When Rivals Lose

by Beck, J. L.

  “I have to go,” I say, not even looking up at Sullivan as I say the words.

  “This isn’t the end, Harlow, it’s merely the beginning.”

  Oh, how I wish that were the truth.

  15

  This isn’t the end, Harlow, it’s merely the beginning. Sullivan’s words haunt me later that night as I lie awake in bed, unable to sleep. Tossing and turning, all I can do is think, my brain refusing to shut off.

  I should be sleeping, getting some rest because tomorrow is going to be a long day, but I can’t stop thinking about what he said. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe it is just the beginning…the question is, the beginning of what? A loveless life as a prisoner?

  No, I can’t just let this happen to me, I need to try and save myself, without endangering the guys. There has to be a way for me to fight back, to get out of this situation. I can’t marry Matt, but I also can’t let my father hurt the men I love. I have to do something… anything. Filled with nervous energy, I don’t even think as I tiptoe from my bed.

  The house is quiet and bathed in complete darkness. My parents should be asleep by now. Which gives me the perfect opportunity to go snooping. If I can just find something, a tiny indication of my father doing shady business, I would have the leverage I need against him. I could force him to let me go, force him to let me be with the Bishops.

  Like a ninja, I move through the house wearing nothing but my pajamas. I head to the most likely place I would find something… my father’s office. When he is at home, he is usually in there, working or maybe just hiding from my mom. I don’t know what he does in there, but he does spend a lot of time locked inside.

  I push the heavy wooden door open, entering the room, I can smell nothing but his spicy cologne. It lingers in the space, leaving me with an uneasy feeling in my gut. Switching on the light the room illuminates with a soft glow, one of the walls is covered in bookshelves, there is a wet bar beneath the huge bay window, and an oversized mahogany desk is centered in the room. My gaze pauses on the bookshelves and then moves back to his desk. I decide to start there first.

  Moving behind the desk, I take a seat on the soft leather chair and start to go through the drawers. The first has nothing but cigars, lighters, and cigar cutters inside. The second holds an assortment of contents, the drawer looks to be like a catch-all. I rummage through it, gagging when I find two condoms and… lube. What the fuck? Shutting the drawer quickly, I swallow down the puke threatening to rise up my throat.

  Reaching for the brass knob on the third drawer, I pull it but find it doesn’t open. It discourages me and gives me hope all at the same time. I might not be able to get in there, but it must have something worthwhile in there. Something that he is hiding.

  I mean, why else would it be locked?

  All I need is one thing, one piece of evidence to use against him.

  Grabbing his heavy letter opener from the top of the desk, I use it to try and pry the drawer open. After a few minutes, I nearly give up, but then I hear it, a crack sounds inside of the drawer, almost like something is breaking.

  Yes! Excitement fills my veins, and I give it one final shove, and the stupid lock comes undone. Thank god! I could cry, I’m so happy.

  The drawer pops open, and I stare down at its contents with confusion. It’s not what I expected to find. Instead of business notes or documents, I find old photos and something that looks like hand-written letters.

  Digging through the contents, my confusion mounts, because I don’t recognize the woman in these pictures. She’s most definitely not my mother, so who is she? I recognize my dad, a younger, carefree looking version of him, standing beside the mysterious woman in the photos, there is something oddly familiar about her. Staring at the image, I try and place her in my mind. Maybe I knew her before I lost my memory, and that’s why she seems familiar?

  When my head starts to hurt, I decide to switch gears and open one of the letters. I scan over the words, my heart pounding in my chest as I do.

  To the love of my life,

  It’s been days since I last saw your face. Every night I fall asleep dreaming of the day you’ll be mine. I know that George thinks that the baby is his, but I know that it’s mine. We belong together, as a family. Please come back to me, my love.

  Love always,

  Lionel

  Air refuses to enter my lungs. There are numerous letters, all very much like the one I just read. Letter after hand-written letter. My hands start to shake, as the confusion intensifies. Placing the letter back down, I push away from the desk. It’s then that a picture out of the pile catches my eye.

  I pick it up, unable to ignore the gut feeling that’s swirling in my stomach. I study the dingy photo intensely. It’s my dad, he must be my age in this picture. The woman from the other picture is in it too, but there is a third person… a man, one that looks just as familiar.

  I’m not sure who he is, but if I had to place him somewhere in my head, I would say he could be a lost Bishop brother. He has Oliver’s chocolate brown eyes, Sullivan’s masculine jaw, and Banks’ mischievous smile. Flipping the picture over, I read three names written in black ink on the back.

  George, Phoebe, and Lionel. George? Then like a missing puzzle piece it clicks.

  George Bishop… The brothers’ dad. The questions seem to stack higher and higher with each new thing I discover. Why would my father keep a picture of him and George? Especially one where they look like friends instead of enemies? While those questions are weighing the biggest one is, who is Phoebe? More confused than ever, I search for more pictures, and more answers but still come up empty. It’s like searching for gold and hoping to find the biggest nugget.

