It would serve him right. Hurting herself right here on this spot where they’d met would send a clear message to him about what he’d done to her. That wouldn’t be symbolic, it would be a harsh slap in the face. But, for that to matter, she had to believe that she meant something to him in the first place.
Dropping her hands to her sides, she took option three off the table. Harlow had never been feeble like that. Not that people who did get to a desperate point were feeble, but she would never let herself be taken down by a man, any man, and certainly not Ryske, not for him.
Rupert would wait. He’d told her that he would. Her ex wasn’t pestering her to come home or asking about repayment yet.
That left door number two.
Ryske thought he could con her and she had to take her hat off to him and admit that he had. Crying about it wouldn’t change the fact that he’d lied and broken her heart. It was her own fault. He’d been open and upfront about what he did from the night they met. Well, his crew had.
They were conmen. Criminals. They lied and cheated and got what they wanted through nefarious means. She was the one who’d ascribed some kind of benevolent qualities to them and made them out to be romantic heroes.
Ryske was not a romantic hero. He’d chosen to give her up rather than sacrifice anything about the life he loved. She’d wanted him to love her. That’s why she’d believed him in the back of that ambulance when his oxygen starved brain made him utter those words to her. He didn’t love her. Never had.
She should’ve known it was impossible for him to love her when he’d been so ready to send her off to Rupert. That was what he’d wanted to happen, even before he was shot.
Life was a bitch and she’d just have to get over it. No one cared if she was hurting or if she’d walked into a brick wall and bumped her head.
Harlow had believed that losing him made her cynical. Turned out that getting him back had transformed her into a full-blown misanthrope.
Well, if life wanted to fuck with her, she’d fuck with it right back.
15
Costello hadn’t asked questions when Harlow had woken him from his bed and requested to crash on his couch. His girlfriend, Isla, had glared at her, but she really didn’t care if the woman wanted to come at her.
Felipe’s had been her other option. She’d quickly dismissed that possibility. Lying to the kid, or putting him in the middle, wouldn’t be fair. Soon she’d be leaving this life, and the neighborhood. Felipe would have to live here after she was gone. He may still see Ryske and his crew around. Harlow didn’t want Felipe to idolize the guys though, so she vowed to make time to speak to him about spending time at the bar.
Martina Soto already had a lot on her plate, but Harlow would speak to her about whether it was a good idea to let Felipe spend time there too. It was her fault that the Soto family were involved with the Floyd’s crew at all. She should have trusted her social work colleagues when they’d told her it wasn’t a safe place to be. Even if it wasn’t a physical danger to them, it would endanger the family in every other way.
Shaking off her thoughts about ridiculous things like emotions, Harlow pushed her shoulders back and tried to remember the last time she’d been out this early in the morning. Being awake and being out were different things. She was often awake early in the morning.
While in mourning, insomnia had plagued her. If she did drift off, it was usually closer to morning than to bedtime. Time had meant nothing to her then; nothing had meant anything to her.
Leaving Costello’s place first thing seemed polite given the stink eye Isla kept throwing her way. Harlow needed the fresh air anyway and had enjoyed the walk back to the hotel to retrieve Noon’s car. She parked it around the back of Floyd’s, leaving it where she’d found it, and taken the Floyd’s keys from the glovebox.
They were the new keys the locksmith had given her. It was possible the locks would need to be changed again if Ryske had busted his way in. Though, the bar had been open the previous night, so he’d probably just strolled through the front door.
The side door was locked when she got there, which suggested her assumption was right on. If Ryske had been left alone, it was unlikely he’d bothered to clean up in the bar. Although she had a fleeting thought about checking, Harlow accepted that it wasn’t her responsibility to deal with the business anymore. Besides, she’d cleared up the mess they’d abandoned when they fled, turnabout was fair play.
Running up the stairs and into the apartment, she kicked off her shoes without caring about how much noise she was making. Ryske was there. As she crossed to go into the kitchen, she could hear him snoring in the corner bed. His bed. The place she’d been sleeping for over a month.
Part of her had hoped that he wouldn’t be there. There was a juvenile corner of her psyche that didn’t want to give up her role as landlady. But, that was nuts. Floyd’s had never been hers in the first place, she had no claim on it.
Putting the car keys and a set of Floyd’s keys on the counter, she prepared to relinquish the reins… in part anyway. Harlow had spare keys for Floyd’s, but wouldn’t confess to that.
It was too early in the day to start drinking, unfortunately, so she settled for switching on the coffee machine. All the time, a voice in her head kept reminding her to keep it together; that she was strong and could do this.
Ryske snorted and turned over.
Her eyes closed.
Now that she was there, listening to him breathe, she was relieved. He was alive. It was sickening that she could actually be happy about that.
Shoving away from the counter, Harlow went into the closet and tied her hair on her head. She’d showered at Costello’s, but hadn’t had a change of clothes. So, while she had time, she threw on a clean outfit and tossed a few other things into the sports bag she’d brought from her old apartment.
Ignoring her criminology books, Harlow took the bag out to the living room, and left it on the dining table. The coffee was almost done. Standing there listening to it drip through, it suddenly occurred to her that Ryske wasn’t snoring anymore.
