17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
LYNX
Harlow spends the next couple of days holed up in my bedroom doing god knows what.
Plotting something that’s going to irritate me, I presume.
The only time she comes out is to grab a snack from the kitchen or to ask if anything else has transpired since we got back from her apartment.
And each time she’s wearing something that makes me question every decision I’ve made that got me to this place.
Today, it’s a pair of silk sleep shorts and a plain cotton tank top with no bra.
“I need my phone,” she tells me from the doorway of my office.
Exhausted, I drag my hands down my face and stare at her.
“Why?”
She folds her arms and pops a hip. “Because there’s someone I need to check on.” When I sit there in silence, she elaborates. “It’s just a friend. She’s going through it, and I promised I’d be there if she needed anything.”
“And I assume your phone is at the club in your locker.”
“Yes.”
Releasing a long sigh, I stand from my desk and saunter over to her and tip her chin up with my forefinger. She gazes up at me with tired, bloodshot eyes.
“You’re still not sleeping.”
Her arms flail at her sides. “How could I possibly sleep when my entire life has been flipped upside down?”
“Hmm. We’ll get your phone. And your Jeep if it hasn’t already been towed. But remember, try to run or pull something …”
She rolls her eyes. “I know, I know. I’ll regret it. Don’t worry. I’ll be good.”
She flashes me a smile and skips off to the bedroom to change while I power down my computer and lock it up in a drawer in my desk. When she reappears, she’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a pink cropped T-shirt with “hold on, let me overthink this” embroidered across the front.
I shake my head and mutter a few words under my breath, then lead her out to my truck and drive to The Devil’s Den.
When we pull into the lot around the back of the building and park beside Harlow’s Jeep, the hair on the back of my neck rises, something sinister coiling tight in the pit of my gut.
I scan the empty area for anything out of the ordinary. It’s the middle of the day, so there are only a few other vehicles surrounding the club.
Cutting the engine, I turn to her and say, “Make it quick.”
Two lines form between her brows as she studies my expression. Eventually, she nods and we make our way into the club through the back door.
When we arrive at the dressing room, Harlow disappears behind the steel door and I loiter outside, my guts churning and head on a swivel.
I pull out my phone briefly to text Joey my location and ask him to come to the club ASAP to drive Harlow’s Jeep back to my house.
He responds immediately with a thumbs-up emoji.
Just as I’m considering going into the dressing room to check on Harlow, the door opens and out walks a familiar blonde woman in a lime-green bikini. I recognize her as Sage, the girl that was with Trinity before Rhys took off with her at the gala.
She pauses and peers up at me. “You’re Lynx, right? The guy from the gala.”
I never gave Trinity my name, so that means Harlow must’ve mentioned me. Why that causes my chest to puff with pride is beyond me.
I nod.
“Whatever you did to that prick that hurt Trinity, he deserved it. Just want you to know my lips are sealed. So are hers.”
“I appreciate that. How’s she doing?”
Sage shrugs. “Better every day, I think.”
“Glad to hear.”
And with that, she tips her head and strolls down the hallway toward the lounge, pausing briefly to glance over her shoulder at me and say, “Thank you for saving her.”
And then she’s gone, swallowed whole by the sea of men and other dancers just as Harlow flies out of the dressing room, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a waxy sheen coating her pale face.
Instinctively, I reach for the handgun in the back of my jeans.
“What is it?” I ask, preparing to burst through the door and put a bullet in someone’s head.
“It’s not that,” she reassures, resting a clammy hand on my forearm. I relax a fraction and stare expectantly at her. “Sage said they found Rhys’s body. It’s all over the news. His funeral is this afternoon.”
“I know.”
She huffs out a frustrated breath and begins pacing. “Of course you know. But what do we do?”
I angle my head at her. “Now we go home and wait.”
“Wait for what, Lynx? For the cops to come?” She pulls at her hair. “Oh god. They’re going to link this back to me. I just know it.”
I snatch her hand and pull her close. “There’s no evidence leading back to you. It’ll be fine. You have my word.”
“How can you promise that when his last known location was the gala I attended? People saw us dancing, Lynx. They’ll put the pieces together.”
“Relax, pretty girl. I already took care of it.”
She blinks. “How?”
“I’m very good at what I do. Did you get everything you need from your locker?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Give me the keys to your Jeep.”
“What? Absolutely not. I’m driving it back.”
“No, you’re not. Joey’s coming to get it. He’ll meet us in the parking lot in a few minutes.”
“Joey. Right. Who’s Joey?”
“My assistant.”
Her gaze narrows. “You have an assistant.”
