About twenty minutes after occupying her perch, Ophelia’s door opened. Harlow was out of view of the door itself and stayed still.
A smiling Ophelia stepped into the hall with her brother, offering him two air kisses. Whatever she’d been nervous about before her brother arrived seemed to have been dispelled during the visit.
“Harlow,” Ophelia said, noticing her before Hagan did.
Spinning around, his look of surprise was enough to make Harlow smile and wink at him. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Do you… Are you okay?” Ophelia asked. “Is it Ryske? Does he need me? Is there something wrong with him?”
“No, he’s just peachy,” Harlow said, maintaining her focus on the male Hagan. “Do you mind giving us a minute, Ophe? Your brother and I have something to discuss.”
Giving his sister’s lower back a pat, Hagan nodded, urging Ophelia back into the apartment.
With his sister out of sight, Hagan began to swagger toward her. “You just can’t stay away from me.”
“Seems that way, doesn’t it?” Harlow asked, standing tall. “I think we need to talk.”
His brow arched. “Do we? About what?”
“Oh, so many things,” she said, not shrinking when he came into her personal space.
“Where? When? If this is a setup—”
“Why do you think I’m here alone?” she asked, opening both hands at her sides. “I came wielding nothing.” Except the gun in the purse on her hip, but she wasn’t going to say that. “I want to talk, alone. Get rid of your goons, the security, everything from your place.”
Without hesitation, he agreed with a nod. “Tonight,” he said. “One AM.”
“So late?”
With a fingertip, he touched a strand of hair that hung across her brow. “There’s something romantic about the dead of night… wouldn’t you agree?”
He didn’t give her the opportunity to reply. Instead, he crossed the hallway to call the elevator. Not that it mattered, there was nothing else to say, not now anyway.
Sliding her hand down over her purse, Harlow thought about how easy it would be to dip her hand inside and pull out the weapon Ryske had given her. Hagan was there, with his back to her, oblivious to just how far she’d go.
The moment of temptation passed when the elevator doors opened and Hagan went inside. So, instead of acting without getting answers, she watched him select the lobby without moving an inch. They made eye contact, and she winked at him just as the doors slid shut.
Blowing out a breath, Harlow thought about the final item she needed to acquire. She wondered if she’d ever stop living like this, adjusting the plan and the course of her life with every new revelation. It was an erratic way to exist, but an enlivening one too.
Harlow wasn’t tired or fed up, she was bolstered. For a minute, she’d been ready to slip into a quiet life with Rupert without holding Hagan accountable. If nothing else, tonight’s meeting would mean answers. After all she’d been through, that wasn’t too much to ask.
32
One AM came faster than it ever had before. In the time since setting the appointment, Harlow had done her best to stay calm. More than once she’d pushed aside stray thoughts about how much easier it would be to relax if Ryske’s mouth was distracting her.
Though this setup was a first, she had been one on one with Hagan in the past. That experience didn’t calm her anxiety. This time was different. This time she’d made a plan, which gave her time to anticipate and overthink.
Going into a meeting armed with more than her ring was another first. But, she didn’t doubt that carrying the gun was necessary.
Creeping out of Clyde’s apartment while he was asleep, Harlow avoided rousing his suspicions. The why was self-explanatory. At a basic level, if she’d told him, her friend would’ve tried to talk her out of it. Harlow was dedicated to her goal and wouldn’t be distracted from it.
Not telling her friend that she intended to meet with Hagan also protected him. Sure, she didn’t want to answer a hundred questions about her purpose, but she also didn’t want Clyde facing jail time for her actions, if it came to that.
The two items inside the purse that she had slung across her body helped her feel secure. Her gun and her keys gave her protection and access to her sanctuary respectively. The third object on her person was the voice recorder she’d purchased that day.
Around the corner from Hagan’s building, she stopped in the shadow of an alley to turn the device on and tuck it into her cleavage. It would provide the Floyd’s crew with everything they needed if she didn’t make it out.
