So, rape was what he had in mind. The idea that she could ever enjoy anything he would do to her was sickening. Unfortunately, she wasn’t ignorant to what Pothos did. Simply put, the elixir enhanced sexual experience. Magnifying usual sensations to meteoric levels, it wasn’t really possible to take the drug and be impervious to the acts being performed.
She’d never taken it and never would voluntarily. Brash’s intention revealed the level of his narcissistic depravity. Most rapists would choose a sedative to subdue their victim, making them easier to manipulate. Brash, on the other hand, didn’t want her just to take what he forced upon her, he wanted her to enjoy it too.
“What would your boss say to that?” she asked. “You think he’d like you pleasuring the woman who you believe killed him?”
“Hagan was smart,” he said, his attention slithering all over her. “He knew what you were good for. Despised that you kept it for the asshole who ruined his life… Think it’s only right we ruin the asshole’s woman before we dispose of her, don’t you?”
Harlow would accept all forms of torture before she’d choose rape. She supposed that was the point of it. An irrational doubt crept into her mind as she recalled something she’d once said to Ryske about accepting him into her body again if he ever gave himself to Ophelia. His decision would be voluntary while rape wouldn’t.
Except she couldn’t help but think Ryske would never be able to touch her again if she’d allowed herself to be pleasured by Brash. With Pothos in her system, she couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t feel pleasure. That terrified her more than the notion of death.
Projecting confidence, Harlow pushed her shoulders back and smiled up at him. “The trouble is, it’s not possible… After being with Ryske, I’m complete. Take whatever you think you can, the memory of him will always put it back.”
Turning away, she sashayed past Animal, measuring each step, reminding herself to go slow. Slipping out of the room, she went to her bedroom and closed the door. Her sanctuary was little more than a bed under a fixed pane window. She had a nightstand, with nothing in it, and a vanity beside a dresser.
Sinking onto the stool in front of her vanity, she touched the redness on her face. She didn’t have anything to put on it to reduce the swelling. Not in her bedroom. She’d wait until she heard Brash and Animal go back into the living room before considering a return to the kitchen to retrieve ice.
Life was reaching terminal velocity. They’d all put up with each other for long enough; it was becoming too much. Playing it civil had never been easy, but they’d at least managed to keep their hands off each other… until now.
Two more weeks. She didn’t know for sure that she’d walk out of Ophelia’s then, but Harlow hoped to have the evidence they needed before the deed became final. After that, there wasn’t much reason to stick around.
If Ryske was willing to make good on his threat, she had even more reason to work hard. Telling him about Brash’s threat could snooker that plan. Her love might be reluctant to hand himself over to Ophelia knowing it would lead to Harlow being thrown to the wolves.
Harlow wouldn’t let Ophelia triumph. The damned woman had held the upper hand for too long. One thing was clear, Harlow needed to kick up her efforts. The countdown had just become more real.
5
Each morning, Harlow’s first duty was to help Ophelia get ready for the day. It seemed like an insane process. Something queens in ye olde England probably expected of their ladies-in-waiting.
Even though she was aware that the task was just another way to demean her, Harlow was growing tired of putting up with the bullshit. Ophelia was capable of putting on her own shoes and selecting her own underwear. Seemed that she’d done it before dragooning her slave, so she should be able to do it after.
When Harlow arrived in her mistress’ abode that morning, she’d heard Ophelia in the kitchen, but hadn’t bothered to go in and talk to her. Instead, she went to the bedroom to get on with what she had to do—picking out Ophelia’s outfit, as per previous instructions. The bathroom was dry, indicating Ophelia hadn’t used the shower that day. Keeping on top of Ophelia’s hygiene was just another of her patronizing, and ridiculous, duties. So, after pottering about with accessories, and using some of Ophelia’s concealer to try hiding the bruise on her face, Harlow left the bedroom to seek out her overlord.
Approaching the kitchen door, she heard a female voice that didn’t belong to her boss.
“You have more patience than I would,” the female said.
