TWENTY-EIGHT
Gigi
A few weeks pass. Harry and I try to work out where we stand with each other, and it becomes more of a struggle than anticipated. We hit a niche since we were never together, nor did we have enough time to consider if we had feelings for one another. We shared less than forty-eight hours of a lust-filled high before it was thrown back in our faces.
But I understand what I’ve signed up for, and I’m not risking it for anything. Not even Harry. Yet the thought seems to last all of two seconds when I catch his lingering glances or if he stands closer to me than necessary, and then I’m sucked into his addictive bubble all over again. The scent of leather and mint wraps around me and I’m practically putty in his hands. I get the fleeting idea we could still strive to be our own Romeo and Juliet like we imagined and kiss behind closed doors or shag in cleaning closets. Harry doesn’t want that though. I don’t think he’s quite forgiven me since the incident with the steel poker a few months ago.
From the stories I’ve heard, even the thought is too dangerous to consider. Richard’s anger knows no bounds, and the thought of Harry being punished for an incident caused solely by my wrongdoing makes my heart ache. Whatever feelings exist between us, they’re tainted. I don’t love Harry, so my decision is final. And I’ll keep telling myself that whenever my composure threatens to slip.
I have no interest in finding love elsewhere. I’m not sure where Harry stands, but the thought of him with someone else makes me want to hurt a motherfucker … not that I’d ever admit that out loud. What I will admit is that it makes my stomach queasy and my throat swell like I’ve swallowed a frog.
Besides, if I was prepared to breach Richard’s trust for anything, it’d be to contact Mia again. With every phone call that I send to voicemail and each excuse I make, I mentally recite this is for her own benefit. And mine.
God, I miss her.
But my initiation is fast approaching, and that’s possessing most of my thoughts. While the date’s not confirmed, Harry says he’s got an inkling it’s going to happen a lot sooner than we think. He’s been prepping my body physically for the challenges I might face – and not physical in that respect. It’s an unspoken rule between us that sex is out of the question. It’d complicate everything. If resisting him wasn’t hard enough already, with intimacy thrown into the mix we’d struggle to ever keep our hands to ourselves.
Right now, as he leads me through the society’s facilities, sex is the last thing on our minds. It’s like a big campus for adults. Situated on the outskirts of London, the building was originally built as a boarding school, but plans ceased, so what better use than investing in the property as a massive frat house for criminals?
Richard bought the property approximately thirty years ago, building the society from the ground up into what it is today: the most notorious crime group in London. And, most importantly, thriving off endless cash and power. Of course, with that, he’s practically calling for trouble. But in the meantime everyone is striving for success.
We’ve only just started at the main entrance and I’m already overwhelmed, but my skin tingles with anticipation. As we walk down the outstretched hallway and step onto glistening floors that reflect the colours of the stained glass windows, I can’t help but wonder how much this place must have cost. I imagine it was a pretty penny.
Though I’m yet to see it all, there’s everything you could ever think of in here – a food court, apartments in the outbuildings, a library, lounge areas, a gym, and far more. People walk down the halls with smiles on their faces, calling out to Harry with a wave as they pass. They’re like a family here – one I’ve been looking for my whole life – and while I haven’t been accepted yet, this place already feels like home.
Failing is not an option.
Keeping up with Harry’s long strides, I ask, “How much did this place cost the Boss?”
He turns, looking at me as if I just spoke in Parseltongue. “Did I say something?”
“You called him Boss.”
“Isn’t that what we’re supposed to call him?”
Harry smiles, turning his head before I can test whether the emotion is genuine. He’ll never tell you how he’s truly feeling, but he’s yet to master control of the microexpressions that give him away.
His jaw is clenched, and he shrugs. “Hadn’t really thought about it.”
Well, I have. I reckon you’re pushing a hundred million pounds at least for a Grade 2 listed mansion with outbuildings, parkland, botanical gardens, a sweeping driveway leading to a courtyard, and gardens that house some of the most magnificent flowers I’ve ever seen. From the outside alone, parts are beautifully modern while others are breath-takingly classic. As we pass by more rooms, I notice the lounge and the billiard room have been restored to their nineteenth-century heritage.
I’m swooning.
The courtyard follows a designated path that leads to the converted apartments set in old cottages on the north side of the property. While I’m not officially a recruit yet, the Boss told Harry I have a temporary residence here. I left my marketing job and gobbled up the opportunity faster than I could say “yes fucking please”. I’m trying not to put it down to special treatment since he insisted otherwise, but my excitement speaks volumes.
