SEVENTEEN
Gigi
I have tunnel vision, and I’m seeing red.
That lying piece of shit!
I’m going to wring my hands round his neck and enjoy the moment I watch the life drain from his eyes. He had every opportunity to tell me, and he left me clueless every single time.
“Where are you going?” Mia calls out.
I ignore her and rush to my car, stuffing the photo into my back pocket as I get behind the steering wheel and frantically pull onto the street.
The drive to Harry’s house isn’t long, especially not when I put my foot down and exceed the speed limit. When I reach the quiet cul-de-sac the screech of my tyres no doubt draws attention from people residing in the quiet neighbourhood, but I fail to feel empathy. Exiting the car, I storm towards his front door, slamming my fists against the wood and refusing to stop until he allows me entry.
“I’m not messing around, Harry. Let me in!”
No answer.
I continue to bang my fists, passing the point of pain even when my hand starts to numb, pins and needles sparking in my fingers and knuckles.
When the door finally opens, Andy’s standing there with confusion etched across his face. He grips the edge of the door as if to prevent me from coming inside and unleashing my fury, but I shove past him, in search of my victim.
“Where is he?” I demand.
Andy stays silent.
The audacity makes me scoff. I whip round to him, shoving an accusing finger at his chest.
“You’re a liar!” I throw up the photo between the two of us and his face drains like an off switch. If panic were a scent, he’d be reeking of it.
How have I been so oblivious?
“I can explain.”
The moment he raises his hands in front of me like a white flag of surrender I notice his gaze flickering over my shoulder. The action is so subtle it almost goes unnoticed, but when you’re standing toe-to-toe with someone, nothing goes amiss. I follow his gaze and see light creeping in through the slightly ajar door, the one that’s always conveniently locked …
“I wouldn’t do that—”
I charge towards it, ready to throw the door open and confront Harry no matter what’s behind it. But my pursuit is cut short when he exits at the same time.
Without restraint I start to pummel my fists against his chest.
“You’re.” Hit . “A.” Hit . “Fucking.” Hit . “Liar!” Hit .
His body becomes the ideal outlet for my rage, and I unleash every lie, every inch of hurt, through each beating. It only lasts for a moment before he catches my wrists in his large hands.
“I hate you,” I whisper. “You made me feel like an idiot. All this time.”
His nostrils flare and his hands flex round my wrists. “Slap me. Hit me. Fucking stab me in the back – I don’t care. But do not blame yourself for the secrets I’ve kept from you.”
Tears fill my waterline as if he literally backhanded me. A stray tear threatens to spill onto my cheek, and I watch the moment he fights whether or not to watch it fall.
I tear my hands from him. “Explain yourself. No more lies – I mean it.”
He flinches. “I’ll explain everything soon. Just not right now.”
“Are you kidding me—? No. NO. You’re going to tell me everything. I’m not waiting a moment longer.”
“Get in the car. I’ll take you home,” he says, trying to steer me back to the front door.
I shake my head, grinding my feet into the ground. “I’ve got my own car, and I’m not staying at home.”
He steps closer, his height extremely intimidating. “Do you want this conversation or not?”
“I want you to explain yourself. Right now.”
“And I said I’m not doing it here.” His eyes flare. “Get. In. The car, Gigi.”
My chest falls with each heavy exhale, my heart seizing in the middle of it. I don’t want to back down first, but I know the longer I try to stand my ground, the longer I’ll be seeking answers. And I don’t know how much fight I have left in me.
Harry jerks his chin, waiting for me to move.
I storm out of the house past Andy, who stands sheepishly in the hallway. The breeze is unwelcome against my face as it pulls attention to the parts of my cheeks that are stained with tears. Harry’s G-Wagon is unlocked, so I climb inside. I tug the sleeves of my T-shirt over my fists to clear my eyes.
I’m getting answers today even if I hate what I hear.
No man will ever play me for a fool again.
I sit up straighter, lifting my chin, as Harry gets into the seat beside me. I try to act unbothered by his presence, but when the oh-so familiar scent washes over me, I almost find myself reliving the moment it clung to my skin with a deadly kiss .
