It ended up being a tiring few days, but Harlow wasn’t going to let sore muscles and an exhausted mind slow her down. Nothing would slow her down.
Exiting the clean and tidy closet, she paused to scan the apartment. The whole building was cleaner and neater than she’d ever seen it. The sight made her grin and wonder if the guys would recognize their home.
Just as she was about to go downstairs, her phone began to ring on the kitchen counter.
Forgetting her amusement, she ran to pick it up. “Hello?”
“Saturday, my place,” Ophelia said down the line. “Ten PM.”
This was it. The most important part of her plan had kicked up a gear. “Okay.”
“He’s getting on a plane straight after, so we have to kill this, Har.”
Ophelia could be as uncertain as she liked. Harlow didn’t have any doubt that she’d do whatever was necessary to get inside the consortium. “We will,” she said, locking her focus on the opposite wall. “We will… Will Jarvis be—”
“He has a date with a woman who I know will put out on Saturday,” Ophelia said. “We’ll be fine. He won’t drop by unannounced.”
“Good.”
There was a pause. “Harlow? Are we sure about this?”
Having Ophelia onside was crucial. So, as much as it frustrated her to hear Ophelia’s nerves, Harlow chose to be calm and supportive. “A hundred percent,” she said, willing herself to encourage her ally. “As long as we have each other’s backs, we’ll be just fine… Don’t be afraid of him.”
Ophelia blew out a breath. “You’re right.” She laughed. “It’s kind of exciting when you get over the terror, isn’t it?”
Harlow exhaled her own laugh. “It is. Call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“Okay,” Ophelia said. “Come late.”
Pissing Parratt off wouldn’t help their cause. “Late?”
“Ryske always came late… showed he had balls.”
Her mouth opened in silent understanding. The advice was useful. Arriving late would give Parratt the impression she was confident and not so much of a rookie as was the reality. In her job as a social worker, she’d prided herself on being punctual. She never wanted to show disrespect.
Her alliance with Ophelia was paying off. Her newest friend had just reminded her that her new life required a shift in her mindset.
After the women said goodbye and hung up, Harlow thought about how she’d gained a new respect for Ryske. Standing in the kitchen, she considered the man and his arrogance. His confidence and assuredness had pissed her off more than a few times. Now she was learning that he wasn’t just being a jerk for the sake of being a jerk. Ryske had to make himself larger than life, to make himself seem invincible.
Sure, there were probably times when he believed his own hype more than he should, but without that hype, he might not have made it as long as he did.
The second phone on the counter buzzed with a text message, snapping her out of her reverie. Reading it made her smile. Her friend had come to visit.
Harlow ran down the spiral stairs and through the den to the busy bar. The jukebox was playing an upbeat track, which increased her positive mood. As she ran up behind the bar and gave the serving Lowan a squeeze, those she passed raised their glasses to her.
Hurrying around the curve at the corner of the bar, Harlow saw her bewildered friend, who wasn’t far from the spot where Ryske had decked him. Not that he’d appreciate her reminding him of that encounter. For her, it was better to recall that than focus on it being the same spot he’d been in when Ryske was shot.
“Clyde!” she said, slapping her hands onto the bar to boost over it and kiss each of his cheeks.
As soon as she was standing again, he opened his arms. “This is where you’ve been?”
She nodded and grinned. “What do you think?”
“I think this place is still owned by someone and when he comes back, he’s going to be pissed,” Clyde said, slipping onto a stool. Harlow opened a beer for him. “Your customers are scary too, what are you going to do if something happens?”
“Everyone’s behaving so far,” she said, glancing around. “They knew Ryske and…”
“They’re being nice to you.”
“I guess you could say that,” she said. “Most of them were here that night, so… yeah. But, I’m not stupid.” Pointing around the room, she indicated where Tom, Dick, and Larry were positioned. “I have security.”
“They’re working for you? How do you know you can trust them?”
