“You’re okay. You’re having a panic attack.”
Suddenly, Bill wasn’t an asshole. He was flicking water on my face, thrusting my head between my legs, and stroking my hair away so I didn’t choke on it. Suddenly, he really was helping me, when I was powerless to help myself.
“Deep breaths,” he instructed, stroking his fingers down my back. He wasn’t completely selfless. But he was seizing the opportunity to touch me and pass it off as help. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
“I want…” I stopped and took a deep breath as my heart began to regulate. “I want to go home.”
“Okay, we’ll take you.” Bill turned to the waiter and I vaguely registered a crowd of people around me, watching me flake. “Have my car brought around.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bill helped me stand and after throwing my arm over his shoulder to support myself, he wrapped his arm around my waist, sliding lower with every shaky step I took. He was an asshole, and I wanted to turn and ask for someone to help, tell someone I didn’t think I’d be getting the ride home I wanted, but who could I trust? Who was watching me and who had been brought into this sick joke that was my life?
Bill eased me into the car and slid into the back seat next to me. No sooner had I plugged my seatbelt in, I was being woken up by strong arms holding me and pulling me from the car.
The scent was familiar. The route we were taking felt familiar, like I did it every day. Because I did. I was outside my house.
“Please,” I whispered, full consciousness finding me as I looked up.
Two eyes met mine, but even in the darkness I could see their uniqueness. I could see the contrast in colour and the stark shade of ice and jade I’d only ever seen in one man before.
“Carter…”
“It’s okay, Harley. I’ve got you.”
I wanted to squirm away from him, to ask him how and why he’d betrayed my trust. But I wanted to hug him. I wanted to hold him and I wanted him to hold me back, because he’d broken through barriers I’d been reinforcing for years and, finally, the ordeal I’d suffered for my addiction had been rewritten by pleasure and excitement.
“I’m sorry,” I said as he walked me up the steps to the front of the house. “I shouldn’t have bailed like that.”
He laughed, his chuckle deep and throaty. It brought a sheet of goose bumps to the surface of my skin and I sighed in contentment.
“Where’s Bill?”
“I was here waiting for you. I told him I’d take you to bed.” He took a deep breath and reached the front door. “So you told him we broke up, huh? Is that what we did?”
“You said it yourself, don’t overthink it.”
Carter set me down and I held onto the hanging basket beside the front door for support as he fished in my bag for my keys and let us in. The door opened and the darkness of my home seeped out.
“You should leave a light on when you’re not home.”
I flung my arm out to stop him going into the house when he raised his foot and moved to enter.
“I do.”
I pushed past him, forcing my way into the hallway and switching the light on. I slipped on a wet patch just inside the front door and fell backwards. Carter caught me, but the damage had been done. He didn’t need to grip the tops of my arms and force me to turn to face him. He didn’t need to tug me into him and hold me in a death grip as my knees buckled. He didn’t need to turn the light back off and pull me from the house.
I’d seen it.
“Let me go!” I screamed, pushing at his chest until his arms fell away.
I turned and crumbled to the floor on my hands and knees, crawling across the floor, through the blood soaked into my carpet, until I stopped in front of Evan’s body and fell to the floor next to him. His eyes were open, fixed on me although they held no focus. Blood matted my hair, soaked into my clothes and seeped from my heart as it broke for my best friend. My brother. The second brother to be taken from me. A wail escaped me and sobs soon followed, until my head thumped, my eyes ran dry, and every muscle in my body ached. But I didn’t stop.
Twenty
I’d seen death a hundred times. I’d created it more times than I could count.
I’d never been as devastated by it as when I stood by the front door and watched my girl—yes, my girl—break. The death of her friend had been no accident. He’d been murdered, and the knife used to do it had been left in his neck. Evan—Harley said it a hundred times over the course of the night—had got caught up in this shit storm and he’d paid with his life. As I watched Harley crumble before she curled in on herself and bathed in his blood as she clung to his lifeless body, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
Guilt.
Ending the trouble my girl had found herself in had been my job. If I had done the it, finished what she’d started while keeping her and everyone around her safe, Evan wouldn’t be dead, and we wouldn’t be stuck in the conundrum of what the fuck we were supposed to do now.
“Harley, babe,” I whispered, approaching her cautiously and placing my hands on her icy shoulders. “Let me give you a shower.”
She shook her head, but she didn’t have the strength to fight me off as the grief became her…and then became me. I could no longer hide inside my shell. She’d cracked through it. She’d cracked my code; whatever the fuck she’d done to me, she’d won. I had a niggling thought in the back of my mind, as I carried her upstairs and into the bathroom, that this had something to do with the hit on her. I knew I was supposed to kill her; I’d accepted money to do it and devoted the past few weeks of my life to keeping her safe, but someone wanted her dead. Had that someone turned up tonight and found Evan instead?
I turned on the shower and sat her on the toilet as I stripped her clothes from her. She was catatonic, staring through me as if I wasn’t there, but I persevered. If this was my fault, I had to find a way to fix it. When her clothes were in a pile on the bathroom floor, I lifted her into the cubicle. She stood still, leaning against the tiles and looking down like Evan was lying in front of her. I took my clothes off and joined her, instantly taking her in my arms and holding her tight as the hot water poured over us.
