Chapter Thirty Six #3
Scrabbling to feel along the trunk’s inner walls, my arms slick with a cold sweat, I search for…
well, anything that might give me a chance.
My heel catches on the lining of the trunk, and suddenly I remember my shoes.
These stupid, impractical and ridiculously expensive heels that I almost didn’t wear tonight.
I fumble, fingers shaking so badly that I drop the strap twice, before I manage to yank one off my foot.
There’s no time for relief or the foolish ideal that holding my heel gives me any kind of upper hand.
Contorting my body in the cramped space, my palm grazes cold metal, wires, and then something sunken and boxy near the back corner.
My brain latches onto it with irrational certainty.
I’m no car expert, but I know what a fuse box feels like.
Without giving it much thought, I draw my arm back and slam the heel into it with everything I have.
I don’t know what I’m doing, don’t know if this will work, don’t even know if I’ve found the right thing, but knowing hasn’t saved me so far.
Pain ricochets up my arm, brutal and jarring, but I barely register it.
I hit it again and again. Each strike is punctuated by a sob I don’t bother swallowing, my throat raw and my lungs burning.
The trunk rattles with the force of my blows, the impact of the strikes limited in the confined space.
My wrist screams, my shoulder protests, my vision swims. Still, I don’t stop.
Somewhere out there, Arthur is walking away from the car, toward a house filled with two people who have no idea what’s coming.
What deadly events we’ve set into motion.
I scream Della’s name, even though I know she won’t be able to hear me.
The third, or maybe the tenth, blow lands differently.
There’s a sharp crack that ricochets up my arm, feeling like it’s shattered the bone, followed by a sudden shift in pressure.
This time, I scream in agony, blinded by the pain as I hold my arm against me.
Vaguely, I notice the trunk spring open just enough for cold night air to rush in and steal my breath.
Despite what it costs me, I lurch forward, half-falling and half-crawling out of the trunk.
My legs buckle beneath me as I spill onto the gravel, barely getting my bearings before hands are on me once again.
Strong, unyielding hands that hook beneath my arms and haul me upright, lifting me clear off the ground.
An ugly, animalistic sound is torn straight from my chest, and with one arm, I fight with everything I have. I claw and punch and kick wildly. I rake my nails across fabric and skin, thrashing and sobbing incoherently, convinced that Arthur has me again.
“Harper! Harper, stop!” The voice cuts through my panic like a blade. The familiar, terrified voice I weakly recognize. With considerable effort, I still my movements and strain to focus my eyes.
Red and blue lights strobe violently across the yard, painting the night in confusion.
Police cruisers line the dirt road, doors flung open, officers shouting commands I can’t hear.
Clay’s glossy black Raptor is there, parked crookedly near the drive as if abandoned in a rush.
My gaze snags on it, convinced that if I blink enough, it’ll fade like the mirage it actually is. It doesn’t.
All the way across the yard, Arthur is pinned face-down in the dirt by two officers, his arms wrenched behind his back as cuffs are snapped into place around his wrists.
He’s shouting now, furious and unhinged words that are just far enough away to not quite catch the mic clips that are back in range.
Catching sight of me, his rambling grows harsh, and he’s practically frothing at the mouth.
I shrink into the arms holding me, thankful I won’t be revisited by those words in my nightmares.
Just like that, I love being deaf again.
Movement draws my gaze upward to the porch of a house bathed in flashing light.
At the top of the steps, Arthur’s doppelg?nger and Della Mae stand frozen, wrapped in each other’s arms in their nightclothes.
Wearing joint expressions of disbelief, they stare at the scene unfolding in their front yard.
At long last, I sag. The strength drains out of me all at once.
My body goes boneless, the fight evaporating from my bones as reality crashes in too fast, too overwhelming to keep up with.
The hands holding me tighten, cradling me closer instead of restraining.
Instinctively, I already know who it is before I look up.
The solid warmth of his chest, the familiar scent of soap and safety, the way his arms wrap around me like he’s trying to shield me from the entire world.