“Two reasons,” she said. “The owner of the bar you just referred to, who can be as pissed as he likes, it won’t phase me, he’s friends with them. That means he trusts them… at least to some degree.”
He lifted his beer. “And, the second reason?”
“I don’t have a choice,” she said, raising her shoulders in a pronounced shrug. “Anyway, stay here, have a drink. I’ll be back.”
Diving across the bar, Clyde grabbed her wrist. “What is that on the back of your neck?”
Tom had noticed Clyde’s sudden move and progressed a few steps closer. Harlow held up her free hand to halt him and smiled as she waved him back. The frown on Tom’s face alone should be enough to reassure Clyde that her security could be trusted.
This was the first time her friend had seen her with her hair up. Proud to show off her tattoo, she turned to give him a better look. “Do you like it?”
“What is it?” Clyde asked, touching it with a fingertip.
He could be forgiven for not knowing specifically what it was. Using miniature curved lines that ended in points, much like Ryske’s tribal tattoos, Harlow had created her own, almost abstract, version of a small bird.
Spinning around, she didn’t hide her satisfaction. “It’s a nightingale,” she said and winked. “Just like me.”
Her friend only frowned. “Isn’t that a symbol of love and death?”
That wasn’t why she’d been given the moniker. To her knowledge, the crew had started to use it because she’d been nursing Ryske when they met her. Except, given how her association with them had turned out, she decided to nod in agreement.
“I’d say so, wouldn’t you? I lost my love to death, didn’t I? Guess the next guy better watch out.”
“Do you think you’re ready for that?” he asked as she moved to leave again.
“For what?”
“Love.”
It could only be that he was making a joke. To be polite, she laughed, though the sound may have come off as more than a little manic. “Clyde, honey, I wasn’t ready for love when Ryske found me… and I don’t ever want to find it again.” Raising one corner of her mouth in a way she hoped Ryske would be proud of, she winked. “But, if you’re asking about sex…”
His jaw falling was a good indication that he was too stunned to pull her back again. Harlow left him to absorb her tease and went to do a round of the room.
The best way to ensure no one would cause any trouble was to show them respect. When she gave it, they returned it. Sitting at each table, she got to know the patrons and let them teach her how to play pool.
Sometimes a hand would wander or one of the guys would move in close. That was when she’d start to talk about Ryske. Even though the man wasn’t there, he was her safety net. If he’d been some faceless boyfriend, out at sea or something, they wouldn’t have been put off. But these guys knew her ex and what had happened to him.
If Ryske had been alive, they’d stay away in case they got a fist to the face or banned from the bar that was a hub for the neighborhood underworld. But, he wasn’t alive. So, for all intents and purposes, she was single.
Reminding them of who she’d been with made the neighborhood guys back off. Either in fear they’d have to deal with a weak—possibly emotional—woman, or because she managed to remind them of their own vulnerability in the dangerous life they chose. Over time, their reticence would change, but she’d deal wi
th that when she had to. There was no point in stressing about something that hadn’t happened yet. Harlow had enough actual problems that she didn’t need to be creating them in advance.
Costello had come in to show his support. Sitting with him gave her a reprieve from being hit on for a while. She’d met him on the street the day she and Felipe had been putting Floyd’s back together. He owned a boxing gym a block over. Since then, she’d been squeezing in time to train with him twice a day and planned to keep on going as much as she could. Strength would help with her plan and the fighting moves he’d been teaching her could come in handy too.
After completing a circuit of Floyd’s, saying hello to everyone who was there, Harlow returned to find Clyde engaged in a debate with Tom. “Aren’t I paying you to do something?” she said, but reached over the bar to touch Tom’s beard.
“Thought this one looked like trouble,” Tom said, accepting the soda she offered.
“Oh, he is,” she said, raising her brows and nodding.
Clyde didn’t seem to catch on that they were just playing with him. “Trouble? I’m not trouble, why would you think that?”
