The vision was like a movie… The gurney pulled out and bundled into the back of the ambulance while the doctor called out orders laypeople wouldn’t understand. Then just as he was about to close the doors, she would’ve dashed out, barefoot and covered in her love’s blood. With pleading in her desperate gaze, at the back of the ambulance, she’d begged Bale for the admittance that he granted her.
Funny thing was, Harlow didn’t remember getting in the back of the ambulance. What she did remember was Ryske’s eyes. The way he hadn’t wanted to blink and couldn’t take his attention from her. The memory of how they used to lock onto each other was still imprinted in her mind.
Harlow didn’t remember hearing sirens or the speed they must have used to get to the hospital. But she could remember the tug of elastic in her hair when Ryske had pulled the oxygen mask from his mouth to whisper those final words to her.
Swiping the tears from each of her cheeks, Harlow sucked a breath in through her nose and hitched her chin higher. “Carpe noctem,” she whispered, thinking of the bracelet on her wrist.
It was dark, so she guessed this was a moment she was supposed to seize. There was still time to chicken out. Calling Clyde was an option. At a push, Bale would be too, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for him yet.
Coming to Floyd’s was difficult. Facing her loss wasn’t meant to be easy, not when she had lost someone who meant so much to her. Still, there was always something to be grateful for. At least if she went in there and lost her shit, no one would be around to see her in a horrific state.
Talking to Bale was going to be near impossible. He’d been there when Ryske had slipped away. The doctor knew everything and would expect her to have questions, except she wasn’t sure she wanted specifics or that she had the strength to even ask. Could she listen to him talk in technical terms about Ryske’s heart, which had belonged to her, stopping? Was it her fault? Did she not love him enough? Not have enough faith in what was between them to force the organ to power through?
Swallowing hard, Harlow couldn’t let herself throw up again. Even though she desperately wanted to turn and flee, she could almost feel Ryske’s hands on her back pushing her forward.
His words from the night they’d met echoed in her mind. “You can handle Floyd’s.”
Ryske had been right. Harlow was no coward. That was Hagan’s specialty.
Gritting her teeth, she checked the intersection and strode forward. No damn way was she backing out of this now. No fucking way.
Clyde was right. There were boards nailed across all the windows. The main door on the corner was boarded up too though there was a cut out for a chain that was padlocked in place to keep the door closed.
Good thing Harlow had never intended to go in that way.
Walking up the street alongside the building, she went into the rear alley, noting that there was a car parked parallel to the back of the structure, under the den window. Noon’s car. Ignoring the increase of her pulse rate, Harlow didn’t slow down and went to the end, swinging a left to go into the dead-end alleyway where there was another entrance to Floyd’s.
At the side door she’d first used with Ryske, Harlow noticed that her fingers were shaking. Planks and a wooden board were covering the door. This was it. Breaking the law didn’t bother her. This was liberation for her locked up heart. Until she could avenge her love, she could never hold her head high. But it was the prospect of ripping her heart open again and exposing the raw wound to torture that made her apprehensive.
Floyd’s was ground zero. Everything Ryske had known growing up, his safety, his sanctuary, it was there. She and Ryske had first kissed in the den. First enjoyed each other in the apartment. They’d shared laughter here, she’d shed tears, screamed in anger and in ecstasy. As if that wasn’t enough, her love, her Crash had received his fatal wound in this place.
Facing it all head on was going to be a test of her resolve. But she was ready for it. She had to be.
Not letting herself linger anymore, Harlow raised the crowbar and began to work out the nails.
Four… no, three of the crew would’ve been responsible for putting up these boards. The guys would’ve made short work of it. She was a woman, alone, trapped in a space that had no escape if anyone found her there.
If the cops discovered her, there would be some awkward explaining to do. There was some solace in the knowledge that the cops didn’t patrol around this neighborhood much. Law enforcement would only find her if someone called, and people around there didn’t call the cops.
At least, they wouldn’t before they’d investigated what was going on themselves. Anyone who’d had a drink in Floyd’s during its final trading days would recognize her. Harlow was the only person on the face of the Earth who’d ever offered table service to Floyd’s patrons.
Another good thing about people in this neighborhood was that they didn’t ask questions. If she said she was good, they should accept that.
Still, any time she heard anyone on the street at the other side of the bricked off end of the alley, she would pause until the sound faded. Floyd’s was a long-standing, respected establishment in this community. The same family had owned it for decades. Harlow hoped that if any passersby heard her banging and swearing at the wood she was prizing from the frame, they’d just guess Dover was returning to the place he’d inherited from his father.
By the time she’d got the nails out of the board and the planks off the door, her fingers were blistered and bleeding. The last thing Harlow cared about was a few cuts or the mess of splintered wood and deformed metal strewn around her.
All that was between her and victory was a padlock, looped through a metal strip. Sliding the crowbar beneath it, she inhaled. This meant something to her. It was more than symbolic. Harlow didn’t know why it was so important to get inside. She did know it had nothing to do with checking if her clothes were still there.
Harlow wanted to be in this space again, she needed to be there.
