It's been two weeks since I've had my arms around Harlyn. Since I've whispered in his ear everything I felt except for what I wanted to say. I watch him now from my seat in the VIP area at Shadows. He's behind the bar as stoic as ever. If he feels anything about our time apart you’d never know. Meanwhile I feel it slowly chipping away at my sanity.

I miss you.

As if he can hear my thoughts, his eyes lock with mine. If it wasn’t for the twitch of his fingers around the glass he’s holding, I’d have assumed it had no effect on him. He tried reaching for me in the first few days, but I pulled away.

It's necessary.

“Eyes over here.”

Beige snaps.

And that’s why.

My brothers regard me like I'm a stranger and they don't know what I'll do next. It hurts. It hurts more than losing Harlyn.

Clearing my throat, I apologize for zoning out once again. It's been happening more often than not. It feels like I'm going through withdraws.

However, the facts can no longer be ignored. Not a single shipment of ours has made it to its intended buyer since the day I decided Har and I would take a break. Coincidence? My brothers don't think so and I'm inclined to agree. I fucking hate that I'm inclined to agree

Beige wants to take him to his playroom and torture the truth out of him, while Shaide simply wants to put a bullet in his head and let it be done with. Both options make me feel lightheaded like my brain isn’t receiving enough oxygen because my heart cannot fathom pumping blood to all the right places to live when it doesn't want to survive without him.

It's exhausting. I'm exhausted.

We’ve officially stopped all distribution of product. It's too risky to send out another. We’ve tried everything. Even camping out, watching as our men load the trucks and drive away. They still delivered empty. We followed a truck, figuring nothing could go missing if we don't take our eyes off of it and slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid a collision when the truck exploded, an SUV pealing out in its wake. The plates were a dead end.

“Fucker has the nerve to look over here,”

Shaide says. “Doesn't he know we are on to him?”

Now that distance has been put between us, I'm not the only one watching him from up close and afar. We all are. Everyone but my soul agrees that Harlyn needs to be taken out. Their reasoning is logical, and months ago I may have listened. In fact, I would have pulled the trigger, but now?

What the fuck.

The only thing standing between him, and my family is me, and they are beginning to despise me for it. Res could overrule me at any moment, and they wouldn’t hesitate. I'm unsure why he hasn’t.

I look up, when an unfamiliar voice asks, “have you seen Harlyn?”

He's male, early thirties possibly, speaking to a brawny man who towers over him. “He was just at the bar,”

he raises his voice over the loud music.

Brawny shakes his head. “No, let’s check the bathroom, we’ve gotta get to him.”

“Hey!”

Shaide yells, interrupting the pair. They turn their attention to him, and one lifts his head in an up nod. “How do you two know Harlyn?”

The smaller of the two answers, “He’s the bosses man.”

The bosses man??

A strange sensation washes over me. Similar to a bucket of ice-cold water being dumped on my head.

It's now I look down and my eyes take in the scars across each of their throats, no collar. The sensation intensifies.

“Marcus?”

I guess aloud.

Brawny smirks. “You know him?”

I ignore that. “What does he want with Harlyn?”

“I told you, he’s the bosses man. Says it's time to tell him to come home, he's done here.”

His brow raises, while his eyes scan the length of me. “How do you know him?”

“But he’s on the schedule here, he can't just leave.”

Ressyn says, playing at an angle I can't see because I'm still processing this motherfucker calling Harlyn another mans.

“Are you slow? That devil works for Marcus, and he's done here.”

He glances around. “Have you seen him?”

“There he is!”

The smaller one pipes in. My gaze tracks to where his finger points and I see Harlyn striding in this direction at a fast pace. Pushing through the crowd, face drained of color.

Guilt. That’s how Harlyn looks right now. Fucking guilty.

My heart pounds a rhythm unknown as my body goes from hot to cold too fast and my limbs start to numb. I don't feel it as my hand slips into my waistband and pulls out my gun. My heart shattering in my chest, shadows the feeling of my finger landing on the trigger.

Every memory I've made with Harlyn flashes behind my eyes, welling with tears of anger, that I refuse to let fall. He doesn't deserve them. He played me. Everything a fucking lie. I feel like a joke, still unable to comprehend how I let this happen to me.

He's with Marcus?

After everything he said about him?

A LIE!

The numbness spreads.

I don't feel it when he stops in his tracks and takes in the Glock directed at him. His face falls, anguished eyes lift to mine.

“Creek,”

his voice cracks.

I don't feel it when I pull the trigger.