Harlow #2
Harlow stared at him. “You trafficked women through Mom's foundation.” Richard's expression went blank, and that hurt worse than denial. “You used shelters to quietly move them.”
“Harlow—” her father warned.
“Women came there because they were running from men like Frank.”
Frank sneered. “You don't understand the business.”
Harlow looked at him. “Kidnapping and selling off women isn’t a business.”
“Fucker,” Princess muttered.
Harlow’s stomach twisted. “You really don't think of those women as people, do you?” she asked.
Frank shrugged. “Everybody has a price,” he said. Her fear disappeared—not all of it, but enough to make her braver.
“You're disgusting,” she insisted.
“And you're na?ve,” Frank said. He stepped closer, and Harlow raised the weapon higher.
“Stop,” Harlow warned.
“You aren't going to shoot me,” he said.
“Don't test her,” Princess warned. Frank smiled. It was the same smile he'd used whenever Harlow objected to something. He was a condescending prick.
“You couldn't pull the trigger if your life depended on it.” He moved fast, and Harlow didn't have time to think.
She backed away. “Stop!” she shouted, but Frank kept coming. Martin shouted his name, and Princess raised her weapon. Frank grabbed Harlow and his hand closed around her wrist. It was the same wrist he'd bruised before the wedding, and pain shot up her arm.
Harlow screamed. “Let go!” He twisted, and the gun nearly slipped from her hand.
Princess lunged toward them, but Martin grabbed her from behind. Chaos exploded around them. Princess cursed as Harlow fought. Frank shoved her against the bar.
“You stupid bitch,” he spat. Something inside her went completely still. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Harlow slammed her knee upward, and Frank grunted. His grip loosened, and she tore herself free. He came at her again, and his hand moved toward his jacket. She saw the black grip of a gun.
“Harlow!” Princess screamed. Frank pulled the gun from his jacket, and Harlow fired her gun, aiming at center mass, just as her father had taught her. The sound was deafening. Frank stopped, and for one strange second, nobody moved.
Frank looked down, and shock crossed his face. His gun slipped from his hand, and he collapsed onto the floor. Harlow stood frozen. Her ears rang, and her arms were locked straight in front of her. The gun felt impossibly heavy. Frank lay on the floor, not moving, as blood spread across his shirt.
“Oh, my God.” Her voice sounded far away.
“Harlow,” Princess shouted. “Harlow, look at me.” She couldn't. She'd shot him. She'd shot Frank.
Richard moved toward him. “Frank!”
Harlow flinched as Princess ripped free of Martin's hold and kicked him in the kneecap. He went down swearing, and Princess immediately pointed her weapon at him. “Stay the fuck down.”
Richard looked from Frank to Harlow and something ugly twisted across his face. “You killed him.”
Harlow's hands started shaking. “He had a gun.”
“You killed him!” her father shouted again.
“He was going to shoot me,” she insisted. Richard stood, and for the first time in Harlow's life, her father looked at her with hatred—pure hatred.
“You ungrateful little bitch.” She recoiled, and Princess stepped closer to her.
“Careful,” Princess warned.
Richard ignored her. “Do you have any idea what you've done?”
Harlow stared at him, and then at Frank before looking back at her father. “Yes.” Her voice shook, but the words didn't. “I survived.”
Sirens sounded outside, and Richard's face changed. Princess smiled coldly. “Oh, that's gonna be a problem for you.”
Harlow could barely process it. “The police are here?”
“Sounds like it,” Princess said. Richard turned toward the back hallway, and Princess raised her gun. “Don't.”
He stopped. “You think police are going to believe her?” he asked.
“Yes,” Princess said.
“You have no idea who I am,” he spat.
“Oh, I know exactly who you are.” Red and blue lights flashed through the broken windows. Harlow's knees started shaking as she lowered the gun slightly.
Princess immediately spoke. “Put it on the floor.”
Harlow looked at her. “What?”
“Cops are coming in. Set it down,” she ordered. Right, of course. Harlow carefully placed the gun on the floor and stepped away. Princess did the same. Martin remained face down near the hallway, and Richard stood beside Frank.
The front door burst open. “Police! Hands where we can see them!” Harlow raised both hands and Princess did the same. Several officers flooded the clubhouse, and for one terrifying moment, everything became noise and Harlow couldn't understand any of it.
Then she heard a familiar voice. “Harlow!” Wade. She turned as he came through the doorway behind two officers. His face was dirty, and there was blood on his shirt, but he was standing and still alive.
