by Liv Morris
I do as he asks and the elevator begins to move. I return the card to his wallet and place it back in his pocket, letting my fingers linger a second longer than I should before pulling away.
“Thanks,” Sin says, and I lick my lips as I stare up into his searching eyes. An odd silence grows between us as the facts sink in.
I left James. Sin punched his uncle out and now must leave the city. Where do I go from here? I’m tempted to get on a Greyhound bus to somewhere, anywhere but here. This town will never hide me from James.
Sin directs me down a hallway with only two doors, one on each end.
The old building where my mother and I lived had four apartments in a space compared to what would be just one here.
When Sin opens the door with a few punches on a keypad, I see what lies beyond the walls. A place fit for a king—a rich, shallow king who enjoys owning things and people.
“Wow,” I say in stunned shock. I spin around on my toes and view the room large enough to land a plane in.
James never called it a penthouse, just his condo by The Clinic. Jeez. I envisioned a small, single bedroom apartment resembling more of a crash pad. I figured it wasn’t up to par since he never brought me down here, but I realize that’s not true.
I thought his house was over the top without a penny being spared for its furnishings. This place resembles a modern museum.
“Sinclair,” a man calls from deeper inside the apartment, or more like the mausoleum, since a soulless aura permeates the air. I try to imagine actually living here and shiver from a chill.
“Hey, Kurt.” Sin takes my hand as my shock begins to wear off.
“You’ll wanna come back here ASAP,” Kurt answers through the walls and open doors.
Sin quickens his step as we follow the sound of Kurt’s voice, tightening his grip on my hands. He gives me a reassuring smile as I follow him down a wide hallway.
We enter a bedroom with papers and a cardboard box scattered across the bed.
I glance up above the bed and stop dead in my tracks. A painting hangs on the wall. Another cold chill creeps over my skin and goose bumps rise in its wake.
“That’s me?” I whisper while glancing at Sin in confusion. He is at my side, embracing me before I can say a word.
“God, I should’ve warned you about the painting. I’m sorry.”
Sin holds me a little tighter and I remain stunned. “When did he do this?”
“I asked, and he said the painting was commissioned before you met him.” Sin runs his eyes over my face as the truth hits me.
James stalked me.
I grab Sin as the world around me swirls. My instincts were right. Yesterday at brunch, he knew the story of how I was named. Somehow, he knew my mother—and me …
My chills turn into a cold sweat as my palms perspire and stomach rolls with waves of nausea.
“It’s okay, Harlow,” Sin says, but he sounds like he is miles away. I’m grounded in his arms, but the room still spins around me.
“Is she all right? Looks like she saw a ghost,” Kurt says somewhere near me, but my eyes stay glued on the painting. Even though the head in the picture is facing away, I know it’s me. I am the ghost.
“When was this painted?” I ask Sin, afraid to find out the answer.
“Sometime last year.” Sin’s arms tighten around me.
“He knew my mother,” I whisper, wondering how well. The sick feeling I’m fighting wins.
I run toward what I hope is the master bath and make it to the toilet before getting sick. Sin is right there with me, holding back my hair and running a soothing hand over my back.
“It will be okay, Harlow. He’ll never bother you again. I promise.” His words spin in my head. As long as I stay here in Rochester, I’ll never be free from him. He doesn’t love me. I am his sick obsession.
When nothing else is left in my stomach, I stand up on weak knees with Sin’s help. His arms secure me while I catch my balance.
“I’m here for you, baby.” Picking me up and cradling me in his arms, Sin carries me across the shiny white tile to the sink and sets me on the counter. He wets a washcloth, wipes around my lips, and smoothes the hair from my face. He cares for me with such tenderness, it almost makes me forget the horror that brought me into this room.
“This has all been some crazy plan of his,” I whisper. The words are hard enough to think, let alone say.
“I have my suspicions. Do you feel better? I need to see what Kurt discovered. We may have very little time.” Sin gives me a soft, comforting smile while holding my hands in his own.
“I’m good.” It’s a lie, but I don’t want to hold Sin up and keep him in here nursing me. I have a feeling James will get here sooner rather than later. It’s how he operates, and I have no desire to be standing around when he walks through the door.
Sin helps me off the counter and we walk back into the bedroom.
“What’s all this on the bed?” I ask.
“Kurt has taken everything out of the safe. I need to go through it and see what James hid.” Sin walks over to the cardboard box sitting on the bed and his eyes go wide.
“Holy shit,” he exclaims, turning the box to face me. On the front in large, black letters is one word: HARLOW.
“I knew it.” The words tumble from my lips. So many odd moments come to my memory. The time he slipped and mentioned my high school English class and how I loved my teacher. She encouraged me to write poetry, telling me to practice my God-given gift, but I never told him about her. He said I had, but couldn’t remember. Now, all the weird little quirks that made me doubt my own memory make sense. He played me from the start.
Sin lifts the top off the box and I fear the contents while dying to know what’s inside. My life. My past. My future.
I peer over the top of the box and see papers mixed with photographs, files without marked tabs.
