Chapter 57
Harmony
The doorknob twisted. And every part of me, every instinct sharpened by years of surviving my father’s world, it all snapped tight at once.
Asher didn’t breathe or blink. He shifted his weight like a fighter preparing for the first strike, one hand raised, the other already curling into a fist. The house went silent.
The doorknob twisted again, harder this time, metal grinding in a slow, deliberate turn.
“Harmony,” Asher murmured without looking back, “get behind the island.”
My feet didn’t move. I couldn’t. The moment felt too big, sharp and final.
“Move,” Asher ordered, voice low and steady.
But before I could take a step, Olivier lurched upright on the rug with a strangled gasp. “Harm, run.” His voice cracked into a raw, shredded sound. “HE’S HERE. . .”
The doorknob snapped fully open.
Asher slammed his shoulder into the heavy back door just as it burst inward.
The collision echoed through the house like a gunshot.
Snow exploded across the floor. A dark silhouette filled the doorway: tall, hooded, shoulders too broad to be anyone I knew, like muscle poured into a man’s shape.
He was cold and calculated. He was a man walking into a room he already owned.
Asher braced both feet on the tile, shoving back with everything he had.
The intruder shoved harder. The door bucked violently.
“Asher,” I choked.
“Get back, Harmony!” he barked, his voice sharp enough to cut.
I couldn’t look away from the silhouette fighting him.
The way it pushed against the door with a terrifying patience, like this wasn’t a struggle but a mere formality.
A step in a plan already written. The radio at my hip crackled again, Eric’s voice ripping through static: “Harmony, answer me. Asher, hold the door. I’m on my way.
” His voice fractured; panic threaded through every word.
The man outside didn’t relent. Another shove rattled the hinges. Olivier coughed behind me, choking on his own breath. “Harm, d-don’t let him touch you.”
I backed up toward the kitchen island, heart battering my ribs so violently it hurt.
“Asher, please. . .”
“You stay there,” he ground out. “If he gets through me, you run. You hear me? You run.”
“Eric’s coming,” I whispered.
“He better be,” Asher muttered, pushing back against the force on the door. “Because this guy fights like a damn wall.”
The door cracked open another inch. Snow swirled through the gap like smoke. The gloved hand withdrew and then slammed forward again, this time hooking the doorframe, pulling instead of pushing. Asher’s feet slid across the tile. No. No, no, no.
“Asher!” I screamed.
“I said stay back,” The latch strained. Asher braced harder, boots sliding on the floorboards. He grunted, shoving his full weight into the door.
But the pressure on the other side changed.
The door cracked open an inch. Just enough for a gloved hand to slip through the gap, catching the frame with practiced precision.
Cold air knifed into the room, carrying the sharp scent of metal and winter.
A shape pushed into the sliver of light, a shoulder clad in dark fabric, a glimpse of a tactical mask, the kind worn by people who didn’t want to be seen.
Olivier’s eyes blew wide, terror snapping through him like a live wire.
“HARM, RUN!” he screamed.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Because in the half-second the intruder leaned into the doorway, I saw it, the tilt of his head.
A flicker of attention snapping straight to me.
Like he’d known exactly where I’d be standing.
Asher lunged, slamming the door outward with a burst of strength that shook the frame.
The intruder stumbled back. Just enough.
“Asher, behind you!” I cried.
He twisted. . . But the man was already gone.
Not running. Not fleeing. Gone. Like smoke pulled back into the trees.
Silence swallowed the doorway. Asher stood panting, chest heaving, arms shaking from exertion.
He didn’t move for a full second, as if expecting the man to return, to reach through the gap again and finish what he started.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a breath.
“That wasn’t a scare tactic,” he said. “That was a grab.”
My stomach hollowed. A grab. As in he came to take me? A wave of cold slid through me so deep it felt like my bones froze. Asher locked the door again, then backed away slowly, eyes darting between me, the window, the hallway. His jaw clenched.
“Harmony,” he said tightly, “we’re not waiting for the guys anymore. We need a new plan. Now.”
Olivier whimpered behind us, collapsing fully onto the rug again. The man who came for me. He didn’t just want to take me. He wanted me dead. My blood turned to ice with the realization because he came so close to getting me.
Asher dragged in one sharp breath, then another, like he was wrestling his own adrenaline into place. His gaze kept cutting to the door, the window, the hallway, every possible breach point. His body was vibrating with the kind of alertness only someone who’d been in real fights knew.
“He almost had you,” he said quietly, and that broke something in me.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in the trembling. “He didn’t.”
Asher’s eyes snapped to mine. “Harmony, he knows exactly where you are in the house. He wasn’t guessing. He came straight for that angle. Straight for you.”
A sick, twisting feeling knotted in my gut. Olivier’s ragged breathing hitching behind us didn’t help.
“Where is Eric?” I whispered.
“Close,” Asher said, checking the deadbolt again, even though it was already locked. “But that guy. . .” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “He knew exactly how long he could hold us here before backup reached the door. That’s tactical. That’s training.”
“Asher, what do we do?”
He didn’t look at me right away. He scanned the room as if picking between ten plans at once, jaw tightening on every option he didn’t like.
“We don’t stay still,” he finally said. “We move. We reposition. We get you away from doors and windows, and. . .”
A sudden metallic clink hit the porch outside. We both froze, eyes wide. It wasn’t footsteps but more like a soft intentional sound. Asher’s eyes sliced toward the back door.