He starts up the engine and pulls onto the road in silence. His fingers fist the steering wheel, taking the turning for the motorway.
“Where are you taking us?”
His eyes stay focused on the road. “You’ll see.”
I’m convinced this man may kill me …
We’ve been driving for more than thirty minutes in silence, racing down the motorway. I suspect there’s no destination, but then he finally takes a turn down a quiet slip road.
“Harry?” I ask, concerned.
“We’re almost there.”
We drive for a few more minutes before he parks beside a service station on the same lot as an old-fashioned diner. A large woods stands adjacent to us, and that lick of doubt about death suddenly increases dramatically. I’m no criminal, but this would be the ideal place to hide a body.
He unbuckles his seatbelt and says, “Come on. Let’s go.”
I whip my head towards him. “How do I know you won’t kill me?”
He fights a smirk and shuts the door, saying nothing.
I watch from the comfort of the car as he heads towards the opening of the woods, hands pushed deep into his jeans pockets.
Fuck him. I know what he’s doing. My desperation for answers will outweigh any doubt I have, meaning I have no better choice but to follow him.
With a grunt, I unclip my seatbelt and get out of the car, falling into step beside him as he takes a leisurely stroll into the forest like some hitchhiker.
“Why couldn’t we have had this conversation at your house? Or in your car at least?” I ask, hating that I’m breaking the silence first.
“I didn’t think you’d want Andy hearing the moment everything you thought you ever knew was a total lie,” he says. “And as for the car … I couldn’t risk it not being tapped.”
Tapped?
What, like, with a hearing device?
Doubt clawing at my insides, I ask hesitantly, “You were never a photographer, were you?”
He turns to me, a smile taunting his mouth. “What was it that gave me away?”
I’m not sure what gave it away first. It was probably the multiple wounds on his body … or perhaps the burn mark on his neck. But alas, I say, “No photographer owns a Harley and a G-Wagon.”
“Money can’t buy happiness, but it does buy cars, princess.”
We walk deeper into the forest, nothing but the crunch of woodland beneath our feet and the trees far above us swaying in the wind. The peacefulness is welcoming against my mind, calming me momentarily – before Harry’s eyes find mine.
“Jack and I used to come here a lot,” he says. “I know you want to hear everything, and I’ll tell you what you want to know, but you’ll never look at me the same way again.”
I force my face away.
Everything I thought I knew was a total lie … and I’ll never look at him the same way again …? I can’t possibly think of what would lead to such a drastic reaction.
Unless he was involved in Jack’s death. That would be unforgivable.
Harry pauses, and I slow to a stop beside him, turning to him over my shoulder. We’ve stopped beside a picnic bench that’s rotted over time, directly underneath a sunspot leaking light through the canopy of trees .
“Can I selfishly ask for one thing from you first before I tell you?”
“What’s that?”
“A kiss.”
I blink. “Why?”
“I want to kiss you one last time with innocence on your tongue. I want to feel you one last time without hatred polluting your lungs. I want to kiss you unforgivingly and selfishly,” he says. “Because as soon as I tell you my secrets, you’ll never want me to kiss you again.”
My heart races.
Maybe I could entertain the idea. One last time.
I daringly take a few steps towards him, until the tips of my shoes touch the front of his. “That’s very selfish,” I murmur.
Without an ounce of hesitation, he cups the back of my neck in his strong palm and brings me forwards to eradicate the distance between us. My eyes squeeze closed as hot lips crash against mine with urgency. As if I’ve been memorising the feel of them my entire life, my own move against his with perfect precision.
Butterflies swarm in the pit of my stomach in their hundreds, and my fight to control the kiss is overpowered by his dominating tongue. He fists the back of my neck, his fingers weaving into the strands of my hair and tugging it back to arch my head further. It’s hot and breathless, and he kisses with desperation, sharing his apology through his lips.
He kisses like it’ll be our last.
I soak up the feel of him, clutching the front of his T-shirt in my palms and feeling his heart thump against his chest. It’s strong and powerful, and I want to bottle the feeling, but before I let the emotion overwhelm me, I pull back.
His forehead meets mine and he runs his tongue over his lower lip, savouring the taste. My breathing stills, and I force myself to take a step back before I succumb to the feeling. The severity of the situation starts to pool in my chest with the afterglow of his kiss.