  I find a few more photos with George and my father, some with all three of them but most have the girl named Phoebe in them. All the way at the bottom of the drawer, I find a large picture, it’s the only one that’s in a frame, signifying its importance.

  Again, it’s Phoebe. She is sitting in a rocking chair, cradling a growing baby bump, a bright, joyful smile on her lips. I examine the picture carefully, and my heart stops, my lungs cease to work, and the blood freezes in my veins.

  On her lap is a folded baby blanket with pink embroidered letters on it that reads Harlow.

  I don’t know how long I sit there staring at the picture, letting all of this new information sink in, but it feels like an eternity. I’m shell shocked, desperate for more answers, answers that I know I won’t get unless I go to my father. Anger simmers just below the surface. I don’t know who Phoebe is yet, but I do know she is important to me.

  A distant noise fills the air, soft giggling is what it sounds like. Who is up giggling at this hour? I force myself to look away from the picture. I can make out the sound of approaching footsteps, there are two pairs, one soft, and the other heavier. Jumping from the chair, I shove all the contents from the drawer back inside it. I close it, trying my best to make it look like nothing happened. Hurrying across the room, I flip the light switch off.

  As fast as I can without falling, I use my hands and pat along the bookshelf in the dark until I reach the edge. Just as the door opens, I slip behind the side, flattening myself against the wall as much as I can, hoping and praying that I’m not visible from this position.

  Holding my breath, my lungs burn for air. I expect the overhead light to come on, but instead, a soft click sounds and the lamp on the desk turns on illuminating only half the room with a faint glow of light leaving where I am bathed in darkness.

  It only takes a second for my eyes to adjust, and when I see Shelby and my father together, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stifle the gasp trying to break free.

  “We have to be quiet, if Harlow hears, then we’re both screwed.”

  Shelby smiles, devilishly, “You’re screwed either way.”

  Oh, my god. My father is having an affair with my best friend. The person he was meeting at the hotel was Shelby. I watch horrified as they
kiss, my father lifts her up and places her ass against the desk before pushing up her dress. She didn’t even change; she’s still wearing the same dress that she wore to the rehearsal dinner.

  “Shut up and let me fuck you.” My father growls, and Shelby squeals with excitement.

  My mother, my poor mother. I wonder if she knows. I can feel the bile burning up my throat as I squeeze my eyes shut while they start to screw each other. The sounds they make together make my ears bleed, and I do my best to remain silent through it all.

  The betrayal is like a dull knife cutting through my chest, and I know there is no coming back from this.

  I can’t believe them. That Shelby betrayed me, that my father is having an affair with my best friend. I can’t believe it. Everything I discovered tonight weighs heavily on my shoulders. My father and Shelby. The mysterious letters and photos. It feels like I’m suffocating, drowning in all the lies that seem to surround me.

  I have to find a way out of this mess, out of my father’s life.

  I have to escape. Break free. I did it once before, and I’ll do it again.

  I wait for Shelby and my father to finish.

  “She can never know about this. Keep your mouth shut, and your legs closed or there will be consequences, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Shelby answers softly. In her eyes, I see love for my father, and that makes me sick, so fucking sick. They leave the room a few moments later, and I remain standing, barely holding myself together.

  Time ticks by slowly, and eventually, I pull myself together and escape the room, listening for footsteps, or any noises as I head down the hall and back toward my room. I’ve barely made it five feet when a cloth-covered hand comes out of nowhere and presses against my mouth and nose. A scream catches in my throat, and I struggle helplessly as a thick arm wraps around my middle, pulling me back against a wall of muscle.

  Oh, god, no, this can’t be happening again.

  “Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” a voice whispers in my ear, but I’m too far gone, drifting off into the darkness, to tell if it’s a familiar voice or not.

  To Be Continued…

  Next in this Series, Book Three

  When Rivals Love

  Also by the Authors

  Convict Me (Free Prequel)

  Protect Me

  Keep Me

  Guard Me

  Tame Me

  Remember Me (Only available in Box Set)

  Their Captive

  (A Dark Reverse Harem)

  Three brothers out for revenge, out to avenge one man's wrongdoings.

  He killed everyone we ever loved. He stole the world from us and nearly killed us in the process.

  So we waited, we watched… and then we took his most treasured possession, his princess, his one and only daughter.

  We knew she was innocent in our war, that she didn’t deserve our rage, our violence, but we didn’t care. Nothing would stop us from getting justice for our family.

  Until something changed... and her cries of fear turned into cries of pleasure. Slowly, bringing us, one by one to our knees, making us fall for the enemy. But feelings aside someone had to pay for the damage that had been done, blood had been drawn, people had been killed and Jessa no matter how we felt about her would be the one to suffer.