It had never been a loud sound, but it had been definite.
Pissed off that she actually cared enough to want to check, she gave in to the inevitable and went across the room to grab the curtain and throw it open.
Ryske was there in the bed, lying face down with the sheet over him, his hair was about the only thing visible. Longer than it had been before, it was the same hundred shades of brown that had been soft and thick between her fingers in the times he’d skimmed his mouth down the center of her body—
Closing her eyes, Harlow shook her head, reminding herself that thinking of him like that wasn’t healthy or smart. Their relationship had been a lie, a con. Nothing they’d had was special; Ryske had been in it for the money. That was the only explanation she could come up with.
“Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” he grumbled, his face buried in the bunched pillow.
So, he knew she was there, but thought it was okay to play with her?
Folding her arms, Harlow widened her stance. “Maybe the Big, Bad Wolf,” she said. “You tell me… Huntley.”
A second passed before he rolled onto his back. His arm stayed hooked around the pillow, his hair was a mess and his eyes scrunched. “Been a while since I heard that name.”
She arched a brow. “Found your birth certificate. All of your birth certificates actually. You need a better hiding place.”
He made a grunt of acknowledgement, and raised his arms in a stretch that moved through his whole body. “I don’t even know where they are, none of us do. Floyd hid all that shit. None of us ever found his hidey hole.”
Interesting to know. So, everything under the loose board in the closet had been there since Dover’s dad had stashed it there? Harlow wasn’t going to reveal that juicy secret. “Your middle name is Casanova?”
“Used to tell girls that in high school,” he muttered on a semi-laugh and relaxed his stretch. �
�Got me lots of action.”
“Even if I believed you actually ever showed up to class in high school, I still wouldn’t believe that.”
Ryske didn’t need a name to get girls; he could charm the panties right off them. His ability wasn’t obvious, but she’d bet it was innate and had probably been there since birth.
He made a sound when he opened his mouth wide to yawn and at the same time, he pushed the covers away from his torso.
Wherever he’d been for the last four months, he hadn’t been far from a gym. His physique had always been ripped, but it was a step beyond now. If anything, he was a little bulkier than he had been. Her gaze wandered over the tattoos that she’d once been so fond of, the tattoos she’d last touched in the ambulance when she thought he was…
The new scar on his chest snagged her attention. Once it was there, she couldn’t tear it away. The mark was still healing. The color hadn’t completely faded. The jagged edges made her think of the way the metal must have ripped through his body.
Hypnotized by the sight, a shiver racked her. Harlow didn’t realize she was moving until she sank down on the edge of the bed. That blemish was a symbol of what had been taken from her, and it wasn’t the man, it was the last shred of her innocence.
Slipping his hand under hers, Ryske lifted it off the bed to guide it toward his chest. “Chipped a rib,” he said. “You want to feel?”
She tensed. “I don’t,” she said, trying to take her hand away. “I really don’t, Ryske. Let me go.”
“Little fucking splinter ripped a blood vessel,” he said. “Bale said it was worse than the bullet.”
Harlow tried to stand up but didn’t get far. Ryske pressed his thumb into the center of her hand and his fingers tightened, pulling her back to him. “Don’t.”
“I’m here, baby. It’s over. I’m here.”
Any grief that lingered was threatening her throat. Instead of sharing the overwhelming emotion as upset, she chose to share it in the form of anger. “Over?” she said. “Damn right it is… I ought to beat the shit out of you.”
Easing her hand closer, he tried to be subtle about straightening her arm. “I’m ready to take my punishment… Whatever you want to give I’ll take.” She wasn’t wearing her ring, it was nestled in the sports bag. That worked out for him. If she’d been wearing it, she might be tempted to use it. “Just let me tell you three things first.”
“Three things,” she whispered, watching him lower her hand until the nails on her crooked fingers grazed his tattoo.
“Yeah,” he said and licked his lips before guiding her hand from his tattoo to press his mouth to her wrist star. “This I love.”
Loose, with her mind adrift, her arm stayed limp, which made it easy for him to direct her nails to his ab tattoo. “It was misguided.”
“Still love it. That’s number one.”
“What’s number two?”
“I love you,” he said.
Startled by that declaration, it was enough to make Harlow blink out of her daze and pull away. He didn’t let her go though and chose that moment to sit up.
“Stop it, Ryske.”
He ignored her discomfort and her attempts to free her hand from his grip. “And, number three,” he said, scooping a hand around the side of her head so it was curved beneath her ear. “I will never leave you again… that’s my promise to you.”
Panting, she wasn’t sure what to do first: scream or vomit. Instead, Harlow went for lashing out at the inside of his elbow while twisting her hand to liberate it from his grip. As soon as she was free, she leaped to her feet and strode across the living room.
“I don’t know what con you’re running now or what you hope to gain from this, but it won’t work,” she said, pointing to the keys on the breakfast bar. “Those will get Dover in the side door, and Noon’s car is out back.”
Ryske leaped out of bed and came barreling toward her, completely naked. “Walk out if you want, babydoll. Turn around and every day I’ll be there. I’m not going anywhere.”
