“That doesn’t justify killing someone.”
“No?” he asked and raised his brows in acquiesce. “Perhaps. But, as I said, I’ve changed. When you lose the person you love, as I did Anwen, your perspective changes. Since losing her, I’ve cared little about what happens to me. For a time, I tried to let it go, but it’s not an easy thing to do, to know that the person who stole your love from you is out there in the world, living without repercussions.”
Clarity made her gasp. “That’s why you said that to me,” she said. “At the SweSec event, you told me it was your duty to take him down, and mine to avenge him… You’ve been avenging Anwen, all this time, all of this is…”
“You and I have a bond that few do. We understand the unique sensation that comes with the clash of love and hatred. We know what it is to so completely love a person who’s incapable of loving us back… while at the same time we deal with the burning acid of hatred. Hatred of the person who took them from us. Our bond gives us an affinity, but we have no loyalty to each other.”
Wondering why Hagan had encouraged her to take revenge, Harlow questioned whether or not he considered that death may be a release, as she once had. How did someone feel at the end of the journey to destroy another?
33
In all respects, Hagan had achieved his goal for revenge when Ryske died. What came after that? Was there relief? Release? Comfort? Contentment? She doubted it.
Harlow was lucky that she’d gotten Ryske back. But, if she hadn’t, and she’d followed through with her plan to destroy Hagan, what would have happened after, even if she’d succeeded? What would’ve been left?
As a person, Hagan began to take on a new hue. It seemed that after achieving his goal he’d needed another opponent and seen her as a worthy one. Losing Anwen and eliminating the man he saw as responsible for her death would’ve left Hagan lost and aimless. Perhaps he’d been looking for a way to end his own hollow suffering and didn’t have the courage to end it himself.
Even in the face of her new understanding of his motivations, Harlow couldn’t forgive him his actions. “I didn’t take Anwen from you,” she said. “I wasn’t a part of whatever happened to her. But, you attacked me… You would have raped me if I hadn’t fought back.”
There was understanding in his expression. “At our last meeting with Parratt… Yes, you’re right… I won’t apologize. I would have followed through. You’re a desirable woman and I am untethered. I have nothing to lose. At least I don’t care about anything enough to worry about losing it… The only explanation I can give you is that my behavior wasn’t driven by animal desire… though you could say its motivation was baser,” he said. “My hatred for him shouldn’t be underestimated… You were his Anwen… or as close as any woman could be. I saw an opportunity to do to him what he did to me… to take some of his pride, his dignity… You suffered for that. You did nothing but ally yourself with him, and that was enough. Hatred can spread more rapidly than love… Rage can consume us all.”
Her opinions and perspectives were changing so fast that she couldn’t begin to figure out the truth. “You thought that attacking me would give you back some of the dignity you felt he took from you when he slept with Anwen,” she murmured.
“I’m no saint,” he said. “I’ve witnessed how others in the world act in a way to maximize their own pleasure. It seems that those who pursue their own agenda and live without compunction are those who get furthest in life. Living right, living righteous, it got me nowhere and got my fiancée dead. After that, I got to a nihilistic point where I thought ‘fuck it.’ What was the worst thing that could happen if I chose to be as selfish and vile as others in the world? My rage had been festering since her death. My hatred for him growing and fermenting. So, when Ophelia brought Pothos to me—”
“Ophelia?” she said, her head snapping up. “She brought it to you?”
He nodded and his expression twitched. “How else would I have known of such a thing?”
Ophelia had told her that she’d overheard the men talking and that’s how she’d gotten involved. Ryske had once made an off-hand comment about Ophelia being the trigger. Harlow had dismissed it. Now it came to light that she’d been deliberately misled by Ophelia, though she couldn’t figure out why.
Ryske met Anwen at an event hosted by Jarvis Hagan. He’d only been there to get close to Parratt who must have been invited by Hagan. That implied the two men were affiliated. Unless Ophelia had been the driving force there too.
