Go It Alone (A Go Novel Book 2)

by Scarlett Finn

  12

  Parratt had accepted their money at the arranged Saturday meeting in Ophelia’s apartment. His attitude had made it clear that he expected a carnal celebration of their partnership. Ophelia saved them from the chore of getting horizontal by implying they wanted their return before he got his.

  After that necessity was over with, Harlow had returned to her base. Going through the motions each day, in a tense wait for news of what would come next, Floyd’s became her routine.

  Clyde had pestered her for information about her payback plan. To placate him, she’d let slip that Rupert had helped her out, though her friend didn’t know with what.

  Implying that she had Rupert’s blessing was a deception she hadn’t meant to perpetuate… not on purpose. The sentiment had gotten away from her because after discovering that her ex approved, Clyde backed off. That assumption seemed to give him the confidence to stop questioning her about what she was doing.

  Compartmentalizing meant always remembering she couldn’t trust any one person with everything.

  Vengeance was emotionally exhausting.

  Clyde wanted her to embrace the life she was building now that he acknowledged she could handle herself at Floyd’s. Costello was becoming a good friend too. They spent a lot of time training together. Harlow was beginning to really hone her fighting skills… She was no pro, but knew what to do in a pinch.

  The next trick was going to be Jarvis Hagan finding out who his new business partners were. Ophelia had asked Parratt not to reveal that they were involved. He confirmed that Hagan knew there was a new investor, but Parratt hadn’t been drawn on their identity.

  No doubt Hagan was dubious; he’d be an idiot not to be. But, Harlow didn’t care if he drove himself mad speculating, that was sort of half the fun.

  Two weeks after they’d handed over their share of the investment to Parratt, Harlow and Ophelia had to make an appearance at another meeting. This time, it wasn’t in Ophelia’s apartment. The consortium was coming together at the same hotel Hagan had taken her to after keeping her prisoner in his apartment. The same hotel, and the same room.

  It would be in that room that Hagan would get the surprise of his life. He’d find out the truth of who he’d gotten into bed with… so to speak.

  On the phone, before the day of the meeting, Harlow and Ophelia agreed to arrive together and not on time. Making a confident entrance would be crucial in letting the male members of the consortium know the women weren’t intimidated.

  Still, it was a risk. The others would have a chance to settle in, so she and Ophelia wouldn’t know exactly what they were walking into.

  But, it was the decision they’d made, so they had to own it.

  Walking down the almost sterile grey corridor in the bowels of the hotel, Harlow remembered the first time she’d been there, following Ryske’s ass.

  Grazing her fingertips under her bracelet, she touched the star tattooed on her wrist.“ ‘Til we’re dirt in the ground,” she whispered.

  Ophelia stopped at the last door, which had a security panel barring access without a code. “Did you say something?”

  Widening her smile, Harlow tapped the vicious point of her full-finger ring on her chin and smiled. “Nope.”

  Ophelia returned the look. “You look like a badass, you know.”

  It was difficult not to laugh. In her black leather mini-dress with her hair slicked back, Harlow felt like one. She leaned past Ophelia to type in the same code Ryske had used to get them inside while she replied, “I know.”

  The keypad flashed green and, in homage to her love, she turned to Ophelia and winked. Her cohort laughed and threw open the door allowing them to stride in.

  Of the two couches that stood perpendicular to the grand fireplace, Parratt and Yarker were seated on the one that faced the door. The pair had been in the same place the last time Harlow was there. Though, this time, there was no extra woman.

  Hagan was present too, but he wasn’t sitting down. The man was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, a few feet from Parratt and Yarker.

  The moment he saw them, he stopped.

  One corner of her mouth curled in a satisfied smile. Her hip copped a little attitude too. “Hello, Jarvis,” she murmured and winked, making his mouth fall open.