“Guess this is what it means to go all in,” she said and threw her weight behind the crowbar.
It wasn’t as easy as a simple split. It took a few shots. Hearing the splinter of wood and seeing that the metal strip was coming free from the frame, she tried even harder until it popped free.
After that, the locked door set her another challenge. Determined not to give up, she fought door and frame. Loosening the door, she kept the crowbar between the two pieces of wood and worked until she busted the lock right out.
“Oops,” she said. Swinging the crowbar onto her shoulder like she was carrying a baseball bat from the field she’d just owned, Harlow smiled at her triumph. “Some people are so careless with property security.”
Teasing was easy while she was riding a high. That high plummeted fast when she sauntered into the dark stairway and was struck by that scent she knew.
Her good mood evaporated.
Looking up the stairs in the direction of the private floor, Harlow would find the apartment up there. Downstairs led to the casino, where she’d never been. And straight ahead…
Fixating on the door in front of her, Harlow let the reality of where she was and what she’d done seep in.
Despite her apprehension, something drove her forward. Even in the midst of the fear and grief that circled her, she started to walk. Images from that night began to play in her mind’s-eye. The way she’d drunk and laughed with Clyde, oblivious to how her night would end.
Bale had tried to stop her drinking. She’d refused to let him and had almost fallen during her attempt to free herself from the doctor. Someone had been there to catch her. Someone who would never be there again.
Proceeding into the dark bar, the only illumination came from the artificial light that broke through the cracks above and between the boards over the windows. The thick, short curtains were open over the high, shallow windows. Most nights they were closed. This wasn’t the kind of place that wanted to be accessible to prying eyes.
; Furniture was strewn everywhere. There were dirty glasses and bottles on the tables that remained upright while the others were scattered on the floor. The crew wouldn’t have cared about cleaning up if they were in a hurry. She’d guess they were trying to outrun the cops who would have canvassed the area if word of a shooting had gotten out.
Bale would’ve had to say where he’d been drinking. The ambulance had been called to this location. A weapon was involved. The facts piled up. The cops would’ve known where to look. Chances were, law enforcement wasn’t in a massive hurry to track down the truth, and might not have visited the bar until the following day, giving the guys a chance to clear out.
Harlow didn’t realize how slowly she was moving or where she was heading until her view opened up at the curve of the bar. Drawing in a quiet breath of horror, both of her hands clamped over her mouth at the sight that awaited her.
The dark stain on the floor could only be one thing… his blood.
This was the scene. Left exactly as it had been on that night. That was the spot where he’d fallen.
Someone must have done some clean up because there were no medical supplies strewn around. The clothes that had been cut from Ryske’s body were gone too. Either the crew had cleaned up or the cops had come in to take the items away as evidence.
Her feet kept moving while her soul was begging her to stop, to slow, not to go nearer. Yet, she couldn’t stop. Before she knew it, she was sinking down to her knees, spreading her fingers across the stain.
Operating on instinct, Harlow must have been breathing in and out, must have been existing. But she felt like a shadow, a glimmer of a memory existing out of time. Split from corporeal self, it felt like there were two of her. The one in the present was an observer, hovering, glitched out of the present moment to visit the past.
“You’re going to be okay, Crash,” she whispered, tracing her fingertips over the stain. “You’re going to be okay, baby.”
Guilt gushed through her. She’d told him he would be okay. She’d held his hand and told him that he was going to make it. Ryske would’ve believed her.
He’d once said that feeding her a deceitful line bothered him. That was nothing to how she felt knowing she’d given him false hope that she wasn’t qualified to give.
On the night they’d met, when he’d been bleeding out, she’d told him he was going to be alright. Harlow had been correct that time. Ryske probably assumed that she’d be right again.
Her assertion hadn’t been educated. Harlow hadn’t thought about the wound or what Bale was doing. All she’d known was that she needed him to be with her.
Losing him had been unimaginable.
Yet, there she was.
Sliding down, she lay on the floor, pressing her hand against the stain. His heart had still been hers there. It had still been beating. He’d been with her.
Her sorrow welled up. Harlow couldn’t handle the grief and the guilt at the same time. As seductive as the notion of falling apart was, she recalled the sneer of satisfaction on Hagan’s face the previous night and made herself rise.
Pushing onto her feet, she sucked up the sadness and reminded herself how good it would feel to wipe the floor with Hagan.
Casting just a brief eye over the remnants of her evening with Clyde and Bale that were still spread on the bar, she tried not to think about how close she was to the spot where she’d pushed out of Ryske’s arms for the last time. Maybe if she’d stayed, the bullet would’ve hit her instead of him. She could’ve saved him if…
No.
Shaking her head, she grabbed her wrist, closing her fist around the bracelet that had belonged to her man. “Crash,” she whispered. “I’m going to do this. I am. I will not be a disappointment to you anymore.”
With a quicker pace, she left the bar and passed the restrooms to go through the den and up the spiral stairs to the apartment. She’d come for her possessions, but now that she was there, Harlow realized part of the drive to be in Floyd’s was because she wasn’t done.
Though her stay here with Ryske had been short, this building felt like her home.