Those three objects were all she needed.
Knowing that Hagan wasn’t a trustworthy type of guy, it was a possibility that he’d go back on his agreement to dismiss security. If she had to fight her way out, she would. Even if she went down, she wouldn’t make it easy for them.
An odd sort of peace came with the realization that even if she failed, Ryske would take over the cause. If she died, Ryske would avenge her, just like she’d wanted to avenge him. In an ideal world, Harlow wouldn’t want him anywhere near danger. She would be able to protect him and he’d always be safe. But, just telling him not to take over the fight, to forget her, that there was no obligation wouldn’t make a difference even in spite of his previous assertions about vendettas.
Once upon a time, Ophelia had asked Ryske to ruin Hagan and he’d refused to do it. Keeping a clear head and not taking things personally were two of Ryske’s specialties. She and Ophelia had proved that they found it harder to keep emotions out of it. Somehow, Harlow knew that Ryske would find losing her harder to ignore.
The first time Harlow had come to Hagan’s apartment, she’d been oblivious to who the businessman was and how cruel the world could be. So much had changed since then.
Just after one AM, Harlow strolled up to Hagan’s building. The external doorman opened the entrance for her. There was no security in the lobby and she ascended in the elevator without any impediment.
Either Hagan had stood true to his word or she was being lured into a trap.
There was no time to second guess herself. Hesitation could get her killed. It certainly wouldn’t get her what she wanted.
Inhaling some confidence, she didn’t bother to knock on Hagan’s front door. Shaking her hair down her back, she strode into his apartment with full entitlement just like Ryske would do.
Finding Hagan alone at the bar, lit by intimate candlelight pouring two glasses of wine, was unexpected. This was more like a date than a showdown.
“You’re late,” he said, without so much as reacting to her intrusion.
“And, you’re insane if you think I’m going to drink that,” she said, ascending the marble stairs to join him by the bar where he propped himself on a stool.
“I have to admit, I’m intrigued,” he said, checking out her legs beneath her short leather skirt that had a slit up each side. “You request to meet me alone and your guard-dog hasn’t broken his leash to chase you?”
“Just me,” she said, sliding onto a stool, ignoring the wine. “What about you? Did you renege on our agreement?”
“We are alone, Miss Sweeting,” he said. “And, given how our last meeting went, I’m surprised you were brave enough.”
That made her smile. “Our last meeting?” she asked, bending her index finger to let the point of her full-finger ring trail along the edge of the bar. “You mean when I put you on your ass?”
Picking up his wine, he took a mouthful. “I assure you that won’t happen again.”
Leaving his stool, he went around to the other side of the bar. Waiting to see what he was doing, she didn’t flinch. There were drinks already poured, they didn’t need more.
When he ducked down and stood up again, there was something about the way he looked at her that increased her trepidation.
Palm down, he put his hand on the bar. It slid away slowly to reveal something beneath.
Pothos.
There on the bar was one of the sample vials that she’d first seen on the night Ryske had come back from the dead.
Without revealing that it unsettled her, Harlow turned her discomfort into a smile. “Do you think that’s why I came here? For sex?”
“It has to be tested.”
“Tell Parratt to spike his wife,” she said, and picked up the wine glass to smell the liquid it contained. The last time wine had passed her lips, she’d ended up almost throwing up. That wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat. “Or let Ophelia take it with Ryske.”
“Would you like that?” he asked, beginning his stroll back around the bar. “To know my sister is being intimate with the man you love?”
“They’re engaged,” she said, returning her glass to the bar. “Haven’t you heard?”
Hagan came up behind her, whispering in her ear as he curled around her to return to his seat. “Over my dead body,” he murmured and sank back onto his stool.
Harlow didn’t have any problem with that. She didn’t really want Ryske married to anyone, but Hagan’s corpse, she’d be alright with seeing that.
“You should be more supportive of your sister’s choices.”