Harlow couldn’t remember Ryske mentioning Parratt and Hagan having any direct dealings before or during that original con. Were Parratt and Hagan acquainted enough that one would feel comfortable going to the other about Pothos? Such a sensitive, and illegal, deal?
Harlow had never asked Ryske about where he’d met Ophelia. She’d just assumed it was in the same time bracket as the con on Parratt. Ingratiating himself would’ve meant going to social and corporate events, which were probably frequented by the Hagans and by Parratt. Ryske met plenty of beautiful women, but Ophelia had taken a shine to him.
Ryske had no reason to complicate the situation by engaging in a relationship with the female Hagan, but Ophelia must have wanted to pursue it, even way back then. Except, before Ophelia could make anything happen between them, Ryske had met Anwen and the rest was history.
Or was it?
Harlow was learning that not everything was as she’d thought. Perhaps it wasn’t as Ryske thought either. Hagan couldn’t have killed Anwen because he’d been chasing Ryske all this time believing him to be responsible for her suicide.
Trying to keep her game face on was getting more difficult with each revelation. “But, Felipe,” she said, remembering what had driven her to come here. “You said—”
“I heard about that from my man on the ground,” he said and shrugged. “Taking credit was opportunistic, a chance to provoke the man… Did you even tell him?”
Ryske… everything had regressed for Hagan. Just like her, he’d thought Ryske was dead. Learning that he wasn’t put Hagan back on his original path.
“No,” she murmured without looking at him. Her gaze snagged on the couch she’d sat on the first time she was there. “Why does everyone assume I go running to him all the time?”
She had gone running to him for a weapon, but Harlow hadn’t ever expected him, or any man, to clean up her messes or fight her battles.
“It’s what most women would do,” Hagan said. “He’s a jerk, but he has skills that can be useful.” The thread of admiration in his tone drew her eye, making him smile. “I’ll deny ever having said that.”
“Skills with women?” she asked and angled her chin. “What about your skills with women? You convinced my former boss to do your bidding.”
“Gina?” he asked, wearing a smirk. “That was simple. There was nothing sinister about it. I simply told her that I needed you to help with some of my charity work. I donate significant amounts of money to the city and to departments I may find handy to have in my pocket. One never knows who he’ll need a favor from. In this case, it worked out for me. I’ll admit, she was confused, but I implied I’d had dealings with your father’s company… and maybe that you weren’t suited for such an… urban role.”
Such a simple line, a basic con, and it exonerated Gina from the nefarious role Harlow had cast her in. Turned out that the boss who she’d once considered so strong and street savvy was as fallible as the rest of them.
“Why are you telling me this now? Why did you—”
“Because I thought damaging you was a good way to damage him,” he said, putting down his glass to lean over the bar and touch her jaw. “You are exquisite, Harlow Sweeting, and formidable. But, you will never succeed.”
“In taking you down?”
Shaking his head, he peered closer like he was trying to beseech her. “You have nothing left to fight for… your cause is gone. Your war is over… But, you must be warned.”
“Warned about wh
at?”
“Despite your questionable alliances, I believe that you are, at your core, a good person. In light of that, there are things that you have to know. It’s important that you put aside your prejudices about me and listen with an open mind, Harlow. I have put together a gift for you. One that will protect us both. This is important, Harlow, what I have to tell you is—”
The sunken door at the foot of the stairs by the bar opened, startling them both. “I thought you said we were alone,” Harlow said, leaping from her stool and backing up a few paces, bracing for who may come in and what they might do.
The last person she expected to appear at the top of the stairs was Ophelia. “Ophe—”
One pop followed another. Surrounded by low lighting, it took a minute for Harlow to realize that there was a weapon in Ophelia’s outstretched hand. Hagan turned to face her, his fingers on his chest. The stunned fear in his eyes was an expression she recognized… Harlow had seen that look before.
Their eyes stayed locked until he collapsed behind the bar.