Flattening herself against the wall, Harlow frowned, trying to place the voice that she definitely recognized.
“Sometimes I think I should be sainted, An,” Ophelia said. “I really do.”
Anwen. That was… unexpected. As far as Harlow knew, Anwen was still staying at Floyd’s with Ryske and the other guys. At Ophelia’s request, Anwen was part of the Pothos operation, but Harlow hadn’t known that the women had become close.
Being absent from Windsor’s on Friday nights meant she missed a lot. Fridays were when Pothos was dispensed to willing patrons who payed several thousand dollars for the high. Women were provided for them to have an optimum experience.
The whole operation had been instigated by Ophelia. Harlow wasn’t sure how all the pieces fitted together yet, but that was one thing she was sure of. Ophelia had brought her brother on board and Ryske too. She was close to Parratt who was close to Yarker. Everyone in their consortium contributed something to the operation. Though, in Harlow’s biased opinion, Ryske was the most valuable member.
Especially since Ophelia had lost the Pothos venue to Ryske in a card game. Windsor’s had been Ophelia’s contribution to the operation. Without it, the consortium didn’t really need her. In addition to becoming their host, Ryske was the provider of the escorts who entertained the men enjoying their Pothos high.
Parratt and Yarker’s roles were related to supply and logistics; one had the contact in Europe who provided the product and the other got the product into the country. Ophelia and Harlow had invested start-up money. That was it. That was the sum total of their contribution, making both of them expendable.
“You should,” Anwen said. “I lived with her. I know how awful she can be.”
“I don’t understand what he ever saw in her.”
“Try living with it,” Anwen said. “I had to listen to them talking and fooling around… It’s sick. It is. I don’t know what she has on him.”
Ophelia gasped. “Blackmail? Oh, it could be… We should think about that some more.”
Harlow’s mouth opened. They were talking about her! She and Anwen had never been close, but she didn’t think the woman despised her. After hearing the contempt in her tone that misconception was gone. This could be some play by the crew, she couldn’t discount that. But it could also be the truth of the woman, and a side she hadn’t seen.
There were lots of conflicting reports about Anwen’s personality. Jarvis Hagan, who had once been her fiancé, adored her. Ryske, who’d had an affair with her for six months, told of how Anwen had conned him into her bed… But there were times he spoke of her with an affection that Harlow didn’t believe he was always aware of.
He had hidden the woman away after helping to fake her death. That wasn’t something someone would do for a person they had no fondness for. In contrast, since Anwen had been back in their lives, there had been undeniable tension in the air.
Anwen cared for Ryske. In the past, during brief moments of compassion, Harlow had pitied her. It was obvious that Anwen wasn’t sure about how to go about expressing her feelings to Ryske or how to reach him. Ophelia loved him too, but she was more proactive in her attempts to gain his attention. Harlow hadn’t felt sorry for Ophelia for a long time.
“I am indebted to you,” Anwen said, excited and playful. “He’s just been a different person since you took her out of our lives.”
Ophelia groaned. “I am having fun with her. But it is hard work. You get
to have all the fun.”
Anwen moaned in a demonstration of pleasure. “My roommate does know how to have the best kind of fun.”
“Are you sleeping with him?” Ophelia asked, sounding intrigued rather than shocked.
“God, yes,” Anwen said. “Ryske can’t be without a woman and when there’s a willing one in reach…”
Harlow didn’t want to so much as blink while listening to Anwen discuss Ryske being an incredible lover. They’d been together before, which gave credibility to what she was saying. It was that previous carnal knowledge Anwen was drawing on. Harlow didn’t doubt the woman was speaking from past, not current, experience.
Yes, it was true that Harlow’s relationship with Ryske was in flux, so technically, he could screw anyone he liked. But if Anwen was fulfilling his needs at home, he wouldn’t be going out to find himself a fight every night.
Whether they were together or not, either in a physical sense or a relationship, Ryske was focused on her. The only thing that would eclipse his focus on her would be a greater love. If Anwen was that love, she’d have the power to stop him going into the street in a rage. Out there he could get himself killed or arrested.
