer to the monitor. A thick, bald-headed man wearing a Metallica T-shirt and dark jeans stepped out of the driver’s side. A young, mousy-looking guy wearing a maroon Henley and ripped jeans got out of the passenger side. Where was the suit? What happened to his style? Neither of them looked like the guy Paul had shown her.
“Fuck,” she hissed and darted toward the bedroom.
Rummaging through her things, she found her purple-handled knife. Holding the safety button, she flicked her wrist, and the blade sprang free. Nodding, she felt better with it in her hand. As she exited the bedroom, she contemplated if it would be wise to head out the back door and go for the storm shelter. Did she have the time? Would they see her?
The sound of their heavy boots clomping onto the porch gave her the answer. There was no time. She had to either find a place to hide inside or fight. All her other options were moot.
Scanning the house, Harper considered which spot would give her the best advantage.
If they were smart, they’d split up—cut off her exit route. She had to plan as though they knew what they were doing. Since she couldn’t be in two places at once, Harper decided she should cover the front door and go from there.
She jumped onto the arm of the couch, bent her knees, and had her knife firm in her hand, ready to pounce. There were a thousand and one locks on the doors. One of the front windows was blocked by the fake air-conditioning unit. How did they plan on getting in?
The glass from the front window, the one without the air-conditioning unit, crashed onto the floor in a thousand pieces, and a gloved paw of a hand came through it. Behind her, a loud boom sounded. Someone had shot through the back door. They had divided to conquer.
Smart, but bad for her.
Swallowing hard, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she did her best to keep her balance as she waited for the large bald man to climb through the window. Turning halfway, she kept an eye on the kitchen with her knife in hand, waiting for Henley man to come charging in.
Testing her grip, she rolled her fingers around the handle as footsteps thudded heavily through the kitchen. With a groan, Baldy thumped onto the floor.
Shouting at the top of her lungs, she jumped from the couch, holding the blade high, and pounced onto the man breaking into the front of the house. He looked up just in time for her to land on him. The two of them toppled back until he hit the wall.
“Fucking bitch!” he shouted as he lifted his arms and wrapped them around her.
Taking advantage of his vulnerability, she swung the blade, dug it into his side, and twisted it. Instinctively, he jerked, bellowed in pain, and shoved her. Blood gushed over her fingers, but she somehow kept her grip on the handle of her knife as she flew back.
Stumbling, trying to find her balance, she slammed into a wall of flesh. Fuck. Henley. Why did the house have to be so fucking small? If it only had ten extra feet, she would’ve had more time to recover.
Doing her best to think quickly, her adrenaline pumping and her heart racing, she smashed her heel down on his foot. He howled, and she turned to face him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kneed him right in the balls.
Wriggling out of his hold as he doubled over, she headed for the bedroom and slammed the door shut, locking it. It only took a few seconds for her to slide the dresser in front of it. She had little time.
Scrambling through the pile of belongings, she found her purse. From it, she pulled what looked like two tubes of lipstick. One she stuck in her bra. Using the remaining lipstick, she wrote on the mirror. Just as she finished, the door to the room splintered.
“Quit fighting,” Henley ordered through the hole.
Without looking back, she wrenched open the window and threw herself out of it.
Unfortunately, she landed beside a very pale Baldy. His meaty fist collided with her jaw the moment she stood, and she fell back against the house. The back of her head slammed into the siding, and her vision blurred.
“Got her!” he shouted.
“Fuck off,” she spat.
With a sweep of his foot, he took her legs out from under her. Pain ricocheted up from her tailbone as she landed on the ground. Excruciatingly, her head throbbed as she tried to get to her feet. Baldy wasn’t about to let that happen. He pulled his foot back and kicked her hard as hell square in the gut. The air left her lungs in a whoosh.
“Stay still, you goddamn cunt.”
Stars danced around her vision as she gasped for breath. Henley joined them and rested the muzzle of his gun against her temple. “Play nice or you’re fucking dead.”
Swallowing hard, she stilled.
“Get in the car.”