“Basement,” he whispered. “Now.”
My heart jumped into my throat. “What if. . .”
“We don’t guess,” he snapped softly, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the hallway. “We move, Harmony. Go.”
I stumbled after him, my body buzzing with fear so sharp I felt it in my teeth.
Olivier whimpered again, lifting his head weakly. “Don’t leave me.”
Asher stopped dead.
He looked at Olivier. Then at me. Then at the door again… where quiet steps that were too controlled to be wind or snow shifted across the porch. He exhaled once, steady and deadly calm.
“Okay,” Asher murmured. “Change of plan.”
He moved so fast I barely tracked it, dragging the heavy kitchen island stool in front of Olivier, shoving it against his shoulder to keep him from rolling.
“Harmony,” he said, turning back to me, voice low but sure, “you’re not leaving him.”
The world tilted. “What?”
“You heard me. You’re safer in open space with me than in a basement stairwell with one exit.” His gaze snapped back to the doorway. “He wants you. He’ll go where you go.”
His jaw flexed. He stepped in front of me, shoulders squared, every inch of his body coiled like a spring. “He’s not getting through me.”
A sharp crack hit the back window. Not breaking it but more like testing it. My breath caught in my throat.
Another sound came, this time it was closer. The porch boards creaked under deliberate weight. Asher lifted one hand, a signal I should be still. I was barely breathing.
“HARMONY! ASHER! GET BACK!” Eric’s voice tore through the radio like a detonator.
Asher grabbed my elbow and yanked me down behind the counter a split second before the back window shattered.
Glass sprayed across the floor in a glittering arc.
I screamed and covered my head as the masked figure hit the ground in a low, controlled crouch like he’d trained for this exact kind of entry.
No hesitation. No confusion. He knew the layout, the angles. He was coming for me.
“Asher!” I choked.
Asher was already moving. He launched himself at the intruder with a force that cracked through the kitchen like thunder. Their bodies collided, the sound sickening and violent, all flesh, bone, and impact. They crashed into the cabinets, rattling dishes, sending a bowl shattering across the tiles.
“Run, Harmony!” Asher barked, shoving the intruder’s shoulder down to pin him.
But the man moved like liquid steel. He rolled his weight, flipped Asher halfway, and rose fast, landing a brutal elbow to Asher’s ribs. The grunt Asher let out wasn’t normal. It was pain.
“No! No, Asher!” I cried, scrambling backward.
The intruder didn’t look at Asher. He looked right at me. Through his mask his attention locked. A jolt of cold terror ripped through my chest. Olivier pushed up weakly on one elbow, voice a cracked whisper, “Harm… don’t let him touch you—don’t—”
“Asher, get up!” I screamed. Asher did. Barely.
He surged forward again, slamming into the man’s side, grappling for control. They crashed into the island, knocking a cutting board to the floor, sending utensils scattering.
“For fuck’s sake, Harmony, MOVE!” Asher roared.
I stumbled backward, feet slipping on broken glass. My hands shook so hard I couldn’t find my balance. The intruder twisted, breaking Asher’s grip with a leverage move I’d only ever seen in videos of trained operatives. His gloved hand shot out not for Asher. But for me.
He reached and I froze like I was paralyzed in a nightmare where your body won’t listen, won’t move, won’t. . .
“Asher!” I gasped.
Asher slammed his forearm into the man’s throat, cutting off his reach. They spun, Asher dragging him away from me, wrestling for control, knocking into the back counter hard enough to rattle the spice rack.
“Harmony, go!” he yelled again, voice breaking with strain. I didn’t get the chance.
Because a deafening crash split the house open behind us, “Police, don’t move.
” It was Pierre’s voice followed by Becket’s footsteps, and finally Eric barreling into the room like a force of nature.
The intruder jerked his head toward the sound.
But it was all Asher needed. He drove a fist into the man’s side causing the intruder to stagger back.
Only for a heartbeat. Only for a breath.
But enough for Becket to lunge and for Pierre to raise his weapon.
And Eric. . .he didn’t stop at the threshold. He went straight for me.
“Harmony!” he shouted, sliding on the glass as he reached me, hands gripping my arms, chest heaving. His eyes scanned me in half a second, checking for blood, injury, anything. “Are you hurt? Sunshine, did he touch you?”
I shook my head, but no sound came out.
Behind him, the intruder vaulted sideways, avoiding Pierre’s line of fire with inhuman precision. He hit the ground, rolled, and made for the broken window.
“Asher, grab him!” Becket yelled.
But Asher was on his knees, coughing, one arm wrapped around his ribs.
“Dammit,” he choked. “He’s fast.”
Eric turned just in time to see the masked man disappear through the frame, out into the blinding white of the orchard.
Becket bolted after him and Pierre followed, but this time Eric stayed by my side. I gripped the front of his jacket like a lifeline, like if I let go, my whole body would fall apart.
Eric’s arms wrapped around me instantly, fiercely, pulling me into the safety of him: his warmth, his strength, the unshakable steadiness that had carried me this far.
“We don’t know who he is and what he wants, but he’s here for you,” he murmured into my hair. “He’ll never reach you. I’ve got you, Sunshine.”
My whole body trembled. Because he was right. The intruder didn’t come to scare us. He came to take me. To finish something Olivier had tried to warn me about.
And as Eric held me, his heart pounding against mine, one horrifying truth settled in my chest like lead. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.