Andy also owns an apartment here, I’ve found out. But Harry has never seen the appeal in living at work. He says he prefers to go back to his own place at the end of a long day and separate himself from the Circle – especially if a heist has gone to shit and he wants some headspace. I hear him, but I can’t understand why. Perhaps I’m in my honeymoon stage, but this place seems faultless.
My motivation isn’t money; it’s freedom. I’ll never have to live with my parents again, and there’s no fear I’ll be putting Jack’s death behind me, because he lived within these walls. And I’ve never felt closer to him.
Everyone has a story. Harry wanted to provide for Greg. Andy wants the materialistic perks. Someone else wants his mother to never have to work another day in her life. But most do it for the luxuries. With my uncertainty and slight distaste for Poppy, I stereotype her as the flashy type. But Harry claims she lives with her father, spending her cash elsewhere. We’ve had a few run-ins but never spoken face-to-face. It’s clear her hatred for us Thomases doesn’t end with my brother.
Harry pushes open a solid oak door, and I crouch beneath his arm before falling into step beside him as we walk down a long hallway. A man of similar age to his, with light blond hair and olive skin, sits perched on the end of a bench, holding his phone in front of his face as he awaits a video call.
“What’s his story?” I whisper, watching as the humble man smiles as someone picks up.
“How are you doing, kiddo? I’ll be home soon,” the man says before a child’s voice comes through the speaker.
“That’s Oliver Lark. One of the soundest people you’ll ever meet. He just wants to provide a legacy for his son,” Harry says, most likely referring to the young boy he was speaking with.
Heat sparks in my chest.
“If anyone is majorly injured then they go to medical. Hopefully, it never comes down to that.” He spares me a glance. “It’s not worth someone going to hospital with a bullet wound as it’ll draw suspicion. The injured head straight here, where they’ll find doctors and surgeons available with the proper necessities. If you need surgery or a leg amputated, you’re in no better hands.”
I blink suddenly to hide my shock. “Medical. Got it.”
Leading us down the corridor, Harry nods his head towards the wing occupied with people in blue scrubs, standing on pristine tile floors that look like they’ve been plucked straight out of a hospital. Someone is wheeled past in a stretcher, and I’m forced to double-take as a nurse whips the privacy curtain closed.
“Scared yet?” Harry asks.
“Nope.”
“It’s not too late to back out.”
I scowl, turning to him. “Not happening.”
His gaze is incredibly captivating even being on the wrong end of it. And my body seems to remember just how easily I react to him. My core tightens with need, my lips parting on a shallow breath at the mere thought of his hands on me. God, what I’d do to have just a moment alone with him without any repercussions.
Noticing my concentration has been knocked, Harry’s eyes drop, focusing on a stray bead of sweat as it falls down my throat. His Adam’s apple bobs and he forces himself to clear his throat, tearing his gaze away. As if he can read my mind, he says, “For fuck’s sake, Gigi …”
My cheeks burn red.
This is going to be so much harder than I thought.
Deciding to change the subject completely, I ask a question that’s been bothering me for a while. “How does all this stuff go unnoticed by the police?”
We reach the end of the hallway and step into the food court. Multiple benches and stools are littered with people on their lunch break. Referring to a table scattered with blueprints, Harry gestures to a man with a buzz cut, tattoos dominating every inch of his skin, who appears to be in his early thirties. “That guy works part-time as a policeman. He’s betraying the bastards right under their noses. Been in the industry for years and feels fucked over by the system, so he braces us for any lines of enquiry that might lead to us.”
I nod, impressed, then Harry points to a man beside him. He has a thick head of brown hair and glasses perched on the end of his nose. “Dan’s the tech whizz, hence why we call him Whizz Tech Dan. He deals with the logistical side of things and is the mastermind behind the heists and wiping all evidence clear. Thanks to him, no one has suspected us for years.”
During my moment of admiration for these men, bright orange hair sways in my peripheral vision. Poppy comes striding over like a woman on a mission.
“Harry,” she says with a flirtatious twinge that causes my muscles to stiffen.
“Poppy,” he throws back.
She barely acknowledge my presence, but her words are harsh and full of bitterness. “You haven’t introduced me to the little baby.”
The statement causes the edges of my vision to darken with rage. I’m not totally sure why I allow Harry to call me baby, but when this woman says it, it makes me want to send my fist into her nose. It’s like she knows the name is patronising. Whether she’s trying to taunt my height or insinuate that I’m not adult enough to be here, it solidifies my hatred for her.