My fingers peel out of the fist I was clinging to as my forehead drops against his shoulder.
His mouth presses a trembling kiss to my temple, and as if I’ve been given permission to fall about, the tears come again.
I cry into him without restraint, my entire body shaking and my good hand tugging on the fabric of his shirt.
“How are you here?” I whimper, my voice barely more than a squeak. “How…”
“Shh, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Clay murmurs, his voice breaking despite the effort to keep it steady. “We knew where Arthur would go and headed him off. You’re safe now. We’ve got you.”
Rhys appears, seemingly holding himself back as not to overwhelm me. Noticing the arm that cradled against my body, he gently rolls it over in his fingers, assessing the damage.
“When you’ve recovered, I’m going to tie you to the bed and never let you out of my sight again,” he mutters darkly. Despite the tic in his clenched jaw, his blue eyes are swimming with relief.
“I’d hold off on that,” I force through my dry, burning throat. “I might develop PTSD at this rate.” Rhys’ face blanches, and Clay gives me a slight shake.
“It’s far too soon for jokes,” Clay chastises. I press my lips together, salty tears managing to slip through the cracks. Perhaps he’s right, but after what I’ve just been through, the sight of Arthur being shoved into a police car is too much of a reprieve to deny.
Police move around us, voices overlapping, radios crackling.
Someone drapes a blanket over my shoulders, the rough fabric warm and comforting.
Della Mae’s voice carries faintly from the porch, trembling but alive as she calls for Rhys.
He slips away, running to the porch to embrace his mom with the same care Clay is holding me.
Turning me away from the scene, Clay pauses long enough to tell an officer he’s taking me to the nearest hospital to be checked over.
The officer agrees to meet us there later to take our statements, and my body deflates.
Our statements, Arthur’s confessions. It’s all circumstantial.
A ‘he said, she said,’ and when Arthur lawyers up, he’ll be untouchable.
Clay feels the shift in my posture and gently sits me on the hood of his truck.
Rhys isn’t far behind, jogging back over to return to my side.
I shudder, trying and failing to find a modicum of composure.
“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be right there with you,” Clay reassures me whilst brushing the hair from my face. “We’ll never leave your side again.”
“As long as you don’t run off,” Rhys adds bitterly. Clay glares at him, but I sigh.
“No, Rhys is right. I’m sorry. I have no idea what I was thinking.
” This time, it’s Rhys who steps forward to rub circles against my thigh.
Black satin clings uselessly to my waist, the material torn across my breasts, and where the leg slit is supposed to be is a gaping hole all the way up to my hip.
“You were thinking of me,” Rhys clarifies hoarsely, leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath against my temple.
“Just don’t ever do it again.” I smile weakly, knowing that despite my apology, I would.
It’d throw myself into the line of fire as many times as it takes to free my men from the grief that consumes them.
“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Clay adds.
He doesn’t pull me away from me, his thumb stroking over my pulse point on my wrist, his touch vibrating with barely contained emotion.
Beneath the blond waves that have escaped his tie, his face is pale, his eyes achingly dark as he fights to keep himself together for me.
Leaning forward, I fall into an embrace from both of them. My world narrows down to the feel of their arms, the strength of their muscles, the warmth of their hearts. the undeniable truth of their presence. The fear ebbs slowly and reluctantly, like a tide being forced back against its will.
As the adrenaline fades, my body starts to go limp.
Clay catches me instantly, lifting and carrying me into the back seat of his truck.
Opening the opposite door, Rhys scoots inside to take me from Clay’s arms with gentle reverence.
I’d prefer to walk to the hospital rather than get into another vehicle so soon, but I lower my head onto Rhys’ shoulder and cling to his fingers instead.
“He’s going to get away with it. I just know he is,” I whimper once Clay has dropped into the driver’s seat. His hand hovers over the key in the ignition while he turns back to look over his shoulder.
“You don’t know? We thought you did it on purpose.” My brows furrow, and my head tilts to look up at Rhys. He’s also frowning, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“We heard everything, baby. Every single word. You synced your mic app with mine, they must have still been linked from when you used it in the library. I played it all on speakerphone for the wire to record.” Blinking in confusion, I stutter, scared to believe what they’re saying.