“Yes. A competent one. He’ll drive your Jeep back to my house. We’ll park it in the garage so it’s out of view.”
I turn to lead her back to the rear exit, but she stops me.
“Wait. I need to do one more thing. I’ll be right back.”
She takes off toward the lounge. Grumbling, I follow her closely but hang back when I realize she’s going to the bar to speak to the bartender, a young blond man with dark eyeliner and a concerned look on his face.
Their conversation is brief. He glances at me with pinched brows, looks me up and down, then nods.
Harlow circles around the side of the bar and gives him a hug. Misplaced jealousy once again rears its ugly head. I stamp it down because this is not the time nor place to behave like a caveman.
When she returns to me, she’s more relaxed and the color has returned to her cheeks.
“Who is that?”
“Leo. Let’s go.”
She lifts her chin and struts off as if nothing is wrong.
Fuck. I’m going to need a neck brace for all the psychological whiplash this woman is giving me.
As planned, Joey meets us in the parking lot twenty minutes later. And Harlow, the bold little thing she is, strolls straight up to him and introduces herself as the woman Lynx has been hired to kill. The words are out before I have a chance to stop them.
Joey shoots me a questioning look but doesn’t say a word.
Just smirks and shakes her hand. Then tails us back to my house in Harlow’s bubblegum-pink Jeep and parks it in the garage.
I lock the door and park my truck in front of it just in case Harlow gets it in her head that she’s going to try taking off.
Then I order Joey a ride and send him on his way before heading back to my office to continue doing what I was doing before Harlow demanded I take her to the club to get her cell phone.
I’m not concerned that she’ll call the police for help. It’s clear she’s on the run and the cops are useless to her.
I am, however, curious what she’s doing at this moment.
Flicking the monitors to life in my office, I close the door and take a seat at my desk, kicking my feet up on the wooden surface and leaning back in my chair.
I flip through the images until I locate Harlow in my bedroom, pacing anxiously while chewing on her nails, only pausing every few moments to mutter something under her breath.
I zoom in on her face and watch her closely, wondering what’s going on in that chaotic brain of hers.
When she heads to the ensuite bathroom and closes the door, I flip to the camera there. Normally, I wouldn’t survey a bathroom for obvious reasons. But she’s a flight risk. And I’m not interested in losing any more of my favorite ties to petty arson.
When she goes to the toilet to relieve herself, I glance away until she’s finished. When I look back, she’s sliding open the glass shower door. She reaches in and cranks it all the way to hot. And then she tosses her hair in a messy bun and begins undressing. Slowly. Seductively.
The first to go is her cropped T-shirt. It slips over her head and falls to the floor. She kicks it away with one foot the way she does when she’s on stage, then turns away from the camera, giving me her backside as she reaches around to unclasp her bra.
My mouth goes bone dry as I palm the bulge in the front of my jeans, watching in awe and slight irritation that I’m not the only man who’s seen her do this before. But now she’s in my home and stripping herself bare in my fucking bathroom …
Groaning, I unzip my fly and free my cock, fisting it and giving it a firm tug.
A small bead of cum glistens from the tip.
I swipe it with my thumb and begin stroking my length as the girl on the screen—the woman I’m supposed to snuff the life out of—continues to undress behind a thick curtain of steam.
Tension builds low in my stomach, my balls heavy and aching for release. It’s been too fucking long. And it’s all her goddamn fault. With her bad attitude and smart mouth. Her stubbornness and inability to obey orders, even when they’re in favor of her life.
Through the white haze, I can barely make out her silhouette as she opens the shower door and steps beneath the spray.
I tip my head back and peer at the screen through hooded eyes, stroking my dick as I imagine beads of water pelting off her smooth, tanned skin, my fingers skimming over her curves, cupping her ample tits, fondling that perfect fucking pussy.
It doesn’t take long before I lose my view entirely behind the billowing steam fogging up the camera lens.
Gripping the arm of my chair with one hand, I pump my rock-hard cock with the other.
My stomach clenches. My vision blurs.
“Fuck, Harlow,” I grunt, a sharp hiss escaping through my teeth as I come hard and fast, my breathing ragged and head spinning as warm spurts of cum shoot from my tip and drip down my hand, images of Harlow’s caramel orbs staring up at me as I find the release I so desperately crave.
But all that relief is short-lived. Because just as I’m relaxing back into my chair, a door slams shut and I shoot from my seat just as the security system begins wailing.
“Fuck,” I shout, zipping my pants and racing for the door. Between each round of sirens, I hear an engine roar to life, recognizing the sound immediately as my truck.
Oh, pretty girl. You’re in big trouble now.