Chapter 11 #2
The bags all go flying into the air as Harley throws his arms out to break his fall.
I freeze for a second, assuming it’s a rich asshole from Hannaford trying to eke out a revenge beating for a failed fight in the boys’ dorms, and then I see the flash of light hitting the steel blade in the attacker’s hand. This isn’t schoolyard bullshit.
It’s a hit.
It’s like an out-of-body experience, but I feel the moment the shift happens.
Instinctual and instant; everything that makes me ‘Lips Anderson’ retreats back into the farthest reaches of my mind, and leaves behind a cold-blooded killer instead.
It’s like a cork has been popped and the humanity drains away until there’s nothing of the girl left, only the Wolf.
Harley manages to dislodge the guy enough to roll over, and I see firsthand that he can hold his own.
Nothing about this scuffle is practiced or clean but he’s a good brawler; strong, fast, and willing to fight dirty.
The real problem here is that Harley will beat the man senseless, but I don’t need him unconscious; I need him dead.
Letting him live is a sign of weakness, something that will eat away at the carefully constructed image I’ve built as the Wolf, and our lives all depend on that image.
If we let him live, it sends the message that we’re not willing to get our hands dirty, and once that precedence is set, the Jackal will just keep sending guys until eventually one of them kills Harley.
I can’t let that happen.
Decision made, I wait for an opening and when Harley knocks the knife away and grabs him with one hand by the throat, I take my chance.
With every ounce of strength I have and zero hesitation, I ram the blade of my knife through the base of his skull, the quickest and most effective way to kill someone.
Harley’s strong grip gives me just the right resistance to help push the blade through the spinal cord and it’s lights out for the attacker.
He’s dead instantly.
When the guy’s arms drop and he slumps down, Harley’s eyes flare and fix themselves onto my knife.
I shove the limp body off of him before I yank the knife out because the last thing I need is for him to be covered in blood and have some sort of flashback to his dad’s murder.
Harley jumps up and stares down at the guy, then at me.
My hands are steady.
My heartbeat is, too, and I keep my breath controlled as I stare blankly, waiting for him to start screaming, hurling accusations, or for something else to happen. It’s inevitable, I always knew it would come to this, but I stare him down as I wait for the horror of what I did to sink in.
When he takes a step toward me, I move back instinctively.
He looks fucking devastated.
His hand trembles slightly as he holds it out, coaxing me over to him. “It’s okay, babe. Everything is fine, just let me hold you. I just need to know you’re okay.”
I blink.
I blink again.
Nope, still no idea how the fuck he can be worried about me when I’m the one who’s just killed a man. Shouldn’t he be afraid of me? Shouldn’t he be calling Avery and getting the family far, far away from me?
“Babe, please. Please don’t freak out,” he pleads. I think the word ‘please’ eases the trance I’m in and I step into his arms. He holds me to his chest with the sort of ferocity that you can only feel when there’s a leaking corpse at your feet.
He buries his face into my hair and says, “Tell me what you need me to do.”
I think he means emotionally, but I lost the ability to feel anything about this sort of death years ago.
I pull away and shove the guy onto his back with the toe of my boot to get a proper look at him.
Great, I know him. He goes by Whip on the streets in Mounts Bay, fuck knows what his real name is.
He’s a scumbag, constantly hanging around the docks trying to get close to the Jackal’s men.
He thought being a gangster sounded cool.
It clearly hasn’t worked out for him.
I look back at Harley and he’s watching me carefully, his eyes seeming to catalog every breath I’m taking. It’s oddly reassuring.
“Call Avery. Tell her it’s a 911 and ask her if there are any cameras in this alleyway, she needs to get them wiped immediately.”
Harley gives me a curt nod, on point without a word, and as he waits for his cousin to pick up the phone I stare down at Whip’s vacant eyes. It’s weird how quickly the life leaches out of them and leaves behind nothing, even though the eyes themselves haven’t changed.
I shake myself to regain some focus.
Harley murmurs quietly enough that I can make my own call without moving away.
I don’t want to leave him here alone with the body.
He has a rap sheet, a tattoo on his face, and a bad attitude toward authority and, well, anyone outside our family.
If by some cruel twist of fate the cops showed up, he’d get himself shot in a heartbeat without supervision.
“Wolf.” The Boar doesn’t bother with pleasantries, thank fuck. I don’t have it in me to fake it.
“I need a priority cleanup crew.” I rattle off the address and I hear him directing people in the background.
Harley hangs up and makes a series of complicated hand gestures that I assume mean there’s no cameras around.
I make a note to start teaching him and the others military hand signals in our oh-so-plentiful spare time.
“Two minutes away,” the Boar says, and I shift my focus back to him.
“Perfect. Payment?” I say, tone cool and calm. Harley scowls down at the body like he wants to revive the fuck and kill him himself. He’s weirdly protective of my diamonds.
The Boar grunts, “It’s nothing, kid. I have a job for you, a quick in-and-out you can do in an hour. You get it done while you’re down here for the meeting? I’ll take care of this and owe you another.”
I tilt my head in consideration. I guess that’s more than fair. I don’t want to give up a diamond even though I have more than a dozen from him alone. “It’s a pleasure to work with you, Boar,” I say, my tone still flat, and he grunts out a laugh at me.
“See you in the Bay, kid.”
The car ride back is quiet, and Harley won’t let go of my hand for a second.
He’s still clutching it just as hard when he walks me back up to my room, and it’s only when we find everyone waiting there for us that he lets go.
When three sets of eyes land on the two of us, I can only stare back until Harley steps in again, directing me over to the bathroom to get cleaned up.
He waits until I’m in the shower before he tells the others the finer details of what happened.
I’m still struggling with the detached feeling, and no matter how hard I try to slip back into Lips, when I dress and leave the bathroom, I am still the Wolf.
They all look at me like I’m a ticking bomb.
I stare back blankly.
Avery is the one to try to approach me, to take my hand, and when Harley hisses out a warning, she falters for a second. I don’t move back because I trust her and the adrenaline isn’t riding me as hard as it was when Harley first tried to touch me.
Avery sighs and goes to grab a tub of my cherry ice cream out of the freezer, jamming a spoon into it before holding it out to me like a peace offering. I look at it for a second, puzzled, and then take it. The tension in the room eases a little.
She gently guides me over to the couch and tucks a blanket around me.
I’m not cold. I don’t know why she does it, but it’s easier to keep my mouth shut and let her go.
She grabs her own tub of ice cream and settles at my side with her phone out, tucking her arm in mine.
I eat in silence while the guys all move aimlessly around the room.
“I’m fine. It’s not like I haven’t done it countless times before,” I murmur, and Avery nods without looking up from her phone. It’s easier to talk without her eyes on me.
“I know, you’re one of the strongest people I've ever met. This is for me. I need to be sure that you’re okay and being here with you is comforting to me. It’s a part of being a family, Lips,” she explains gently, none of the usual fire in her tone.
I nod and relax back into the chair. I can do this for her. I’m not sure there’s anything I couldn’t do for her.
By the fourth spoonful, my body relaxes. By the tenth, I’m Lips again.
Hours of tense silence later, Ash and Blaise climb into my bed with me. Neither of them give me any space, Blaise’s chest pressing my back into Ash, whose face is buried into the nape of my neck. They both touch me like they need reassurance that I’m still here, whole and unflinching.
Harley takes the couch, because he knows he’s not going to sleep.
He watches the door until dawn.