Page 25

I'm not sure what Harlyn is doing here, and he hasn’t explained either. Ressyn demanded I take him with me today in passing.

So here we are. My driver eyes him in the rear-view mirror with suspicion. Probably something to do with Harlyn acting like Harlyn. So damn clinical.

He sits ram rod straight, hands clasped in his lap, gazing out the window. He views the city the way he views everything, with an intense eye. You’d think there was something amiss outside that window, but no. Harlyn just has a way of making mundane things look powerful.

I'd die before I told him as much.

He hasn’t said anything about striking me in the face the other night. Actually, he hasn’t said much of anything at all.

Res had talked Steven Garbara off his war path that night. On top of compensation for his brother’s death, he demanded Harlyn's head. After pulling myself together and out of the private room, I walked in mid conversation regarding said pretty head. It was an effort to mask my temper.

Everything I said to Harlyn about his feelings being a bit premature were true, yes. However, somewhere along the way I went from viewing Harlyn as a slivery serpent to someone who simply craved love.

Okay, so I may be reaching. Only because I'm 89% positive he just wants mine. Which is new to say the least. Especially where a jumbo box of senseless is concerned.

Nevertheless, hearing Stevens demands of retribution for a simple spill of a drink was overboard. Not to mention, never going to fucking happen.

Were his actions wrong and without a doubt intentional? Absolutely so. Was I going to stand by and listen to talk of cutting off his clumsy hands? Absolutely not.

Besides, I think Garbara thought it was an accident. The only reason I know that it wasn’t is because Har doesn't accidently do anything. He’s all calculation and smooth movements that would put cheetahs to shame.

Turning away from the object of all of my confusion, I fish the bag of sour skittles from my pant pocket.

The flavors of the rainbow explode on my tongue, the sour bit, causing my mouth to water. Glancing back at Harlyn I find him already watching me. I burn under his observant eyes, but I don't showcase it.

I shake the candies wrapper in offering, to which he holds out a slender hand. His blue eyes study the various colors in his palm. Plucking a red one from the batch and tossing it into his mouth, I watch as his brows raise.

“These are skittles.”

It's a statement, not a question. One of his more obvious observations.

Deciding not to dwell and mind fuck myself about it, I answer anyway.

“Yes?”

Definitely a question.

“I love it.”

He smiles around a swallow, and I can't help but swallow too. His smile is warm and genuine, eyes lighting further as he continues to gaze at me.

“What, you’ve never had skittles before?”

“Nope. I did pocket a snickers from the gas station once, but it was for Cami.”

I blink.

“What is it, what's wrong?”

He's in front of me suddenly, hands on my shoulders the best he can from the position the seats force us to take.

What's wrong with me? What about what's wrong with everything about his existence thus far? My heart swells and hurts for him. I remember him saying that his mom had been the reason for some of the scars he wears like clothing. Lips tightening, I grow angry at the thought. My mother died shortly after having me. Pregnancy complication they had said. I'm certain she would have been the best if I had got to keep her though.

A thought occurs to me, and I give my driver a different address before I can talk myself out of it.

“What happened to your mother?”

I blurt before I can think better of it. The memory of him freaking out in my restroom when asked about his sister, flashes through my mind. I believe there is a vast difference between the two though. At least I'm hoping.

“Her throat was slit.”

He settles back into his seat. Hands leaving behind a comforting heat on my shoulders.

“By... you?”

“No, of course not.”

He answers incredulously. As if the thought would be so out of the realm of normal for him.

Turning back to the window, he effectively cuts off the conversation. I feel dismissed. I don't know what I'm allowed to address or how far I'm able to pry.

Hopefully our new destination will alleviate the tension and dread I know he's carrying.

∞∞∞

Stepping into Lennies Candies with Harlyn on my heels, I grab us both a paper sack.

“You fill the bag with all the candy you want, and they weigh it at the register.”

I explain when he sends me a questioning look.

Stepping around me, he inspects the room left to right. It's colorful with bins on the ground and on the shelved walls, filled with vast amounts of different candy. It's every kids make a wish, which explains why that’s the majority of the population in here. We certainly look out of place. Me, draped in all black with my button collared shirt and slacks. Him, with his nasty neck scar, baggy clothing, and concentration.

Doing a full spin and glancing back at me, he has a small smile on his face.

“Cami would have loved this.”

His accent is thick as the words fall.

His sister again... There is a lot to unravel there. Things I don't believe he’s even begun working on, but that’s a problem for another day. The dim of his pretty eyes irritates me, so I swiftly change the subject.

“What kind of accent is that anyways?”

“Hell, if I know. I don't even have a last name; think I know where my accent comes from?”

He shrugs.

“You say it so casually, as if any of that is normal.”

“I've known I wasn’t normal since I was five, Creek.”

I love the sound of my name on his lips. Reminds me of when he was chanting it breathless at the club the other night.

Fuck.

I need to stop before I'm buying candy with a hard on. This isn’t about me. This is about solving the mystery that is Harlyn no last name, and giving him something he should have had, but missed out on.

“What happened when you were five?”

He’s eyeing the red twizzlers and stuffing some into his paper bag, smirking. I wait for him to answer, while hoping he isn’t comparing the color to that of his victims.

Who knows what runs through his head?

“While the other kids were eating sandwiches and small bags of chips at the cook out, I was snatching wallets for cash, hoping mom would be proud enough not to beat me.”

I fucking hate that woman.

He continues on to the next isle, searching for more of his lost childhood. I stay rooted in place while I process how he could possibly say that so carelessly. A woman nearby clutches her nonexistent pearls and stirs her child in the other direction. I try offering her an apologetic smile because Har doesn't sensor his mouth for anyone.

Catching up with him, I watch in comfortable silence while he collects more candy and admires every surface of the store.

“Sooo. You’re fond of my accent, huh?”

I grunt while he peeks at me from behind his blonde waves.

“Is that why you love to choke me on your dick? So it becomes more prominent?”

I choke on a gasp and look around in horror to ensure no one overheard him. Luckily we are further away.

“Harlyn!”

I whisper yell. “You cannot say stuff like that in public!”

His brows wrinkle and he looks every which way with confusion. “Why not? I want everyone to know, I choke on your dick.”

He says matter of fact, and oh so fucking serious.

My head falls back and unexpected laughter roars from my stomach, up to my throat. My eyes are watering and passers glance at us, judgement unmasked. I quickly scan Harlyn to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid about that fact but find him watching me.

His eyes are hooded, fingers twitching at his side. Something about his unwavering attention makes this a moment causing my laughter to die.

“What?”

I ask, licking my lips.

“Do that again.”

He says softly.

Now he whispers?

“Do what, laugh?”

I smile. It's cheesy and gross and I need to get out of here.

Something akin to a choked moan parts his wet lips and his voice cracks. “You are devilishly handsome, dipped in five layers of sin.”

His eyes are pain and lust filled, sending a surge of pleasure through my core. The scariest part isn’t the incoming hard on, mid candy trip. It’s the way my cheeks heat and my chest stirs at his praise. He is pure danger on legs, and I fear this will end in shattered hearts and a penance for twizzlers.

“Hey look, skittles!”

He squeals, almost childlike, all lust forgotten.

Grabbing my hand, he tugs me down the aisle. My heart speeds up as I focus on our intertwined fingers. My blood heating when I let myself feel how right it is.