“We were kids when we met,” she said, her voice monotonous and dry. “He’s been with me through it all. He stood by my side when my family died, and he’s been there ever since. What am I supposed to do without him?” She keened quietly, snuggling into me as another sob ripped from her and tore me in half. “I need him. I can’t do this without him!”
“We’ll find who did this,” I promised, combing my hands through her hair. “I swear to God, Harley, we’ll find who did this and make them pay.”
She nodded, but didn’t believe me. I knew, if I was ever going to redeem myself, I had to take the first step now. I had to forge a connection between us—one we’d had for weeks since before we met at her gallery.
“Julius Caesar was killed by a man called Marcus Brutus in the year 44BC. A hitman using the name Brutus would have raised flags, so the victim became the cover. Caesar became a mask.”
“Caesar?” she asked, stilling against me as reality slammed into her. “44?”
“Yes, pretty girl. I’m Caesar044.”
She fell to her knees and I let her, moving with her so she was cradled on my lap. I thought she’d push me away, but she didn’t. I thought she’d break down, but she held strong.
“You…” I nodded as she stumbled over her words. “You’re a hitman.”
I shook my head. That wasn’t important. I had never discussed my job—I had never told anyone on this planet what I did and I wasn’t about to disclose information now—it didn’t matter. What mattered was now she could believe me. She would know, without doubt, that I would find these cunts and end them, and she was safer with me than she would be with anyone else.
“I’m the man who’s going to finish your list and find the person who murdered your friend, Harley.”
“But you…you kill people.”
“Don’t act so shocked now. You hired a hitman. You figured he was fucking someone, you just didn’t assume it would be you.”
“But…”
She froze and I felt the tension smother her as the water continued to batter our naked bodies, and the connection we’d kept separate, between real life and virtual life, forged into one almighty connection that stole my breath. It had been a long, long time since I’d held someone, and I didn’t want to let Harley Davids go. Ever.
She seemed to agree, as she sat up, wrapped her arms around my neck and fused her lips to mine. She tasted of sorrow and devastation, but it was a powerful fucking aphrodisiac that had my cock springing to attention and nudging the lips of her pussy as she straddled me.
“Jesus, Harley,” I groaned into her mouth as she rolled her hips, stroking her beautiful cunt along the length of my shaft. “I haven’t got anything.”
“I don’t care,” she muttered, trailing her tongue over my top lip. “Tell me you’re clean, and then make me clean…take it all away.”
I growled and fisted her hair. I didn’t deal well with women demanding shit from me, and I wouldn’t start now. She’d pushed me far enough and while I wanted to be soft, I wanted to fuck her until she forgot every one of her problems. She gasped when I pulled her head back and dived into her neck, my other hand squeezing her firm tit and scraping my fingernail over her nipple. She shuddered, and moaned. I gripped her hips and heard her breath hitch with anticipation. When I impaled her, she threw her head back and cried out.
“I can make you forget, babe.” I slammed up into her and stilled when a spear of pleasure surged up my spine. “Forgetting is what I do best, but-” I thought for a second, wondering if I wanted to invest this much of myself. When she lowered herself onto me, taking every fucking inch, she made my decision for me. I wouldn’t be without her. “we’re going to deal with this. We’re going to sort your shit out.”
“Okay,” she moaned.
“I mean it.” Leaning back so I was resting on the wall of the shower, I lifted her higher so I could spank her. “I mean it, Harley.”
“Okay!” She screamed, fisting my hair and pulling hard. “Just shut up now. Do this later.”
That was a command I would follow. No more talking. Instead, I drove up into her and slammed her body down onto me until she was tightening around me, her legs quivering, voice breaking with her cries that soon turned to sobs of grief and paralysing pleasure. She came, squeezing me like a fucking vice and dragging my own orgasm out. I spilled into her, feeling my warmth hit hers and collide in a cocktail of regret and the urge to do it again and again and again. I kept her pressed to me, softening inside her as I hugged her close and we floated down from the high.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sliding off me with a shiver that made me race to my feet and turn the shower off. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Shut up, Harley.”
I climbed out of the cubicle, wrapped a towel around me and held one open for her. She stepped out after me, accepted it, and then—surprisingly—she accepted the hug I offered her. We both stood dripping in the middle of her bathroom, refusing to break this connection because reality was a fucking prick, and karma had it in for us.
Harley hadn’t slept. She’d made me give up my old t-shirt and she sat in it all night, while I sat in my boxers next to her. I made her coffee—she didn’t touch it. I made her tea—she didn’t drink it. She sat on the sofa in front of the TV and watched the news. We watched the sunrise in Japan and Australia, and watched the stock market positions and predictions for the day. We watched replay after replay of latest news, sports news, celebrity gossip, and weather forecasts, and Harley refused to move. After our shower, she’d returned to her frozen state—a state I desperately wanted to crack. By 10am, we’d been in the same place for almost twelve hours, with a dead body a few feet behind us, and a million unasked and unanswered questions swimming around us.