Harry seems to notice how my body coils and my fists clench at the name. Subtly hooking his forefinger around the belt loop of my jeans, he pulls me back, attempting to put space between us.
“It’s strange …” I say, unable to help myself. “The only other Penelope I knew was my family’s pet pig. I guess there are more similarities there than just your name.”
Harry stifles a laugh, hiding the full extent of it by biting his fist.
Shock flies through Poppy as she eyes me with fury, but she manages to recover fast.
“It’s a shame, what happened to your brother.” She steps closer, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “He was always a good shag. He had nothing on Harry – though I imagine you probably know that.”
I see red as she pulls back. “You fucking—”
Harry catches my elbows and pulls me against his chest. A few heads in the room turn to us, witnessing the commotion, but I barely notice them, only imagining the blissful sight of blood coating Poppy’s hairline.
“Fuck off, Poppy, and go bother someone else,” Harry barks.
Tugging me backwards, he leads us out of the room and into the hallway. He releases my arms, and I step back from him instantly as if it burns to be near him.
“I hate her,” I huff.
“She was taunting you, and you fell for it.”
Damn right I fell for it. While I expected the comment about Jack, her bringing up Harry in that manner sparked anger and a protective instinct that I’ve been refusing to admit exists. No matter how intense the emotions feel, no matter how much they try to overwhelm me, I can’t allow them to sabotage my success in the Circle. And I’ll keep telling myself that – no matter how much my body tries to deny it.
“Well, she hit a soft spot.”
“I warned you to stay away from her.”
Ignoring his statement, I ask. “What happened between the two of you?”
Profile strong and rigid, he looks away.
“Harry?” I prompt. “Did you do anything with her? ”
“No.”
“Then why did she say that?”
“Let’s go outside.”
I shake my head. “Just tell me.”
He sighs, tilting his head back against the wall he’s leaning against. “She pushed for things to happen … a few times.”
“For fuck’s sake, Harry.”
Silence stretches between the two of us, and I rub at my temples as if it’ll push away the images running wild in my head. “So nothing ever …?”
His spine snaps straight. “Fuck no.”
“Swear to me.”
Pushing off from the wall, he cups my cheeks in his strong hands, forcing my gaze up into his. With the emotion of how he’s looking at me, he’s screwed all morals for these precious few seconds.
“I swear to you, baby.”
Stroking his thumb across my cheekbone with agonising slowness, his eyes dart down to the movement. I savour the touch through the dangerous game we’re playing until he eventually steps away.
After I finally agree to the invitation to step outside, we reach an oversized patio that occupies the space between the main complex and the outbuildings. Trees line spots in the concrete, and people sit perched on benches.
I welcome the fresh air against my skin. When I tilt my head back to inhale a deep breath, my eyes catch on something way over a hundred feet above my head, and at least a hundred yards in length.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Hanging between two large buildings is a piece of rope. It moves in the wind, but that’s not what caught my gaze. In the very centre of the rope is a crown, almost like a tiara. Someone would have had to risk their life putting that in place .
Harry follows my gaze and chuckles. “Your brother.”
I turn to him. “What?”
“He put it there. Jack, Andy, and a few of the women got drunk on some expensive wine in Richard’s office. He took one of the tiaras from Pixies and hung it up there, claimed he almost lost his life doing it. No one dares step up there to prove otherwise.”
The thought brings a smile to my face. Of course Jack would choose to do something so chaotic.
“Pixies?” I ask.
Turning to me deep in thought, he asks. “Hmm?”
“You said he got the tiara from Pixies.”
“It’s kind of a cross between a burlesque club, a strip club, and a sex club … just without the sex. Some girls have been known to dance there as part of their initiation – their success depends on the magnitude of applause.”
“Do you think I’ll have to?”
His jaw tightens. “It’s not guaranteed. As part of Poppy’s initiation, she was made to do the opening number. She looked a right mess. She was destined to fail until she flashed her tits to the crowd and got a standing ovation.”
I scoff and shake my head. Despite my disdain towards her, I can’t help but mentally applaud her dedication. Atta girl.
Barely having a moment to agonise over whether Harry enjoyed the sight, he says, “We’ll be going there tomorrow night, so make sure to wear something pretty.”
I look up at him with a playful smirk. “I already am pretty.”
“No, baby.” He looks down into my eyes, his fingers flexing like he wants to hold me. “You’re beautiful.”