“What the fuck?” Sin mutters under his breath as he shuffles through the top layers and pulls out a few items.
One of them is a photograph of me reading in my hiding place at the club. I haven’t read there for over a year. Another chill runs down my spine. From the looks of the setting and the shorter length of my hair, the photo had to have been taken a year ago, maybe longer.
“There are more just like this one,” Sin comments as he digs deeper.
He opens a file and the first page appears to be a log with daily entries. The logo on the yellowish paper is from a private detective agency named Brennan’s.
Again, my name is typed in caps across the page.
“He had you watched every fucking day.” Sin points to a few days with various entries posted. There were days when I would look over my shoulder as an odd feeling of being watched came over me. I brushed it off as anxiety, but not anymore. I should’ve listened to that voice inside me whispering something was amiss. I was needy and blind to heed the warning.
Sin hands me the daily log sheet and I begin to read over the entries.
May 1st - Home all day.
May 2nd - Left home at 9 a.m. Followed her to the approved dry cleaners and grocery store. Returned home at 11:47 a.m. and didn’t leave for the rest of the day.
The folder contains page after page of documents tracing my daily activities. Every breath I took while living with James was recorded—the times I left the house thinking I was free were nothing more than pretense. I was a true prisoner with a guard to watch my every move.
“When did this start?” I ask, grabbing a few folders off the top.
“I think we know,” Sin says, but I want proof.
I start with the bottom folder in my hands and open it. Checking the day at the top, I see the first entry for last October. Over three months before I even knew James existed.
“He picked me out, waited for the moment when I was the weakest, then trapped me.”
“That son of a bitch,” Sin spits in disgust. “What he did to you comes close to insanity.”
I close m
y eyes and take a deep breath, remembering I am no longer with James. But it seems his reach is like a tentacle still holding on to me—a sick and diseased connection I have to escape. I want my freedom. It’s my God-given right.
“This box is coming with us.” Sin takes the papers from my hands and returns them to the box. “We need to leave before James finds us.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, twisting my fingers.
“The hotel across the street. I just hope they have a room.”
A room, as in one?
I should probably ask him if he plans on us sharing a room. I’m fine with it … I think. The thought of staying in a room by myself tonight doesn’t sound comforting. I don’t want to be alone, but being with him makes all kinds of expectations come to my mind.
I know he’s not James, but I am still processing the kisses we shared this morning. When I ran into his outstretched arms, his lips on mine just happened, like we were celebrating my freedom. I didn’t give his kisses a thought. They were natural and spontaneous. Now, as I reflect back on them, there’s no denying I would love to have the security of his arms holding me tight while his lips speak encouraging words.
Sin re-attaches the box’s top and begins looking over the various papers on the bed. They seem official and legal-sized. I glance over them and see the mention of attorneys and James Elliott.
“What are these?” I ask as Sin shuffles through them, reading page after lengthy page.
“Holy shit,” he exclaims. “Settlements. Out of court settlements with James and women. See this part?” Sin points to the words on the paper and I read them, but the number written out stops me. Ten million.
“He paid off a woman who was accusing him of sexually harassing her at work. She claims he stalked her and wouldn’t leave her alone,” Sin says in a rush. “I am going to fax this to my family attorney back in New York. This is all we need to secure your freedom from him in your life. If The Clinic gets word that he was stalking a nurse who worked in his department, he will lose his job and all his prestige. His career would be over.” A look of victory radiates over Sin’s face.
“And he can’t touch you or your career. Promise me,” I beg.
“We are both fine.” He reaches down and kisses me on my forehead. “It’s our ace. There’s no way he will risk his reputation and job. I would bet my life on it. His office is down the hall. I’ll fax these papers and we can get out of here.”
Sin leaves the room and I remove the top of the box with my name on it, emboldened by what Sin has found to hang over James’ head. What’s to fear from James’ wrath now? I want to know the secrets he might have stashed away, though a part of me fears what lies inside. At this point, I wouldn’t put anything past James.
Before I can get past a few papers on the top of the box, I hear Sin’s footsteps coming down the hall toward the bedroom. I glance over at the door and Sin enters with his papers in one hand and phone in the other.
“We need to clear out stat! I don’t want to be here if James walks in the door.”
Neither do I.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sin
“Where the fuck are you two?” James screams into the phone. I pull it away from my ear, grimacing. I expected nothing less from him, though. I took his shiny toy away from him and he is having a tantrum.
“Where I am is of no concern to you,” I reply, my voice deadpan. I have no desire to engage in a shouting match with him.
“I’m going to destroy you, Sin. Mark my words. You’ll be lucky to get a job sweeping the sidewalks in New York City once I settle this score. You’re a stupid fool. And all for a little pussy that belongs to me. I want her back by five o’clock at my house today. Or I will call my contact in the city and your residency at Columbia will evaporate before your eyes. Poof!” James ends with a lovely spit sound into the phone. I just smile to myself, knowing I’m holding my get-of-James’-wrath card.
“Before you make that call, I need to see you in your office. I have a little something of yours. A legal document concerning a woman named Meghan. Ring a bell?” The line goes silent until James sighs.