He had no shame about standing there in front of her without a scrap on. “Why the hell are you hard?” she asked and spun away to march to the closet.
“Because you’re hot… and I haven’t had sex since the day I met you,” he said. Harlow shrieked when he snatched her high-ponytail and pulled her backwards. “What the hell is that?” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, he smoothed his fingers across the inked curves on the back of her neck. “Is that a nightingale tattoo? Oh, baby, you’re fucking teasing me now.”
Twisting his hand to coil her long ponytail around his hand until her back hit his chest, he crouched to let his lips touch the back of her neck. Harlow kicked back at his shin and dipped to turn so that even though he had her hair, she was facing him.
“Someone’s been taking lessons,” he muttered his approval and tried to bow lower.
“Need I remind you that you’re naked and I have no qualms about grabbing your penis?”
Approval contorted his lips. Her proper language seemed to amuse him. It was nuts, since she’d lost him, the last thing she’d cared about was elocution. Yet, there she was, letting him bring it out in her.
“I have no qualms about you grabbing it either, Trink.”
She didn’t let his misinterpretation discourage her. “You might have qualms when I rip it from your body.”
His amusement didn’t fade. “If I have no dick, how will we have kids? You want babies, right?”
Something he’d said caught up with her. “Wait,” she said and held up a finger. “We met more than six months ago.”
“Yep.”
That he expected her to believe another lie made her sneer. “You’re unbelievable. You expect me to believe you’ve been celibate for six months?”
Swagger bled into his satisfaction. “Well… we did some stuff, baby… need a reminder?” While at first he seemed cocky, his enjoyment quickly became a frown. He leaned back to peer down at her. “How many guys have you had?”
“Too many to count,” she said, backing away.
Though some of the strands pulled, her hair did untangle from his hand as she went. Throwing open the door to the closet, she left Ryske in the doorway to go to his underwear drawer.
“You’re kidding with me, right? Who’ve you fucked?”
Pulling out a pair of boxer-briefs, she turned to toss them at him, but he didn’t even try to catch them. “Why would I tell you that?” she asked. “It’s absolutely none of your business.” She pointed at the underwear on the floor. “Would you put those on?”
Ryske put his hands on his hips, unashamed of his body, and damn she hated that it was as attractive as it was. “You’ve had it in your mouth, babe, between your tits, in you—”
“Yes, I know where it’s been, Ryske,” she said, realizing she was giving him exactly what he wanted by pretending it offended her when actually it was just distracting her from her purpose. “Look, I don’t want to play games with you. I came here this morning to return your keys and to tell you one thing.”
“What’s that, Trink?”
Her one thing came with an explanation. “You needed your buy-in. Ophelia and I paid it. You got your money, we fell for it, clever you.” His frown grew more puzzled than it had been earlier. “All I want is the money back, that’s it. As soon as what I paid in is returned to me, I will be happy for you to take my place in the consortium. It’s all yours, and if Ophelia wants to partner with you, that’s fine with me too.”
“You gave Parratt money,” he muttered like he was figuring it out.
This guy was good. If she wasn’t the subject of his deception, she’d be impressed. “Yes, Ryske, I gave him money. Are you going to pretend you don’t know what happened?”
“When?” Her glare made him loosen. “Humor me, babe. When and how much?”
“I’ll humor you if you stop calling me babe,” she said. “Two weeks ago. Ophelia and I came up with the money fifty-fifty.”
&nbs
p; A sort of prickle went across him and he swallowed. Harlow didn’t want to fall for any of his acts, but he did look obviously uncomfortable. After a slow lick of his lips, he ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head.
“The million.”
“We took your place,” she said and folded her arms to lay her triumphant disapproval on him. “And, yes, I know all about Pothos, and your threesome with Yarker’s wife, and what’s expected of your role… and you can have it all. Nothing’s different. Just get me my money and we’ll call it even.”
His eyes narrowed. She wondered if he’d heard a word she’d said. “Where did you get half a million dollars?” he asked, but was muttering to himself, so she doubted he expected an answer. “Daddy? No… he’d never hand over company money and doesn’t have enough personal faith in you… The engagement ring wouldn’t be enough…”
It hadn’t occurred to her to tell him that she’d covered for him on that front before, but since he’d brought it up, she took the opportunity to fill him in.
“I didn’t tell Ophelia where the engagement ring came from. It was all she had of you and it meant something to her. I didn’t want to be the one to break her heart. Now that you’re back, you can take care of that all on your own.”
He took a step toward her, discarding what she’d just said. “So, where did—” He snapped his fingers. “Marlowe… You got it from your ex?”
“He doesn’t know what it was used for.”
Ryske folded his arms in a grump rather than making a point of being proud or cocky. “Not much of a drug kingpin?”
“Neither are you,” she said. “You were never in it because of the drugs or the sex.”
Intrigued, his head tilted. “No?” She shook her head. “Why was I in it?”
“You owed Parratt,” she said.
A sound from the other room made her hold up her hand to silence him. Her curious frown diverted him from whatever he’d been going to say. “What?”
Go It Alone (A Go Novel Book 2) Page 13