  “What…” he stuttered, looking at his sister then at the men on the couch. Harlow’s focus didn’t waver from him; she wanted to absorb every second of this moment. “What the hell is this… what the hell is she doing here… what the hell happened to you?”

  “Well…” Harlow said, swaying her hips as she moved toward him. “Someone reminded me I have a duty to fulfill.”

  Incredulity and disbelief joined his shock. “That was… weeks ago.”

  “Five to be exact,” she said, raising the point of her ring to the angle of his jaw.

  The moment the silver made contact, Hagan snatched her wrist, clamping her bracelet beneath his grip. The pinch of the metal digging into her skin reminded her that Ryske was with her.

  “Cocky for a dead woman,” Hagan hissed.

  She tsked and shook her head, blinking innocent eyes from him to the couch and back. “Is that any way to talk to your business partner, Jarvis?”

  Throwing her hand from his grip, he spun to face their associates. “You cannot let her be a part of this! I don’t know how she conned you into it, but you don’t know who she is, or why she’s here.”

  Ophelia sank onto the couch opposite Parratt and Yarker’s. In the center of the coffee table that was between the two couches stood a miniature test tube stand. In it were three tiny glass vials with clear rubber stoppers. Each of the three tubes contained a foggy purple liquid.

  “She’s here because she’s my partner,” Ophelia said, smiling at her brother who stammered in response. “Harlow and I decided this deal was too good to pass up.”

  “I can’t believe you would be this ridiculous, Ophelia,” Hagan barked. “You stupid girl. This is a manipulation! She’s using you! This is all revenge! This is about the fucking bastard who—”

  “Do we have to listen to your tantrum?” Ophelia asked, feigning a yawn then turning her hand to check her manicure.

  “She’s right,” Parratt said. “It’s done, Hagan. You can bluster all you like. But, the investment has been made.”

  Yarker opened his hand to the vials on the table. “We have samples.”

  Everyone’s focus settled on the tubes. “What are we supposed to do with them?” Ophelia asked.

  Harlow had a sneaking suspicion of what was expected.

  “Test them,” Yarker said.

  Suspicion confirmed.

  “Did you just proposition my sister?” Hagan barked. “Are you suggesting that you pigs fuck my sister?”

  “No, no… I…”

  Yarker was a wuss at the best of times, and having seen how easily Parratt could be reduced to a gullible hormone, Harlow didn’t expect him to put up much opposition.

  His next suggestion chilled her.

  “Ophelia may keep her virtue,” Parratt said. “We have a professional on the team.”

  As though she was as inanimate as the vials on the table, everyone’s attention swung around to her. The sheer smug satisfaction on Hagan’s face was nausea-inducing. For a moment, he let his gaze trickle down her body and back up, proving how much he was savoring every second of her resentment.

  Full of confidence, he side-stepped and plucked a vial from the stand. “Wonder if he’ll turn in his grave when you climax with me inside you,” Hagan said, holding the sample toward her.

  She batted it out of his hand. “Never,” she spat.

  Yarker squawked and dropped to the floor on his hands and knees, scrambling to find the dose of Pothos she’d just let skitter away.

  “You don’t have a choice, Miss Sweeting,” Hagan said, lunging down to grab another vial. “You’ll open your legs on command.”

  “Hagan!” Parratt called.

  H
agan wasn’t listening. He was intent on his purpose. Grabbing her wrist, he wrestled her into his arms, attempting to kiss her. Try as he might, he couldn’t land his mouth on hers. Harlow turned her head this way and that, fighting to get away.

  Through Ophelia’s screaming and Parratt’s objections, Harlow fought, determined not to let Hagan have her. She couldn’t let him do it. Before giving in or letting Jarvis Hagan have the pleasure of her body, she would let every other man in this building, this city, go first.

  In the struggle, Hagan forced her behind the couch and down onto the table there. Getting between her thighs, he kept her pinned while trying to pull the stopper from the vial with his teeth.

  “No!” she screamed, kicking at him.