If Ryske tried to pull that shit while Harlow was home, there would be a lot of screaming arguments and a lot of sex too. There was no way in hell that she’d let him take risks like that. Fighting achieved nothing and probably only raised his frustration levels.
She sighed. Just the idea of having that kind of access to him again fired her yearning. She’d give anything to lie in bed with him again. To be in his arms. To be alone with him. Setting that as an ambition gave her something to shoot for. Even if it was just for a minute, she wanted to lie with him again, at least once.
“He’s a man with a high libido,” Ophelia said.
“Fifi,” Anwen said. “You have no idea… He’s insatiable. I just have to tell him I want him and he’s ready. It’s incredible.”
Folding her hands over each other at the small of her back, Harlow wondered if she should interject with her own opinion on how to get Ryske going. It had nothing to do with telling him… or even using words. To get laid when Ryske was around, all she had to do was look at him and he’d know. Though more often than not, he knew what she needed before she did.
Ophelia laughed. “Oh, he’s always ready. Have you ever known him not to be on and ready for it? The man’s a walking hormone.”
Not for her. That was what Harlow wanted to call out-loud, but she restrained herself. Ophelia’s comment was another example of her delusion. In Ophelia’s mind, she and Ryske were some kind of star-crossed lovers who’d been victims of circumstance. That was how she justified them never having had the chance to be together.
Ophelia blamed Anwen for getting in the way early in the relationship. She seemed to have conveniently forgotten two specific periods of time, both before and after Anwen was a part of his life. Ryske had been single and available before he ever met Anwen and after she’d “died.” Instead of starting something with Ophelia, he’d chosen—yes, chosen—to move on.
His exit from Ophelia’s life wasn’t dramatic. He hadn’t ousted her in a fit of theatrics or to make a point. It was simply that she’d been so insignificant in his life that he hadn’t spared her a passing thought before getting back to his life as it had been before Anwen.
Ophelia seemed to forget that she’d needed to come up with the Pothos plot to get him back in her life. Even then, the wheels of that operation had already been in motion before Anwen, or Harlow, had been a part of his life. If he’d wanted Ophelia, he could’ve had her then too.
“I’m doing my best to keep up,” Anwen said. “I can’t say I’m complaining.”
The women laughed. “Can’t say I would either.”
They laughed like girlfriends discussing a new boyfriend. But it couldn’t have been more fake. Pushing away from the wall, Harlow tiptoed back to the bedroom to pull the door closed hard like she’d just used it.
Striding down the hallway, Harlow entered the kitchen and came up short, acting surprised to see Anwen.
“I… didn’t realize you were coming to visit,” Harlow said.
Pretending to be off-kilter, Harlow enjoyed the look of mischief in Ophelia’s eyes. The villainess thought she’d surprised her captive. Harlow thought about what a kick Ryske would get out of her performance.
“Ophelia and I have been building bridges,” Anwen said. The two women were sitting at perpendicular sides of the kitchen island. “At the club.”
“That’s nice,” Harlow said, going over to clean up the mess around the coffee machine. “Would you like me to turn on the shower, Ophe?”
Sitting there in her long silk robe, Ophelia liked to project an effortless air. Harlow didn’t fall for it. She’d seen the makeup on the vanity. Ophelia wasn’t as “just woken” as she’d like to project.
“I think we’ll have a bath today,” Ophelia said.
“You bathe together?” Anwen asked, raising her coffee cup and her brows at the same time.
“Harlow washes my feet and my hair,” Ophelia said. “You know how tiresome these daily tasks can be.”
Biting her tongue wasn’t easy. Anwen’s quick acceptance and nod of understanding made Harlow want to throw something across the room to knock some sense into her. That wouldn’t pass for restraint.
In the moment she was examining Anwen’s profile, folding and refolding a kitchen towel, wondering what could be going on, Harlow noticed the bracelet on her wrist.
It was Ryske’s.