“But I…my phone. He took it,” I argue weakly, my mind starting to swim again. Cradling me closer, Rhys shushes me lightly.
“We have everything,” he repeats, his forehead resting briefly against mine.
“We’ve got him. It’s over.” The weight of his words settles cautiously, like the illusion might shatter if I digest it too quickly.
They have him. Not just physically, not just for tonight, but completely.
There’s no talking his way out of this. No more shadows.
No more unanswered questions. No more fear lurking at the edges of every happy moment.
Catching Clay’s careful watch, he nods slightly. “We’ve won,” he confirms before he turns to the front. Twisting the key, the truck rumbles beneath us. Clay is careful to go slow, keeping the ride as smooth as possible while I battle against the overwhelming sense of relief in the back seat.
Unexpectedly, as we put distance between us and the events of tonight, another sob tears out of me at that, my entire body curling inward as the finality of it hits.
Won. Done. Over. The words feel unreal, the feeling of letting my guard down foreign after months of bracing for impact.
I press my face deeper into Rhys’ shoulder, breathing him in, grounding myself in the solid truth that we’re free.
The road unfurls ahead of us like a promise I’m afraid to trust, the dark giving way inch by inch to civilization as streetlamps begin to dot the roadside.
Their amber glow streaks past the windows as the trees thin out, fields giving way to fences.
We follow street signs towards the hospital, traffic lights flashing by like I’m re-entering a world I briefly stepped out of.
I watch it all through damp lashes, my cheek pressed to Rhys’ shoulder, feeling his arm tighten around me every time my breathing stutters.
Each passing light takes on more weight, becoming a quiet reminder that we’re moving forward.
That the night didn’t swallow us whole. That despite everything, we’re back together and heading to safety.
After a while, and when I feel able, I lift my head to gaze upon Rhys.
Flashing of ink and concern meet my eyes, his sharp jaw tilting downwards.
He looks wrecked, yet beautiful. The man Arthur tried to break and failed to destroy.
The man who never stopped fighting, even when he thought he had nothing to give.
“I thought I lost you,” I whisper, the words cracking straight through me. “I really thought…I wasn’t going to come back.” Rhys shakes his head, lifting my hand to press a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.
“There is no version of this life where I wouldn’t find you,” he says fiercely. “You’re our everything, Harper. We don’t exist without you.”
“I second that,” Clay leans his head back whilst keeping his eyes on the road, his presence in the cab steady and unwavering. “Although, if your aunt Marg happens to be a super villain who’s raising an army of cats to take over the world, I’d really like to know upfront.”
“What happened to being too soon for jokes?” I laugh weakly through my tears, the sound equal parts hysterical and strained.
Clay shrugs, refocusing on the road ahead, although the corner of his mouth twitches like he can’t quite help himself.
The jesting falls exactly where it needs to, shifting the dread that’s been tightening my ribs.
I press my good hand against my chest, inhaling shakily.
My heart feels too big for my body, swollen with the kind of fullness that only hurts because it’s so raw.
Arriving at the hospital, slightly blinded by the lights, I stay in Rhys’ arms. Clay joins my other side, tightening the blanket around my shoulders to cover my decency.
Nurses rush forward from their station, which is a sign in itself that I must look like hell warmed up.
Despite their insistence, Rhys and Clay refuse to take more than a step aside.
They help me change into a hospital gown, tuck me into a bed and then stand guard on either side of it.
I can’t help but smile, although the tears continue to flow like a gentle stream.
As soon as the nurses are out of sight, Rhys is nudging his way into the bed alongside me, while Clay bends to cradle my upper body in his strong arms. At last, I exhale, feeling the stress evaporate from my bones.
It really is over. I survived. I fought to be back in their arms and encased in their love.
Whatever comes next, whatever healing from this looks like, I know one thing with absolute certainty.
These men will keep me safe, because they’re my home.