  His preoccupation with the Pothos sample gave her a window to free her arm. With as much force as she could muster, Harlow lashed out, stabbing the point of her ring into him. Ironically, the spot she hit wouldn’t be that far from where Ryske had been stabbed above his hip.

  Hagan screamed and the vial dropped from his clutches. He staggered back, looking down at the blood spreading on his shirt. From point to her knuckle where the ring had stopped was only about two inches, so the wound wouldn’t be fatal. But, for a man who’d never been stabbed before, it had to be a shock.

  Crunching up, she couldn’t disguise her disgust and sneered at him. “Now your scars will match,” she hissed.

  Cupping his wound, Hagan looked at the blood on his hand and then up at her.

  In a snap, rage quaked through him. “You bitch!”

  He backhanded her with such force that she tumbled off the table. Harlow was quick to pounce to her feet, but she couldn’t get away. Hagan grabbed her hair and yanked her forward. The rattle of him loosening his belt verified this was no bluff.

  Thrusting her hand up, she went for the throat, but he blocked and swept her hand away. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” she screamed.

  “Not before I fuck you,” Hagan growled, pulling her to the ends of her toes to get right in her face. “And you’re going to fucking love it.”

  “No!”

  In her flailing, she managed to scratch the side of his neck with her ring. Hearing him hiss in pain gave her a shot of satisfaction. His hand left her hair to close over the slice on his neck.

  Before she could get away, he hit her again, sending her down onto the table, which gave Hagan the opportunity to plant an arm on her chest, pinning her down.

  Bending over her, he used his body to hold hers and stole her wrists to slam them down by her head. This time when he got close to her face, she turned her head as far to the side as it would go and closed her eyes.

  He kissed her cheekbone and trailed his lips to her ear. “To the victor go the spoils,” he murmured.

  Maybe it was his sinister laugh that brought home the reality of this instant. Whatever it was, the concept of him being victorious delivered a potent shot of adrenaline. Harlow stopped panicking and made herself focus.

  Only a cool head and Costello’s training would keep her alive. Judging Hagan’s position, Harlow waited for the moment she’d be able to utilize the greatest force. When he was there, Harlow brought her head up fast, head-butting him hard.

  The impact dazed Hagan enough that he loosened his grip.

  Within seconds she was free enough to fold her legs against her body, so she could plant her feet on his chest. Using every ounce of her lower body strength, Harlow propelled him away. Still in a stupor, Hagan stumbled backwards and fell hard to the floor. He sat there blinking, probably trying to figure out how the tables had turned so fast.

  Harlow leaped off the table and grabbed a handful of his hair to tug his head back, exposing the soft vulnerability of his neck. “Enjoy the spoils,” she growled, preparing to strike.

  The point of her ring was primed to meet the center of his throat in a hit that would kill him for sure. She planned to twist and drag, just like Costello had taught her, and rip out Hagan’s throat, then she’d dance on the bastard’s corpse.

  Just at the second she was about to plunge the metal into him, the din behind her was silenced by one voice. “Trinket, stop!”

  13

  No… it… no…

  The only way what she’d heard made sense was if Hagan had triumphed. Harlow guessed he’d won and this was some out of body, something…

  Numb. She was numb. Her fingers must have slipped out of the victor’s hair because the man on his knees in front of her moved. Shuffling forward, he fell against the back of the couch, using it to hold himself high on his knees.

  Her peripheral vision revealed his position. She hadn’t moved. She wouldn’t turn; she couldn’t.

  Eerie silence hung in the air; its intensity made her pulse kick up. Harlow couldn’t do it; she couldn’t bring herself to believe that there was any chance…

  “Oh my God,” Ophelia whispered.

  “But, you’re… you’re dead,” Hagan said.

  Harlow’s eyes closed slowly and a single tear fell. It wasn’t a tear of joy or even one of sorrow. It was a tear of hope; one that wished she was dead and this whole thing was some afterlife experience. The alternative was too disgusting to even contemplate.