“My sister is a fool,” he said. “Enraptured by a man who uses her, a man who treats her like she’s invisible… He doesn’t want to be with her, he wants to hurt me… It’s pathetic.”
“On his part or hers?” she asked, scrutinizing the disgust on his face as he sipped his wine. “It seems he wouldn’t have proposed if he didn’t feel something for her.”
“Even if there was a marriage, it would be a sham,” he said, putting his glass down. “Ryske isn’t going to be faithful to her. He isn’t going to love her. He isn’t capable.”
Touching the rim of her glass with a fingertip, Harlow knew she wasn’t doing a good job of hiding her secret smile. “I think you’d be surprised by what he’s capable of.”
“Oh, I think it’s obvious he’s had you believing his crap since you met.” Hagan began shaking his head. “I don’t understand how women can be so naïve. He’s a man incapable of feeling anything for any of you. Taking you for everything he can is all he’s interested in. Sex, Harlow. The man is driven by sex.”
Taking a breath, she draped her forearm on the bar. “Maybe that’s why he’s so good at it,” she said, amused by his disgust. “Anwen certainly thought so.”
Slamming the side of his fist on the bar, he clenched his jaw. “Do not talk to me about that woman.”
“You talk about the man I love being intimate with other women and take pleasure from my reaction,” she said. “Why shouldn’t I return the favor?” Sliding off her stool, she relished how he tensed when she moved closer. “You have no idea what it is to be taken by a man like him. He possesses a woman in a way most men can only dream of… When he’s inside you…” Breathing out a whimper of pleasure, she let her eyes close. “The world ceases to be and we would do anything… anything to exist with him inside us forever. The way he touches us, the pleasure of his mouth on our bodies, the brush of his fingertips…” She shivered. “Idol is too weak a word to describe the man who teases and tortures us with arousal and climax. He’s our drug, Mr. Hagan. Ryske has the power to intoxicate our souls. In the moment he touches us, we dedicate ourselves and all we are to him… No other man can ever measure up.”
The movement of Hagan’s hand was so quick that she didn’t have time to react before it came across her face. Her head snapped to the side, jolting her neck. A sting of pain made Harlow lift her middle finger to the corner of her mouth where she found a spot of blood.
Her tooth had cut the inside of her lip. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it was enough. Drawing her disgust up to him, she showed just how unimpressed she was with his feeble attempt to hurt her.
Picking up her wine, she tossed the liquid in his face and dropped the glass from apathetic fingers.
After the satisfying sound of the glass shattering on the floor silenced, Harlow retreated to slide back onto her stool. “I suppose I should feel special,” she said, touching the blood again. “You usually have your men beat women who aggravate you, don’t you? Anwen didn’t have the pleasure of your anger, did she?”
Still sneering, he spat out a noise of contradiction. “I never laid my hands on her… I should’ve. Maybe if I’d taken a stronger stance, she wouldn’t have gone to that fucker.”
Twisting toward the bar, he picked up his glass and threw the last of his alcohol into his throat. After scowling at the glass, he slammed it down and got up to stalk around the bar again, his shoes crunching over the smashed glass on the floor.
Anwen had told Ryske that Hagan had his men beat on her. “But, you… she used to have bruises.”
“Yes, she did,” he said, opening a new bottle of Scotch to pour some into a heavy crystal tumbler. “That Ophelia put there.”
Ryske had been so sure of what Anwen told him. Harlow hadn’t expected to learn that information wasn’t accurate. “What? But, I thought—”
“Is that what he told you?” he asked and laughed with the Scotch nearing his lips. “I suppose that would be the best way to garner sympathy for an affair.” He took a mouthful of his liquor, then put both hands on the bar, one still curled around the base of his glass. “I did not beat her. Never. Believe it or not, I was a different man when I was with Anwen. Much less cynical than I am now.” He took another drink. “Your lover took that from me.”