  Read in Now

  A North Woods University

  (Bully Romance)

  The Bet

  The Dare

  The Secret

  The Vow

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of

  The Secret and The Vow

  Find more works by C. Hallman & J.L. Beck using the links below:

  C. Hallman Books on Amazon

  J.L. Beck Books on Amazon

  www.bleedingheartromance.com

  The Secret

  Emerson

  I hate social gatherings, crowded spaces, places where there is nowhere to escape. It makes the suffocating fear that I live with every day that much thicker. My palms are sweaty against the glass I’m holding that is about to slip out of my hands, but just like the fear, if I clutch onto it any tighter, it might shatter under the pressure. I might shatter under the pressure. This is a normal occurrence though, something that I deal with every time my father drags me to one of these events. No, that’s a lie. This kind of debilitating fear follows me everywhere I go. Fear has been part of my life for so long that I don’t know what it feels like to live without it. It’s a second skin...now.

  The need to escape consumes me and I try to take another step backward, but I’m already as close to the wall as I can get without going through it. My back is pressed against the smooth brick in the corner of the large room filled with some of my father’s biggest clients and business partners. In such a big space, one would think you wouldn’t feel alone, but I’m always alone, in the mental and physical form. Like a statue, I stand watching the people around me, they laugh and talk, mingling, some of them drinking alcohol or eating from the buffet. They do it so casually, like it’s second nature.

  Sometimes I wish I could be part of that, part of the world around me, instead, I choose to seclude myself. I stay on the outside, looking through the window, but never going in. It’s easier that way, then I don’t have to explain myself, or face the cruel looks, or comments.

  Most people here ignore me, knowing better than to make conversation and that’s really what I’m hoping for wherever I go. So when I see this six-foot, brown-haired, broad-chested guy heading right toward me, I wish for the wall to swallow me up. I’m more than shocked and scared.

  I’m actually frozen in place. If I could run, I would, but because I can’t, I just stand there, my feet rooted into the floor as he steps closer.

  What the hell is he doing?

  “Hello beautiful,” he greets, stopping less than a foot away from me. His scent wafts into my nose as I suck in an anxious breath. The unknown boy slurs, his green eyes are just a little more glassy than they should be, leading me to the conclusion that the beer in his hand must not be his first one.

  I crane my neck back and stare up at him in disbelief. Besides him looking a little drunk, he is extremely handsome, his jaw sharp, his cheeks high, an all-American look that reminds me of some of the guys I went to high school with, and from the way he carries himself, he knows it too.

  My lips pressed together in a firm line. Even if I wanted to say something I couldn’t. When he realizes I’m not going to say anything, he continues, “I’m guessing the reason you’re hiding over here in the corner of the room, is because you’re bored like me?” He pauses briefly, tilting his head, amusement glittering in his eyes. An ache starts to form in my chest at the look. He’s so close, his scent surrounding me, suffocating me.

  He licks his pink lips and then asks, “Wanna get out of here?” His gaze briefly lowering and raking over my body. There’s a knot of fear rising in my throat.

  My heart rate picks up and my hands start to shake. “No, thank you,” I say quietly, my voice trembling. Please just go away.

  I look past him, and around the room. People are listening to someone who just started speaking up front, all their backs turned to us. Oh, no. I can feel the fear slithering up my body, threatening to overtake me.

  “Seriously, let’s go…baby. I promise, you won’t regret it,” he coaxes, everything about him screams confident and cocky, I’m sure he is not used to hearing no. Then he lifts a hand, dragging his fingers over my cheekbone and I nearly drop my glass at his touch. Fear and panic spreading up and up, sinking into my muscles and my lungs. I start shaking, my throat closes up and my knees wobble, knocking together. Air refuses to fill my lungs.

  I’m suffocating.

  He’s too close, too interested in me. His large body crowds my personal space and all I can think of is that he wants to hurt me.

  No, that he is going to hurt me.

  “Are you alright?” he suddenly asks, concern apparent in his tone. “You look like you’re about to
pass out. Come on, let’s get some fresh air,” he announces, grabbing my arm and dragging my stiff body toward the back exit. No, no, no!

  I try to dig my heels into the ground and pull my arm out of his grasp, but he’s too strong, and easily overpowers me. This can’t be happening. He practically picks me up and carries me outside the rest of the way. I know I should scream, but nothing makes it past the huge knot in my throat.

  By the time we’re outside in the back alley, I’m experiencing a full-blown panic attack. I can’t speak, can’t breathe, and then my vision starts to blur. I clutch a hand to my chest, trying to swallow it all down, but I can’t. There’s too much. All I can feel is my heart beating out of my chest.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, okay? Please calm down, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The mystery man’s voice sounds close, but somehow far away too, like he’s speaking through a tunnel.

  “Seriously, I’m sorry… fuck… shit, okay, take a deep breath,” he orders, obviously not realizing that’s what I’m trying to do.

  “You need to breathe,” he says again, his voice taking on a much calmer tone.

  I feel his hands on me now, one on my upper arm and one on my lower back. His touch is gentle, not sexual in any way, but I can’t help but be scared of it, nonetheless. My body never reacts to touch well, and his is no different. I want him to stop. I need him to take his hands off of me, but I can’t get the words out.

  Like a fish out of water, I gasp for air, then the whole situation gets even worse. My shaking knees finally give out and my body crumbles to dirty alley ground. I’m waiting for the pain to shoot through me as I land on the unforgiving asphalt, but instead a pair of strong arms encase me.