Her mouth was open and her body braced for what might happen in the silence that followed. Taking her attention from where Hagan had been to check for signs of Ophelia’s intentions, Harlow found the female Hagan still had her arm out in front of her, the weapon shaking in her grip.
For a minute, Ophelia just looked down at the floor. She was at the end of the bar by the opening, and had to be fixated on her brother.
Shots. The popping had been gunshots. Harlow had heard that sound on the same night she’d seen the look of surprise on Ryske’s face that Hagan had just been wearing.
Checking her own body with a quick hand, Harlow ensured she was intact. There was no blood on her, but Hagan…
If Harlow was going to get her gun, this was the moment to do it. Except, that could escalate the situation fast. Ophelia had come in and taken her target down without hesitation. If she intended to take Harlow down too, surely she would’ve done it by now.
Erring on the side of optimism, Harlow didn’t want to go on the offensive, especially knowing she wouldn’t be quick enough to draw and shoot before Ophelia who already had her weapon in hand.
“Ophelia,” she murmured.
The sound of her name startled Ophelia. That motion forced her gaze away from behind the bar. “I… I couldn’t stand it, Harlow,” she said.
For the first time, Harlow saw the glaze in her eyes, and the dampness on her cheeks. “It’s… it’s okay,” Harlow said. “Just put the gun down, honey.”
Blinking at the weapon like she hadn’t realized it was there, Ophelia dropped the gun onto the end of the bar. Only when it was out of her hand did Harlow start to move.
As soon as she got to Ophelia, the woman collapsed into her arms. There were no sobs of despair, they just stood there, holding each other, looking down at Hagan’s motionless form.
Blood stained his shirt around the two wounds on his chest. “Is he… dead?” Ophelia asked, peeking at him from Harlow’s arms.
Much as she didn’t want to, Harlow was careful about not disturbing anything, and put a foot between Hagan’s legs to crouch and feel his wrist for a pulse. There was nothing. Not a twitch.
“He’s dead, honey,” she said, twisting around to look up over her shoulder. “You killed him.”
It seemed that Ophelia needed to hear the confirmation. Though Harlow did think that it had to be obvious given that the woman had shot him twice in the chest. That she’d even asked led Harlow to wonder if Ophelia was in touch with reality.
Ophelia grinned. “Good,” she said and whooped. “Oh, don’t you feel so much better?”
Harlow couldn’t fathom it. Even coming here with a gun in her possession, a gun she had thought she was willing to use, Harlow couldn’t understand the jubilation over another human being’s death.
Ophelia had just shot her own brother. Without any warning or reason, no one had been in peril, they’d been having a conversation, and Ophelia had gunned him down.
Rising, Harlow grabbed the scarf from Ophelia’s neck and began to wipe down the bar for prints.
“How did you get in here?” Harlow asked, cleaning anything she might have touched.
“There’s a service stairway behind the kitchen,” Ophelia said, poking a thumb over her shoulder. “Why do you seem so stressed out? This is a good thing… Ryske is going to be thrilled.”
She couldn’t help but feel a little sick. Maybe it was the similarity to Ryske’s shooting that was making her stomach churn. Ryske had been standing unprepared and unarmed when he was shot. Maybe if Animal had shot twice instead of once like Ophelia had, he’d have been gone as quickly.
“You have to get out of here,” Harlow said.
“Me?” Ophelia asked. “Why? No one will be here until the morning.” Reaching over her brother’s dead body, Ophelia grabbed the Scotch he’d opened and slugged straight from the bottle. “This is a celebration. The bastard is gone from our lives! We’re free now.” She sloshed some alcohol on his legs, Harlow intercepted the bottle and righted it before Ophelia could pour any more. “I knew this was the perfect opportunity when I listened in to your conversation in my hallway this afternoon. My brother’s never alone, not like this, not here. This is perfect! It could’ve happened any time, anyone could’ve done it. He has so many enemies. You have no idea.”
