33. Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Three
HARLOW
It’s been more than an hour since I watched him take his last breath, and I haven’t been able to peel myself away from his cold, lifeless body.
Sweeping my bloodied fingers back and forth over the raw flesh around my ankle, I stare emotionlessly at his stiff corpse. Blood has leached from his stomach, stretching across the concrete floor and teasing my bare feet.
I wiggle my toes, the sticky, crimson substance like oil paint coating my pallor skin.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for—I glance over at the tally marks I’ve engraved into the small wooden table beside my cot—too fucking long.
But I acted on impulse, and now I’m left to pick up the pieces of my shattered life.
And just like that, panic sets in, clawing at my throat with its sharp talons as a strained whimper escapes me.
Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
Sparing the rusty piece of steel beside me one final glance, I shove away the imposing thoughts of plunging it into his cold, dead heart one more time and rise on shaky legs.
Dizziness takes hold. It’s followed swiftly by a wave of nausea. Saliva pools in my mouth as my stomach threatens to empty itself.
And then it happens.
I vomit all over my father’s corpse, hot tears rolling down my face as I heave and heave until my ribs feel like they’re exploding from my body.
When I’m finished, I gather every last drop of saliva onto my quivering tongue and spit it onto his gray, lifeless face. It slips down his forehead, blending with the blood framing his skull like a red halo.
“Rot in hell,” I sneer, swiping the remnants of my sickness off my chin with the back of my hand.
With freedom finally in reach, I give myself an internal pep talk and remind myself that time is limited. The clock is ticking.
I need to move. Fast.
Frantic now, I search his pockets for his wallet and keys before stepping over his barrel-like stomach, avoiding slipping in the pool of blood as I put the hell I’ve been living in for the last two years behind me.
If they want me, they’ll have to come find me.
Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Run.
I wake in a startle, my skin slick with sweat and hair plastered to my face. I brush it out of my eyes and fight to slow my racing heart.
A pair of cannon-like arms coil around me, dragging me against a big, hard body.
“Shh, pretty girl. You’re alright.”
Two. One.
Breathe.
I exhale and close my eyes, visions of blood and rusty steel flickering behind my eyelids.
“How often do you have nightmares?” Lynx asks, his nose nuzzled in my hair.
“Often.”
“Did you mention them to Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You can trust her, by the way. She’s a vault. Whatever you tell her, she’ll take to the grave. Not even I can get her to spill a secret. I think she likes knowing things that I don’t. So she’ll happily keep what you tell her private.”
I roll over and face him. It’s still nighttime, so I can’t see much, but I can make out the sleepy look on his face and the faint outline of the tattoos on his chest.
Tracing the lines with my finger, I tell him, “I think I might like to go to your family Thanksgiving this weekend. I’ve never had one before.”
Gazing up at his dark eyes, I catch a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Lily really is persistent, isn’t she?”
I chuckle softly. “Yes, she certainly is. But she’s also nice. And since I’m no longer working at The Devil’s Den, I figure I should make some friends outside of the club.”
“Hmm. I thought you refused to quit that job?”
I shrug. “That was mostly to piss you off. Besides, it’s just a job. I can find something else to do once this is all over. I doubt you’d let me work there in peace anyway.”
That earns me a swat on the ass.
“You don’t need to be a caveman about it, you know.”
“I’ll be a caveman about it all I want. But I’m your caveman.”
I roll my eyes. “Pfft.”
“Come here.”
He stretches his arms out, and I release a dramatic sigh—just to irritate him some more—before inching toward him. When he grabs me and rolls me on top of him, a laugh bubbles out of me.
Tucking my hair behind my ear, Lynx says, “Your laugh … It’s like wind chimes in the spring.”
That makes my heart skip a beat. So does the kiss he plants on the palm of my hand.
“Are you sure you want to quit your job, pretty girl?”
“Oh, now you’re going to give me a choice?”
“You always had a choice, Harlow. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not also a selfish prick who doesn’t want other men ogling, let alone touching, my woman.”
“Your woman, huh. Definitely a caveman.”
“Yes. You’re mine.”
I prop myself up on his chest with my elbows and stare down at him.
“Hmm. I guess you’re not a total toad. So at least there’s that.”
He smiles at me.
Even in the dark, it’s devastatingly beautiful.
I’ll miss it someday when I’m gone.
Two. One.
Breathe.
The next few days sort of blur together. Lynx doesn’t press for more information or ask any more questions about my past. And I show him my appreciation for giving me some time to process things by not taking off running or doing anything irrational.
Like lighting more of his ties on fire.
Things become comfortable, our daily habits meshing well as we fall into an unexpectedly easy routine.
Every morning, Lynx watches me take the medications Lily prescribed to be sure I’m not avoiding treatment.
Then we have coffee, eat breakfast, and brush our teeth together.
During the day, I lounge out on the patio in the autumn sun and bask in the peace and quiet out here while Lynx disappears into his office to work.
Whatever that means.
On Saturday, he shows me the long dresser he’s been working on building in his spare time in his workshop. Once I’m done admiring the beautiful craftsmanship, he bends me over the flat surface, flips my skirt over my hips, and gives me a new respect for fine hardwood.
Then, each evening after the sun is gone, we soak in the hot tub, roll around in the sheets until we’re sweaty and exhausted, and sleep side by side in his bed.
But then Sunday rolls around and my nerves get the best of me and all that sanity I thought I had latched onto vanishes in a poof.
Lynx’s family Thanksgiving is tonight.
And I’m so anxious that even my ass is sweating.
Pacing the bedroom, I wring my hands and talk myself out of faking illness. Right now would be a great time to catch those chicken pox that I never got when I was a kid. Or perhaps some sort of contagious flesh-eating disease.