Stopping in the kitchen, by the open fridge, her gaze snagged on the curtain in the far corner. Behind that curtain was Ryske’s bed. Just being in this space was bringing back memories; all of them provoked a sense of belonging.
Harlow wanted to be there, she’d been happy there. Even when they were in the midst of a fight, or she wasn’t sure what Ryske wanted, Harlow had been happy in this home.
Floyd’s was her happy place.
Creeping across the room, she didn’t think twice before slipping out of her dress and shoes. She didn’t stop there. Stripping out of her underwear, she pulled the clip from her hair to let it cascade around her nude body down to her elbows. Her locks had grown a couple of inches since she’d last been there, but she liked the length and planned to keep it.
Crawling onto the unmade bed on her knees, she dropped her weight to her hands and closed her eyes when the smell of him hit her. It was like he was there.
She needed more. Craved him.
Unlocking her elbows, she collapsed and landed face first in his pillows. She breathed in deep and out slow.
If she stayed enveloped in the cocoon of their sanctuary, she could make herself believe that he was still with her and they’d never been torn apart.
“Crash,” she whispered, rolling to her side, letting her hand slither up through her cleavage, a spot that Ryske had loved to kiss.
He’d loved her breasts; there was no doubting he was a breast man. Cupping them, kissing them, spoiling them with his attention. Ryske was happiest with his face in her cleavage.
She didn’t spend as much time on her chest as he would’ve. Harlow skimmed her hand up to her throat and squeezed. It wasn’t the same as his touch. Her fingers were still stiff and sore from what she’d done downstairs. But her imagination was running with the moment.
Her fingers curled, trying their best to mimic his strength. “Tighter, baby,” she murmured.
The last time she’d orgasmed was under Ryske’s mouth. Harlow hadn’t wanted to think about sex or anything connected to it at her parents’ house. But, there, it was instinct. Her free hand gravitated to her center and her legs parted as they would if he were with her.
Pleasuring herself while thinking of him felt natural. Ryske was her indulgence and no man would ever be able to consume her body through her mind like he’d been able to. Somehow, he’d always had a way of doing that. It was in the way he touched her and talked to her. Hell, even the way he looked at her, or the way he breathed, turned her on.
She wanted him, wanted to be with him.
Surrounded by his scent in the bed they’d shared, it didn’t take her long to bring herself to climax with her deft fingers. Arching up, Harlow screamed his name and with tears on her cheeks, love and regret in her heart, she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.
6
Showering at Floyd’s without Ryske felt odd. Harlow had no choice but to get over it when she figured out the water was cold. After that lesson, her goal became to get the task done fast. His soap was still there and his toothbrush too, so she could at least go through something that resembled a routine.
When Harlow had lived there, the guys hadn’t let her go into the basement. Once she was dressed, it was her first port of call.
The basement casino was interesting and not nearly as nefarious as she’d imagined it would be. The rectangular space was about half the size of the footprint above. There were waist high tables around the perimeter of the room and fixed tables dotted around the center. On the opposite wall was a makeshift, but stocked, bar. Again, it wasn’t as large as the bar upstairs and it was straight rather than L-shaped, but it would be sufficient to serve the number of tables.
Two doors flanked the bar. One led to the restrooms, the other to the kegs and storage area.
Despite being curious about the basement, it hadn’t been a desire to snoop that
had driven her down there. The fuse box was in the storage room and she needed power. Relief was sweet when she flipped the circuit breaker and the lights flickered on. Next time she showered, she’d have hot water. That in itself was enough to make her smile.
Without wasting too much time, Harlow called a carpenter and a locksmith. While waiting for them, she cleaned out the fridge, turned on the hot water heater, and checked that the internet was still hooked up.
The Floyd’s crew had left in such a hurry they hadn’t turned off the utilities. With everything ticking over, there was no reason not to make this her base of operations.
The tradesmen who showed up were a little confused about why she needed the side door fixed. Rather than tell them she’d busted it open, Harlow gave them a story about getting the place for a steal. They’d bought it and accepted her request to invoice the bar. So, within the hour, she had triple locks and two fresh sets of keys.
The building was secure, which was a good first step. The next involved using the internet to track down an address. Her plan was taking shape. After a little extra research, Harlow was ready for the day.
Pressing a lipstick kiss to the top corner of the mirror, she grabbed Ryske’s sunglasses to prop them on her head.
This was going to be a tough day, but she’d slept better last night than she had in months. With her new purpose, she had a renewed sense of optimism.
Harlow couldn’t go anywhere linked to Ryske without memories nipping and tugging at her like they wanted to tempt her back into the abyss of grief. Since the night she and Ryske had fled Bale’s apartment together, she hadn’t returned. But there she was, going all the way back to the beginning.
Memories weren’t what was making her nervous this time. The prospect of talking to the man in the apartment was doing a fine job of upping her anxiety. Harlow had full faith that he’d accept her. Bale was a doctor and had to be aware that grief did odd things to people. She couldn’t imagine him being mad at her for leaving town… At least that was the hope.
Go It Alone (A Go Novel Book 2) Page 5