If Hagan had so many enemies, it would’ve made more sense to wait until one of them did the job than to do it themselves. Adrenaline was pumping through her, Harlow grabbed the gun with the scarf and wrapped it up, tucking it into her purse and pushing Ophelia toward the sunken door.
“Show me the service stairs,” she said. “Show me them now.”
Ophelia led her through the apartment, singing as she went and drinking more of the Scotch. On the other side of the vast kitchen, a room Harlow had never been in before, was an open doorway. Ophelia went through it first. Harlow followed and together they ran down the concrete stairway.
When they got out into the alleyway, Harlow tried to decide which direction was best. But, Ophelia was already dancing her way up the alley. Having no choice except to follow, Harlow went with her. They crossed out the back of another alley and ended up going through a chain link fence into a parking lot.
On the other side of it, Ophelia offered her the bottle. “Would you like to drink with me?”
“No,” Harlow said, trying to crowd her toward the quiet street ahead. “You need to get home. You need to stay there until morning and if anyone asks, you tell them you didn’t leave your apartment all night.”
Ophelia winked. “I left through my fire escape,” she said and touched her temple with the rim of the bottle. “I’m a smart cookie.”
Not smart enough not to kill someone. “Good,” Harlow said, pushing her in the direction of her apartment building. “Then go. Go home. Be safe.”
Ophelia came back and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Oh, I feel so light and free,” she said, twirling around and starting down the street, singing and swaying as she went.
Harlow wasn’t quite so confident, and watched the woman disappear around the corner. Turning around, she could just see the edge of Hagan’s apartment building. He was in there. Dead.
What was she supposed to do now?
Licking her lips, she took a moment to tell herself to be calm. She hadn’t shot anyone. She’d only seen it happen.
Too many people were being hurt. Too many people had been lost already. And, for sure, Hagan was another one who wouldn’t be coming back.
Taking the recorder out of her cleavage, she turned it off and tucked it into her purse beside the two guns.
Harlow didn’t know what to think of what Ophelia had done or of what Hagan had told her. But for now, there was only one place she’d feel safe.
Sticking to dark alleys and quiet streets, Harlow began to move through the city knowing that it would take her an hour to get to Floyd’s given her indirect route. Having the night air around her and in
her lungs should help her to feel human again.
By the time she got to the bar, it was dark and locked up tight, as she’d expected it to be. Using her keys, she was quick and quiet about slipping in.
All of the guys were sleeping. None of the curtains were pulled around the beds, so she could see a lump in each and none moved when she entered. Tiptoeing across the living room, she slipped into the closet.
Stripping off her short skirt and light top, she folded them into a plastic grocery bag that she got from the desk. Harlow was grateful there wasn’t much material in her apparel and that the couch was on wheels. Moving the couch as quietly as she could, she flipped over the corner of the rug to uncover the loose nail.
This was the hidey hole she’d discovered when her jean snagged on the nail during one of her cleaning sessions while she’d lived here alone. Retrieving a letter-opener from the desk, she popped the nail out, and lifted the floorboard just enough to slip her purse and clothes underneath. After pushing the nail back in, she did her best to use the handle of the letter-opener to force the nail in deep.
Sliding a hand across it, she checked the floor wasn’t marked, and was pleased that the nail was no longer protruding from the floor as it had been. It was perfect.
Putting the rug back down, she wheeled the couch back to its previous position, checking and double checking that the wheels were in the same grooves.
Standing nude in the middle of the closet, she didn’t want to think about what she’d just done, or why she’d done it. The best thing to do was forget what she’d seen. To forget what had happened.
Leaving the closet, she figured that all four men were sleeping and wouldn’t care that she was nude. Harlow slipped into Ryske’s bed beside him, and although he stirred when her cold toes touched his shin, he didn’t wake.
Nestling as close to him as she could without waking him, Harlow stared into his sleeping face wondering how he’d react if he ever found out she was an accomplice to first degree murder.
Go It Alone (A Go Novel Book 2) Page 27