Her lover couldn’t have taken that from Hagan, not on purpose, unless he’d flat lied to her. In Ryske’s story, Anwen had bruises when she came to him. The woman had claimed the injuries were put there at Hagan’s behest. Anwen had told Ryske that Hagan had ordered his men to hit her when she stepped out of line.
Had Anwen been lying? But, why? To get sympathy from Ryske? To protect the true perpetrator? By all accounts, Ophelia and Anwen had been friends. Had Anwen cared more about protecting Ophelia than telling Ryske the truth?
The possibility that Ryske had lied to her still existed. Harlow had accused him of taking her naivety, so there was a chance he’d done the same thing to Hagan. Except, everything Ryske did had a purpose. He wasn’t malicious for the sake of it, especially to someone who, at that point, had done nothing negative to him.
The truth had to lie somewhere in between Anwen’s account and this new one. “You made Ophelia hit her,” she whispered. “It wasn’t Brash. It was Ophelia who you manipulated to—”
“Manipulated?” he asked. “I can tell you don’t know much about my sister either. She’s far more manipulative than I ever was, and her temper is far shorter. Ophelia has had impulse control issues since she was a child. It was a serious problem. So serious that our parents had to have her home schooled. They seemed to have it under control… or I thought they did until they died and I was left to deal with her alone… She’s not an easy woman.”
“Ophelia is a sweetheart,” she said, fearing that she was being manipulated by him.
“She is,” he said. “Until you take something away from her or refuse her something that she wants. It was that way with her and Annie. They would be best of friends, closer than any two people could be. But, if An dared disagree with her, that’s when the hit would come… Ophelia was always apologetic after the fact. An would forgive her… I was less understanding… It became so much more intense just before Annie died. I don’t know exactly what went on between them… Looking back, I assume the affair caused a rift between them, perhaps deeper than the one between An and I.”
“You wouldn’t have accepted Anwen sleeping with Ryske, don’t try to feed me that bullshit.”
“I wouldn’t have, no,” he said. “But, as a couple we could’ve chosen to work through her betrayal or go our separate ways. It was an affair and it hurt me, I did take it personally… But, I never hit her.”
Ryske had implied that Hagan was an unreasonable man. Yet, wasn’t it a given that any man whose fiancée was having an affair was entit
led to be unreasonable?
Dismissing Anwen’s tales of domestic abuse was impossible knowing how the situation had ended.
Anwen had killed herself.
The woman had to be at a desperate level of despair to take her own life. Except, Ryske had worded the revelation in a way that implicated Hagan in her death. Harlow remembered having that thought at the time.
Could it be that Ophelia was involved in some way? Did Ryske know that? Had he hidden the truth of Ophelia’s violent tendencies or was he as in the dark as she’d been?
Hagan’s glass lowered from his lips to reveal a more discerning expression. “You thought I was involved somehow… in her death… didn’t you?” Harlow was speechless. “I was devastated when Anwen died. She hurt me, but I never wished her dead. Losing her, it changed me. It changed a lot… I haven’t been the same since… I wouldn’t want to be. No one should be the same after losing the love of their life.”
Harlow could identify. Over the past year, she’d moved her life, fallen in love, lost that love to death, got him back, and seen enough to make her head spin. She wasn’t the same person and although most of what she’d been through was difficult, she wouldn’t take it back for anything. Harlow wouldn’t change who she’d become.
These admissions were changing her opinion of the man in front of her. Not that she could get so far as to feel sorry for him. She’d be an idiot to forget what he was capable of.
“You ordered Ryske stabbed,” she said, recalling the first time she’d learned Hagan’s name.
“After he left my club owing ten thousand dollars and disrespecting Anwen’s memory with his disgusting mouth.”
Something she’d sort of done tonight too… maybe she’d deserved that slap. “You had him shot.”
“After his proposal to my sister. I couldn’t let that wedding go ahead. Ophelia was losing her mind making plans, getting giddy, it was insane. She wouldn’t see the truth of who he was. I had to protect her.”
Go It Alone (A Go Novel Book 2) Page 26