“How did you find out about her?” Knowing he’s been caught, he doesn’t deny anything. The secret life he has lived abusing women will come to an end if I have anything to do with it.
“Does that even matter at this point?” He’ll discover Harlow’s box missing from his safe and know how I came upon this information, but I need him to meet me and the less information I give him now will make him agree to my terms. He understands I hold information that could forever alter his life and destroy him.
“Does Harlow know?” James asks in a hushed voice. Why does he even care at this point? I find the question odd.
“You’ve lost the right to even mention her name. Understand?” I say with a firm rebuke. Harlow strokes my shoulder and I lean into her touch. A trail of sensation skims over my back as she moves farther. I stare into her clear blue eyes and see gratitude in them.
“Okay. Okay,” James sighs. “When do you want to meet?”
“Four. Today. And I’m coming alone. See you in your office then.” I end the call, leaving him no room to argue. There’s nothing more to say, other than, “Gotcha.”
I turn to face Harlow as we sit on the edge of the bed in a hotel room, a mere block from James’ apartment. Her eyes peer up at me, searching for answers. She bites her lip and releases it. Those beautiful, soft lips I want to claim again, but know she isn’t ready for that with me. She needs time to rediscover who she is after being suppressed. Her freedom is just her beginning.
I love this other version of her more than the one I met a few days ago, though. She’s wearing old blue jeans with ratty hems and a shirt so worn, it’s almost see-through. Thing is, Harlow’s never looked lovelier to me. This is the real woman sitting next to me, not some doctor’s Barbie doll.
“What did he say?” she asks. I brush my thumb over her cheek, my need to keep touching her soft skin winning out over the fear of coming on too strong. Harlow doesn’t seem bothered by it. She leans in to each of my touches like she craves them.
“He agreed to meet me. What choice does he have?”
“True. Are you okay to go alone? I don’t ever want to see his face again.”
“Stay here. Maybe call Emma and have her come over while I’m gone.” She nods at the mention of her best friend. “I promise, after I talk with him, you’ll never see or hear from him again. What I have against James is better than any restraining order. It’s his future wrapped in a few legal documents. I will give him the rules he has to abide by. Believe me, he isn’t going to fuck it up. You’re safe now.”
Harlow exhales a breath she’s likely been holding for months. I wrap my arm around her and pull her closer to me. She fits perfectly into my side, and a special place in my heart—a place I didn’t even know existed before meeting her. I am no longer the Tin Man when it comes to relationships after all.
“I hope you’re right,” Harlow says, her voice shaky. The trauma she’s suffered over the last four months isn’t going to be erased in one day, or likely months. I want to see her on the other side of all this pain, though—happy, smiling, and writing words from her heart. Anything less means James won.
“Trust me,” I implore with my words and my eyes. I wonder how many times James told her the same exact thing. How many times she gave her trust to a man abusing her goodness. “I will never do anything to hurt or deceive you. I am all for you, and with every breath I breathe, I will protect you from James or anyone else who stops you from living a real life. You deserve only the best.”
Tears well in her icy blue eyes and begin to fall, sliding over the curve of her cheeks. I wipe them away with my thumbs and kiss her forehead.
“I shouldn’t trust anyone,” Harlow confesses, “but I would trust you with my next heartbeat. You were willing to give up everything for me. All your dreams, so I could live mine. Whatever they are,” she scoffs
, and I want to scold her for not believing in herself. Then I realize she needs someone to believe in her.
“I have a confession.” Harlow sits up taller and her body stiffens. I run a hand over her back and stop at the soft skin of her neck, caressing circles with my thumb. “Relax, sweet thing,” I whisper, and her tension eases under my touch.
Rising off the bed, I walk toward the box with her journal in it, feeling her eyes follow me. After opening the box, I glance over my shoulder and see her forehead scrunched in confusion.
“There’s something in here I’ve read.” Her eyes go wide as she realizes what I’m referring to. “I shouldn’t have, but I did.” I try to sound contrite, but the truth is I’m glad I’ve read her poems. They connected me to her soul and maturity in a way voiced words would never have been able to in such a short time. She poured her heart out on the pages I hold in my hands. Who she truly is lays exposed for me.
“Oh, please, Sin, tell me you didn’t read my poems?” Worry strains her voice as she shakes her head. I lean against the hotel wall and pat the area next to me.
“Come here,” I say in a low, hushed voice, adding a wink at the end. I open the journal to the first page and see a new entry dated from yesterday. “Looks like you added something since I’ve read it.”
“I am going to die.” Harlow buries her face in her hands and glances through her long blond hair, a red flush staining her cheeks.
“I can’t believe you read them.” She pauses and lowers her eyes. “Well, did you like them? I bet you hated them. You’ve been to college and all.”
“Harlow, Harlow,” I say while pushing her hair behind her ear, “your writing is beyond impressive. You have raw talent. Something you were born with, not taught.” I peer down at her and see a smile so bright, her face glows. I smile back—it’s impossible to resist her joy—and tap a teasing finger to the tip of her nose. “But I haven’t read your latest one.”