Her mouth opened and she took a step forward. Just in the nick of time, she stopped the words that wanted to spill from her mouth. That bracelet could be a sign from him that he approved of Anwen being there. Ryske would know she’d notice it. Harlow had claimed ownership of that bracelet since his death, minus the months when she’d been in jail.
She hadn’t realized she was gawping until Anwen shifted and averted her gaze, adjusting the long sleeve of her shirt to cover the bracelet while angling herself away.
Narrowing her eyes, Harlow reached some quick conclusions. The action betrayed that Anwen hadn’t wanted her to see the piece. If she wasn’t supposed to see it, either Anwen wasn’t supposed to have it, or the relationship between Ryske and Anwen was real and extremely powerful.
She knew which she believed.
Pasting on a smile, Harlow put the towel on the counter and headed for the door. “A bath it is. Excuse me.”
Harlow took her time getting Ophelia’s bath ready. Not too much time, just enough to let the women in the kitchen relax and forget about her intrusion.
It turned out that her timing was perfect. After filling the bath with bubbles and lighting the oils Ophelia loved, Harlow grabbed a bath sheet and went into the hallway again, her ears pricked.
“It’s a process…” Anwen was saying. “You’re doing so well. You have to be patient. Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve done a lot of hard work.”
Harlow wondered how many more platitudes Anwen would spout before shutting up.
“I want it to be a success,” Ophelia said. “Pothos might be a game for Gil, but it means something to me.”
“It means something to Anthony.”
Ophelia huffed. “It means something to Anthony Yarker because I tell him it means something to him. It’s easy to manipulate a man into believing anything when you’re sucking his dick.” Harlow almost dropped the towel when she clamped a hand over her lips to stop herself from squealing. “This whole palaver only started because he has a loose tongue in bed. Why do you think I said no hookers for investors? God knows what he’d say to them.”
“It worked out for you though,” Anwen said and Harlow heard a spoon on the edge of a cup like it was being stirred. “If he didn’t tell you about Parratt’s Pothos contact, you’d never have put this all together… You know I’m still in awe of how you’ve handled this.”
So, Ophelia had been having an affair, maybe a rel
ationship, with Yarker. During that he’d let slip about Parratt and his link to Arjan, their Pothos supplier. That conversation had sparked the whole operation. Yarker’s inability to keep a secret, if it was a secret, had planted the seed, which led to Ophelia’s plan.
Some things didn’t make sense. Like why were they still keeping the affair secret? Harlow had never even seen any hint of true affection between them. Maybe Ophelia wanted it on the down low so as not to disrupt her potential relationship with Ryske.
Listening to the women chat was intriguing. There was a trust between them that Harlow hadn’t been aware of when she was last involved in Pothos. If Anwen had known about the affair, she hadn’t revealed that knowledge to the group. Not while Harlow was a part of their lives. Something had changed between the women over the course of the last four weeks.
Figuring out how much she should trust Anwen was simple. If Anwen was feeding this information back to the Floyd’s crew, Harlow would let herself trust. But if Anwen was hiding things or acting alone, she was a threat to Harlow’s family.
The fallout of that level of risk was too high. Where her boys were concerned, Harlow would rather be the bitch who overreacted by having Anwen ousted than give her the benefit of the doubt. The trouble was, she couldn’t contact them and had no way of verifying what was true.
The contradictions perplexed her. Anwen’s claim of sleeping with Ryske recently was a lie. Was she in competition with Ophelia or had the crew instructed Anwen to mislead her old friend?
Then there was the bracelet. Ryske wouldn’t have handed that over unless it was a part of the ruse. If that was the case, why had Anwen tried to hide it from her?
Harlow couldn’t stand being out of the loop. She wouldn’t be able to trust Anwen until she got word from one of her boys that it was safe to do so.
Anwen knew about Ophelia’s secret affair with Yarker and how Pothos had come about. She was in the know and had Ophelia’s trust—a valuable asset. Was it part of a larger plan or was her crew about to be shafted?
Go Full Circle (A Go Novel Book 5) Page 4