Until the news channel hit with a news report.
Fuck.
“Good morning. I’m Kelley Scott, reporting for Sky News Breakfast.” A red banner slid across the bottom of the screen, brandishing bold white letters that read: BREAKING NEWS. “Breaking news this morning. Bill Clancy, a valued and respected member of the conservative party has died at the age of fifty-six. Emergency services were called to an address in the capital last night amidst rumours the MP had collapsed at his home after returning from a night out. Paramedics treated him on the scene and he was taken to a nearby hospital, but it is reported that he passed away sometime after six o’clock this morning. Sky News will bring you all the updates as the story unfolds.”
“Carter…”
When I looked at Harley, she was glaring at me with fear in her deep brown eyes. Her catatonia had broken and she was shaking, trembling, her fists clenched on her lap as she stared wide-eyed at me.
“Yes?”
“Did you do this?”
I seethed, my nostrils flaring. “Am I going to be accused every time some fucker dies? How could I have killed the cunt? I was here with you.”
I waited for her to calm, for her anger and suspicion to soothe, while my inner-asshole laughed like a hyena inviting the vultures to play.
Of course I’d fucking killed him.
“You’re lying.”
She stood up, momentarily stunned when she looked towards the front door where Evan laid. I stayed still as she strode across the room towards me and jumped onto my lap, her knees either side of my thighs.
“You killed him, I know you did. You were the last person to see him alive and an assassin wouldn’t leave a trail. So you stayed with me. Why did you kill him?”
I chewed on my bottom lip and cursed these bullshit feelings I had for this chick. Why couldn’t I just smack her, watch her tumble off me, and then get the fuck out with my safety intact? She was too fucking close. Too. Fucking. Close.
“You think I didn’t see him slip you the cocaine?” I asked, watching her eyes bulge with shock. “You think I didn’t see him raping you with his eyes? Touching you? Touching what’s mine? He gave you drugs, Harley. Sure, he helped you when your anxiety moved in, but the cunt was going to rape you. Pricks like him aren’t worth the air they breathe.”
“So you killed him?” she shrieked, slapping my cheek, then the other. My skin burned, but I’d give her those for free. “You can’t just go around killing people!”
“No? Does that include Gareth Johnson?”
“Don’t fucking mention their names,” she growled, pressing her hands to my shoulders and squeezing. “It’s different.”
“Is it?” I cocked a brow. “So you can hire me to kill them because they hurt you, but I can’t kill a man who hurts you.”
“You…” she stopped, then backtracked. “You did it to protect me?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
Pushing her off me, I stood up. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t want to fucking know. All I know is, I’m breaking all my rules for you, and I don’t regret a single deviation.”
“Carter…”
“Don’t.” I raised my hand and took a step back. “I told you not to overthink it. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll kill to keep you safe and that isn’t going to change anytime soon, so get used to it. And I am who I am…again, that isn’t going to change. I don’t care if you learn to tolerate it or not—you’re mine, Harley, and I protect what’s mine.”
Twenty-one
“I need to… take care of Evan,” Carter said softly, placing a kiss to the tip of my nose before he lifted me from his knee and placed me on the sofa.
I stared up at him, his words not making sense. “What?”
“His body.” The gentility from moments ago had already faded, leaving a stark coldness in his eyes. “We can’t leave him there.”
Shaking my head, I kept my gaze on his face, refusing to even glance behind me at
Evan’s body. Carter was right, of course; we couldn’t very well leave him laid out in my hallway, but my heart wouldn’t accept what Carter was trying to do. “No.”
He sighed, tipping his head. “So you want to call the police?”
Fear made me suck air through clenched teeth. “I… They can’t come here.” My thoughts moved to my basement. Evan had been murdered in my house. The police would be all over it with a fine-toothcomb, my secrets out in the open for all the damn world to see.
Now it all made sense and rage made my teeth crack when my jaw clenched hard. “Oh, you clever boy!” I whispered to myself, but Carter caught my fury.
“What aren’t you telling me, Harley?”
“Michael,” I seethed, closing my eyes and groaning. “He knew what this would bring out into the open.”
“Michael McKenzie?”
I stilled, lifting my eyes to Carter and narrowing them. “Just how much do you know?”
“That he’s your Number Four.” He was so blasé about knowing my life that my head shook.
Did he know about my Cloud addiction?
He came to crouch in front of me and took my hands. “What did he do? I know he had something to do with the scars on your chest. Did he do them? Was he the one who marked you?”
“I have to phone Ben.”
Anger flashed in Carter’s remarkable eyes, the colours swirling like a night-storm. “I will find out, babe. From you, or from Michael himself. It doesn’t matter which, but I will find out.”
Pushing him away I reached for my bag, pulling out my phone. Ben’s name mocked me, my hands shaking and hindering me from hitting the icon to call him.
Carter took the phone from me and pressed ‘call.’ I watched him, tears spilling onto my cheeks when he gently informed Benny that his best friend was dead. The sound of his tortured cry through the phone made my heart split open and spill grief into the oxygen around me. The air seemed too thick with the potency of it, making it difficult to draw a breath.
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