My hands jittery with nerves, I walk over to the picnic table, sitting on the edge of the rotting wooden bench and leaning back against my palms. I grip it hard beneath my hands, welcoming the splinters that prick my skin.
“How did he die?” I ask, diving in without restraint.
Keeping my head down, I focus on Harry’s shoes, but he stands incredibly still.
“Are you sure …?”
“Just tell me.”
“He was shot. It was an accident that couldn’t have been helped.”
Breathe.
Just breathe.
“So, what, he was murdered by some freak with a gun? Became a target?”
“No.”
I force my head up. “Then what?”
His jaw tightens, and he diverts his attention elsewhere momentarily as if he’s trying to find the words. “He was caught in a crossfire.”
A crossfire? Like a damn shoot-out? Surely, that’s not possible. How on earth would Harry know—?
My heart stops.
“You were there … weren’t you?”
His throat constricts as he says, “No. I wasn’t there.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I know the people who were involved.”
When I rear my head back, he says, “Call me selfish, but I wasn’t prepared to exploit your innocence by inviting you into this world.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
He walks forwards, forcing my chin up with his thumb and forefinger. He tilts his head, the pain increasing across his features when he says, “The reality was that we were just two boys who sold our souls to provide for our families.”
“Harry …”
“Jack was part of the most notorious crime group in the city.”
A … crime group?
The idea seems ridiculous but completely believable all the same. Not only would that make him a criminal … but it would also mean Harry is one too.
The realisation feels akin to being hit in the chest by a bullet, yet to suffer the pain.
One brooding thought overtakes my common sense. “Are you still part of this … group?”
He pauses for a beat but finally nods. “It’s more of a society. We all partake in organised crime.”
My voice is quiet as I ask, “What kind of crime?”
His hand stays on my chin, fingers stretching to cup my cheek. “Everything you can think of.”
“Everything?” My voice cracks.
“To a limit. We aren’t involved in the skin trade or anything like that. We have some morals through the madness.”
I don’t even realise my jaw has dropped until Harry prompts it closed with a quick tilt of my chin. I shake my head, struggling to make sense of it all.
He pleads, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Why would you want to do all that?”
He clears his throat audibly. “We all have our reasons for joining, but Jack and I were family-orientated more than anything.”
I try to ignore the sting in my chest.
“I had to pay a mortgage. I had Greg to look after. Jack had his reasons, but money never seemed to be the end goal for him.”
The ache in my heart is quickly overtaken by bitterness. “Were you never going to tell me? This only came about because I forced it out of you! ”
“Forgive me for trying to protect you,” he argues. “If I’m being real with you, princess, I would’ve probably fought to keep it a secret for your whole existence. Maybe I should’ve been more careful, but I’m certainly not fucking sorry for keeping this from you.”
I force my gaze away from him, struggling to see the good in his statement.
Why do all the men in my life feel they can make my decisions for me? While Harry’s statement has crumbs of good intentions, I should be the ruler of my own fate.
“Does my family know?” I ask.
He lowers his head and then shakes it.
“Then who covered it up?”
It’s the first time Harry’s calm exterior has cracked. His fingers flex against my cheek, and I pull his hand from my face, encouraging him to speak.
“Our boss.”
I drop his hand like an electric shock and ask, “Why would he do that?”
“To avoid drawing suspicion.”
This man … this stranger covered up his death. My family and I were forced to bury and mourn a body that wasn’t even my brother.
While I should be raging at the realisation, relief overpowers everything. The reality that my suspicions over the past few years were worthwhile sends tears to my eyes.
“How do I know everything you’ve just told me is the truth?”
Harry stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “You don’t. But trust me when I say, I’m the only person alive who will give you the truth.”
“Why have you been so open with me?”
“Something … happened … which meant you were destined to find out sooner or later.”
“What something?”
“I think that’s enough team-building for one day, don’t you? ”
I sigh, feeling as if a weight has been partially lifted off my shoulders … but one part sticks. Something that suggests all of this is the beginning of something far greater.
“Will you tell me about him? About Jack …?”
“One day.”