“Wade,” she cried.
He started toward her, and an officer blocked him. “Stay back.”
“That's my woman,” Wade shouted. Harlow's breath caught. Normally, she might have argued over the wording, but not tonight. Wade looked ready to kill every person between them. “She's the victim here,” he snapped. “Get the fuck out of my way.”
“Wade.” Butcher appeared behind him. His cut was filthy, and one sleeve had blood on it. He looked exhausted, but he was alive. They were both alive. Harlow's legs nearly gave out, and Wade saw it.
“Harlow,” he shouted.
“I'm okay,” she lied. She felt anything but okay. His gaze moved over her and landed on her wrist. He looked around the room at the broken window, and then he saw Frank, and his expression became deadly.
“What happened?” he asked.
Harlow couldn't answer, so Princess did. “Frank pulled a gun.”
Wade looked at Frank's body and then back at Harlow. “She shot him?”
“She saved her own life,” Princess corrected. Something changed in Wade's face. It wasn’t fear or judgment. It looked more like a combination of pride, fury, and relief all mixed together.
Butcher moved toward one of the officers. “We have everything you need to prove he’s guilty,” he said, nodding to her father.
Richard's head snapped around. “He’s lying!” he shouted.
Butcher looked at him. “We were just at your warehouse, and we found the women.” Richard paled. For the first time that night, Harlow saw fear on her father's face. Butcher smiled, and it wasn't friendly. “Bad night to be you.”
Richard straightened. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You sure?” Butcher asked. He gestured toward the officers, and another man entered in plain clothes with a badge clipped to his belt.
“Richard Kane?” the man said. Her father said nothing, and the detective stepped closer. “You're under arrest.”
Harlow stared at him as Richard looked at her. “This is your fault.” The words should have hurt. Maybe they would tomorrow, but tonight, they didn't.
“No,” she spat. Her father stiffened, and Harlow finally understood—really understood. “You did this.”
The detective pulled Richard's arms behind his back. “You have the right to remain silent—”
Richard fought the cuffs. “You think this is over?”
Butcher laughed. “Pretty fucking sure it is.”
Richard's eyes locked on Harlow. “You destroyed this family.” Harlow looked at Frank lying on the floor. Then at the handcuffs around her father's wrists. And then, she looked at Wade.
“No.” She shook her head at her father. “You did.” The police led Richard away.
Harlow watched him go. She expected grief, and maybe it was coming. Instead, she felt empty.
Wade was finally allowed through, and he crossed the room fast. He stopped directly in front of her and his hands lifted, but then stopped.
Even now, even after everything, he waited.
Harlow broke and threw herself into his arms. Wade caught her, and his arms wrapped around her so tightly she could barely breathe, but she didn't care.
She buried her face against his neck. “You came back.”
His hand cradled the back of her head. “Told you I'd do everything I could.”
Harlow laughed and cried at the same time. “You're covered in blood.”
“Most of it's not mine,” he said.
She pulled back enough to look at him. “You bikers really need to come up with another answer.” Wade smiled, and his gaze moved toward Frank.
His smile disappeared. “You killed him?”
Harlow swallowed. “He pulled a gun.” Wade looked at her. “I tried to make him stop. I told him to stop, but he grabbed me.”
Wade's eyes dropped to her wrist where bruises were already forming, and his jaw clenched. “Baby,” he breathed.
“I shot him,” she whispered. Her eyes burned. “I killed someone.”
Wade touched her face. “You saved yourself.”
The tears finally fell. “He would've killed me.”
“I know,” he breathed.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Because I know men like Frank, and they are all the same,” he said.
Harlow looked toward the body. “I thought I'd feel—”
“What?” he asked.
“I don't know,” she said.
Wade's thumb wiped beneath her eye. “You don't have to feel anything tonight.”
She nodded, and that’s when it hit her. “Did you find Sarah?” Wade went still, and Harlow grabbed his vest. “Did you find her?”
His expression changed. “Yes.”
Harlow stopped breathing. “Is she all right?”
“We found her,” he said.
“Alive?” she asked.
“She’s alive.”
A sob broke from Harlow, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my God.”
Wade pulled her back against him. “She's hurt. They took her to the hospital, and we sent Ripper with her.”
Harlow's heart dropped. “But she’s alive.”
“Yeah,” he breathed.
“And the other women?” she asked.
Wade looked at Butcher and nodded. “We rescued eleven women,” Butcher said.
Harlow stared. “Eleven?”