I’ve never had a boyfriend before—if that’s even what you’d call this—and I’ve certainly never met a man’s family.
It’s just dinner, goddamn it. Turkey and stuffing and all the traditional fixings served around a table with the boss of a contract killer business seated at the head of it.
I swallow around the anxiety tightening my throat.
Lynx’s uncle. The man who ordered Lynx to kill me. No biggy. I’m sure he’s super nice.
Oh god. I need a drink. Except I can’t have alcohol because of the damn drugs I’m taking.
Gah! Get a grip!
A knock at the bedroom door yanks me out of my spiral and in walks Lynx. He’s looking sharp in a pair of black slacks that hug his muscular legs and butt in all the right places and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Around his wrist is a fancy silver watch.
“You’re anxious,” he observes.
“How could you tell?” I squeak out, my voice shrill as I obsessively smooth the fabric of my flowy pink dress down my stomach.
Ugh. I hate this version of myself.
“You’re not exactly an expert at hiding your emotions,” he says with a small smile.
I roll my eyes and turn to face the standing mirror.
Lynx saunters up behind me and drags his knuckles down my arms, sending a flurry of bumps scattering over my skin.
“You look beautiful, Harlow. And everything’s going to be fine.”
Swallowing, I meet his eyes in the mirror.
“I’m not so sure your uncle will agree. After all, you were supposed to kill me under his direct command.”
“He won’t hurt you. You have my word.”
He slides a hand around my waist and splays his palm over my stomach, causing butterflies to explode beneath his touch.
“I have something for you,” he tells me, reaching his other hand around me and opening his palm.
I peer down at it, my mouth popping open as a new wave of nerves crashes through me, obliterating those pesky butterflies in my stomach.
It’s a vibrator. But not just any old vibrator. It’s one of those small egg-shaped ones you insert. The kind with the rubbery tail for easy removal and an app that someone else can connect to.
And, of course, it’s pink.
“No. Absolutely not.” My eyes find his in the mirror. Dark. Daring. And that smirk tugging at his lips … Shit.
The hand on my stomach stiffens, pulling me against him, his hard chest and abs a solid wall of heat behind me.
Dragging the tip of his nose from my shoulder up to my ear, he growls, “You’ll wear it, little killer. And you’ll fucking like it.”
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.
He’s going to make me wear that thing to dinner.
Words have escaped me, my ovaries buzzing with excitement as all my brain cells run around with blowtorches, lighting the rest of my body on fire.
The hand on my stomach moves south, over the curve of my hip. It tugs at the fabric of my dress, the hem slowly sliding up my thighs until my lace panties come into view.
“Eyes on mine, Harlow.”
I exhale roughly, meeting Lynx’s heated gaze in the mirror as he brings the vibrator to my lips and tells me to open my mouth.
I do as I’m told, and he slides the egg onto my tongue.
“Wet it,” he demands. “Good girl.”
The vibrator leaves my mouth with a pop. Then my panties slip to the side and that little pink toy slides through my pussy lips.
“Eyes,” he reminds me.
I dart my gaze north again, just as he gently pushes the vibrator inside me, my breath hitching and stomach clenching at the intrusion.
My knees buckle when he circles my clit with his middle finger, then tugs my panties back into place and plants a soft kiss on my shoulder.
“Take it out before I tell you to, pretty girl, and I’ll order a second one and make you wear one in each of your tight little holes.”
Two. One.
Breathe.
The drive to Lynx’s uncle’s house—a gigantic stone mansion that I don’t even want to think about the value of—is long and uncomfortable. Thankfully, Lynx doesn’t turn the vibrator on while we’re on the road.
But I can practically see the plot unfolding in his wicked brain the entire way there, and I just know I’m going to regret agreeing to this.
He helps me out of his truck like the gentleman he pretends to be, takes my clammy hand in his, and leads me up the front stairs, every step causing the silicone egg to shift and massage a spot inside of me that has no business being touched at a moment like this.
When we’re finally standing in front of a set of large wooden double doors, Lynx flashes me a wink and knocks three times.
All the while, I’m pinching my knees together and trying not to imagine all the ways that this could go terribly wrong.
There are at least a thousand.
“Breathe, pretty girl.”
Damn him and his ability to see straight through me.
The door creaks open, and my heart slams against my ribs, the muscles in my core tightening as all the blood in my body pools in my feet.
Two. One.
Breathe.
I force my lips into a shy smile as a short, older man appears before us, his thinning hair an ashy white and eyes a soft gray. He has to be at least eighty years old. But the twinkle behind his pupils says he’s still sharp as a whip and twice as fast.
“Lynx,” he greets affectionately. “It’s nice to see you, son.” He shifts his focus to me, his eyes darting over me briefly before settling on my face. I bet it’s as red as a tomato right now. “And you must be Harlow,” he says politely, but there’s an edge to his tone.
Irritation that I’m alive and well, no doubt.
He offers me his hand.
Swallowing hard, I accept it and say sweetly, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Archer.”
He cocks a bushy brow.
“You can call me Severo, dear. Considering the situation, I think we can skip the formalities.”
Severo takes my hand and plants a chaste kiss on the top of it.
Because I’m nervous as hell, I snort. Then laugh awkwardly. Completely frazzled, I snap my mouth shut and hold my breath.
Moving his attention to Lynx, Severo stuffs his hands in his too-large slacks and shakes his head, chuckling to himself.
“Christ, son. What have you gotten us into?”
And then he turns on a heel, gesturing for us to follow him inside.
When he’s out of earshot, Lynx leans into me, our shoulders brushing as he murmurs hotly, “I think he likes you.”
And then the vibrator inside me hums to life. And all hopes I had of surviving this night go up in smoke.
Two. One.
Fuck my life.