  “Well, I ain’t been living.”

  That voice. It was his voice. She couldn’t doubt it. Whether she’d joined him or he her, Harlow was existing in this space with him. But, she couldn’t confront it, couldn’t turn around and look into the face of the betrayal.

  “You’re supposed to be dead,” Hagan said, struggling to climb onto his feet.

  “You can’t always get what you want, Hagan,” he said, part mocking, but also imparting wisdom.

  “Oh my God,” Ophelia said again, her voice a little stronger, and a lot happier. “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  “What the hell is going on?” Parratt asked.

  Harlow knew what was going on. She’d been duped. The lie had been a good one. She’d fallen for it like a naïve idiot.

  Keeping her head dipped while turning, there was no way that she wanted to seek him out. Ophelia was hanging off someone. Her ally’s exuberance at having her fiancé back saved Harlow from looking at him.

  The rabble in the room grew again. People questioned what was going on and how this had happened.

  Harlow went straight to the door and strode out.

  Without slowing down, she walked the length of the service corridor and round to the perpendicular one. “Harlow!”

  The sound of him calling out carried just a fraction of a second before the door closed behind her. All she wanted was to be out of there. If she could have erased herself from the world in that minute, she’d have done it.

  But, that wasn’t possible. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go, she had to think fast.

  “Trinket!” he called again.

  For months, she’d wished to hear that pet name again. Now that she was hearing it, she wished it would just go the hell away.

  Bursting into the hotel ballroom where the guests were enjoying a live music act while consuming late meals, she got her first break of the night. This was a room she knew. There was liquor here.

  Winding through the tables to reach the bar, she slapped down a hand, startling the bartender who was just a couple of feet away.

  “I need two double Jack Daniels and a phone,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Do you have a phone?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, probably wondering why she was dressed in a less refined way than the others in the room.

  Black leather didn’t scream sophistication. The live act was singing lounge music, this wasn’t a rock concert. Silk and cashmere surrounded them and there wasn’t a smoky eye in sight… other than hers.

  People came up at her side. Harlow felt their presence but wouldn’t look at them. Her eyes stayed fixed straight ahead. Murder had been on her mind earlier and she hadn’t vented the impulse. The chance that it would burst out of her was very real.

  “Harlow,” Ophelia sq
uealed. “Look who it is!”

  “I’d really rather not,” she grumbled.

  The bartender came back with her drinks and the phone. After emptying one of the glasses into her throat, she dialed the phone and used it to block out those loitering at her side.

  It rang a few times. “Floyd’s,” Tom answered.

  “Hey, babe, everything good?” she asked, trying to keep her voice as light as she could for the benefit of her friend on the phone, not those next to her.

  “Yeah,” Tom said. “No problems.”

  The bartender passed in front of her; Harlow snapped her fingers at him. “Another double,” she said and threw her second drink into her mouth, swallowing it in one.

  “You okay?” Tom asked.

  “Yeah,” she said and cleared her throat against the sting of liquor. “Anyone… unexpected there?”

  There was a chance that if Ryske was here, the rest of his crew were on their way back home.

  “Uh…” Tom said like maybe she was nuts. “No.” He laughed. “Who you expecting?”

  “I don’t expect unexpected people,” she hissed for the benefit of the people at her side. “I need you to shut it down.”

  “Shut… what?”

  He might think he was shocked, but Harlow had only just learned the true definition of the word. Anything she’d experienced before didn’t even come close. “Shut it down. Clear the place out. Everything. Get rid of it all.”

  “You’re not… you’re not serious. Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m peachy. Can you get it done?”

  “Yeah. Nightingale—”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Don’t ever call me that again… Just get it done.”

  Hanging up on Tom, she began to dial again. The bartender brought her drink and she took a long mouthful. The numbers on the phone were beginning to blur, which she decided was due to the alcohol and nothing else.