“I remember the first time I saw you,” Tom said, pointing the top of his soda bottle at the floor between their stools. “I think you were underneath her boyfriend who was knocking seven shades of shit out of you.”
Even though that was an exaggeration, Harlow always got a ridiculous thrill to hear anyone talk about Ryske. While listening to Clyde argue with Tom that the fight hadn’t been his fault, and had been kind of one-sided, she cursed herself for not coming back to Floyd’s sooner.
At her parents’ home, she’d locked herself up and wallowed in her grief. But, there, in this place that had become her home, she was among friends. There was a time that she’d feared this bar. Now she considered these people hers. Harlow was connected with them in a way she’d never felt connected to her parents’ friends or the people she’d met in the suburbs.
The folks out there cared about mortgage rates and soccer practice; things that didn’t matter. In this neighborhood, people lived on the edge, making life and death decisions every time they left their apartments or talked to someone.
Coming back to the city had led to many questions cropping up about her life and her future. Most of all, Harlow wondered what Dover would say if he found out she’d been using company accounts and running the casino. She wasn’t afraid of him, or of the other guys.
But she did worry.
In the nights when she lay awake, Harlow still talked aloud to Ryske. These days, instead of voicing her grief and begging him to come back, she talked about the guys. About how worried she was for them, and how if he could, she wanted him to look out for them… wherever they were.
It was something Ryske would be doing anyway, if it was within his power. But, teasing him was fun. Like they’d played in life, she told him to watch over the crew instead of spending so much time drooling over her taking a shower or lying naked in their sheets.
Tom said something that made Clyde squawk and she laughed. As long as her new bouncer was keeping Clyde occupied, her friend wasn’t asking about her plans, and she was grateful for that.
Harlow had to be ready for whatever happened on Friday when she opened the basement for the first time. The underground casino was the least of her concerns. More important was what would happen on Saturday. That was when she’d come face to face with Parratt, a man who believed that she was a hooker and some sort of connected criminal too.
Hagan might disabuse Parratt of the notion that she was a hooker once he found out what she and Ophelia were up to. The second assumption Hagan couldn’t deny. With every day that passed, she was meeting new people, many with dubious careers, most she’d consider friends.
When Harlow came up with the goods, which she’d have to one way or another, then none of the businessmen could doubt her role in the consortium.
Breathing in, she tried to project the confidence of a carefree hostess, but one other worry was looming over her and it wasn’t one that would go away in a hurry.
Where the hell was she going to get half a million dollars?
10
Friday night had been nerve-wracking. They’d agreed not to advertise that technically she was the highest point in the present management chain. Some of their patrons, who were all male, wouldn’t be deterred from bad behavior if they thought they only had to answer to a feeble female. Didn’t matter that she didn’t consider herself feeble, or that Costello had been teaching her how to take care of herself. Anything she could do to keep the peace gave them an advantage.
So, instead of being the boss, Harlow gave discreet orders as needed, and chose to serve behind the basement bar to watch what was going on. Tom stayed upstairs with Lowan, both of them provided security while Martina, Felipe’s mom, poured drinks for her.
Larry had said the casino wasn’t as busy as usual. People were nervous because the place had been closed for so long. Holding an event that went off without any hitches would encourage confidence in other customers who needed to be sure nothing sinister was going on. Business would pick up as word spread.
Ten grand was all the house cleared. Under other circumstances, that would be a lot of money, except Harlow had a bunch of costs to cover that week. Besides that, ten grand was nowhere near the half million that she needed to contribute to the Pothos operation.
Too soon, Friday was over. Saturday brought with it the time for Harlow’s meeting at Ophelia’s apartment with Parratt. Even though it went against her old nature, she bolstered herself with as much attitude as she could muster, channeling Ryske, and deliberately turning up after the designated time.
“Attitude,” Harlow whispered to herself in the elevator on the way up to Ophelia’s place. “Badass. Yeah, I’ve got attitude. Fuck. Fuck. Tits. Ass. Cock. Fuck.”
She’d never been nervous like this. This was life and death nervous. Her life meant little to her, so losing it wasn’t what she feared. Harlow feared letting Ryske down.
Closing her eyes, she wrapped her fingers around her wrist, clinging to the leather and metal that always connected her to him. “God, Crash, I need you to kiss me right now,” she murmured, imagining his lips on hers.
Whenever Ryske kissed her she could forget everything else. He had a way of erasing her worries and her fears. It wasn’t that he made her feel safe; she felt anything but safe in his arms.
In the times she’d surrendered herself to his kiss, she didn’t have to be mad or sad or anything other than his woman. She could just let herself exist in the moment and be in the present with him. Ryske took care of her, not only her sexual needs, but every part of her. It was in the way he touched her. His caress and his kiss told her the lengths he’d go to in order to keep her safe.
Harlow wanted to prove that she’d go to those lengths as well.
In the same moment her eyes opened, the elevator doors did too. Her resolve was back. Ryske was with her; she could feel him.
Glad that she’d been to Ophelia’s before, Harlow retraced her steps. Knowing the layout lessened some of her apprehension. Though a little anxiety was healthy when it was still possible that Ophelia was in cahoots with Hagan. Until she went inside, Harlow wouldn’t know for sure.
Before her fist made contact with the door, she paused. If she was channeling Ryske and being badass—like the heavy makeup and slinky dress were supposed to suggest—Harlow didn’t have to be polite and follow the rules expected of society.
Reaching for the door handle, she swanned into the apartment like she had every right to be there. No one jumped out at her. There was no a-ha or gotcha moment. Hagan wasn’t lying in wait, not that she could see. She kept on going past the centerpiece of fresh flowers and counted only two people on the couch.
Without acknowledging Ophelia and Parratt’s presence, Harlow marched into the living room and strode to the decanter on the other side of the room by the fireplace.
After pourin
g herself a measure of sherry, she took a sip while spinning around to face them. It was nice to see both of them taken aback.
Before lowering her glass, she winked. “What you guys talking about?”
“I… I—”
“Mr. Parratt,” she said, going over to him.
The way he leaped to his feet didn’t remind her of the same intimidating, superior sonofabitch she’d met in the group meeting, though it was definitely him. “You look… beautiful.”
Seemed he liked women who were a little rough around the edges. She could work with that. Ophelia rose too, and took her time processing Harlow’s confident, almost cocky, demeanor.
Harlow peeked at her ally for just a second before turning sultry eyes on Gilbert Parratt. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Parratt?” she purred. If she thought about it for a minute, she’d realize her voice was deeper than normal. Instead, she focused on stretching her saucy smile. “Or is it the prospect of a million dollars and me sharing my wares with you that’s getting you hard, honey?”
He blinked again, shocked, but not offended… at least she didn’t think so. Pushing her shoulders back, her breasts distracted him from her moment of doubt. As soon as he looked at her chest, she ran the point of her full-finger knuckle-joint ring down his cheek.
The silver forefinger piece had been an addition she’d bought at the tattoo parlor next door to the boxing gym. Her gym coach, Costello, had told her it was a good idea to incorporate weapons into her wardrobe if she could. Accessories were a good start.
Sliding the point of her ring under Parratt’s chin, she forced it up to make him meet her eye. “Not those wares, honey. They’re still on hiatus.”
Ophelia put a hand on each of his shoulders and moved in closer at his back. Her ally had the advantage of height and touched the back of their mark’s ear with her lips. “She’s still in mourning.”
Tipping sherry into her mouth, Harlow was pleased to have liquid courage. Drinking gave her a chance to regroup.
Whirling to face the mantelpiece, she left Ophelia simpering over Parratt to go and inspect the shine on the encased diamond.
Go It Alone (A Go Novel Book 2) Page 9
