Confused, maybe a little in shock, Harmon's mouth opened to scream even as the bastard's body fell forward, half trapping her.
I dropped down beside her, my hand slapping over her mouth, silencing.
"Sh. Babe. Sh. It's okay," I told her, hearing the desperation in my voice, knowing I wasn't being soothing, but I was too worked up to get the worry and relief out of my voice. "It's alright. You're okay," I told her, dropping the gun, reaching down to grab her shirt, dragging it over her breasts. "Look at me," I demanded, seeing her panicked eyes on the body half-covering her.
"McC—" I started, only to see him drop down on the other side of her, grabbing the bastard's body, rolling him off of her. "Look at me, babe," I demanded again, voice a little softer, waiting for her head to swivel, eyes landing on me.
There was a second of pure panic, then confusion, and then it was all washed away by the tears that flooded her eyes.
"Fuck. Okay. Alright," I said, pulling my hand off of her mouth, grabbing her body, pulling her up until she was cradled in my lap.
She curled into me, her hand gripping my shirt, her face buried in my neck, the hot tears running down to wet my shirt. "You're okay. I got you," I assured her, my hand holding the back of her neck.
"Huck," McCoy said a moment later, waving a hand to the body. "We need to clean up."
"Right," I agreed, nodding, trying to remind myself that there would be time for soft shit, for comforting her, later. Right now, we needed to make sure she was safe, that we could walk away from this without anyone knowing she was even there. "Harmon, babe, we need to focus right now, okay? We need to know where you were, what you touched, where there might be evidence on that fucker."
We weren't sweating some low-level gang members bodies being investigated too hard, but some average Joe in a working-class area? They might actually put some effort into him. We needed to have her disappear from the whole space.
"Harmon," I said, voice firmer, hearing her sniffle pathetically, making me feel like a dick for being harsh with her, even if I knew it was for her own good.
"I, ah. I was in the walk-in closet. That was where I woke up," she said, taking slow, deep breaths. "I touched the pill bottle and the blanket. The doorknob. I touched all the walls in there, trying to find my way around. Um, the wood tray. I hit him with that. He, ah, he pulled my hair. I think he pulled some of it out," she said, eyes far away as she was trying to recall the awful events of the day. "Am I bleeding here?" she asked, touching her bruised face.
"No," I told her, even though I wanted to resurrect the bastard just so I could kill him more slowly.
"But there's..." she said, fingers touching her cheek.
"That's his blood. We will wash it off before we go, okay?"
"Okay," she agreed, eyes starting to focus. "How are we... you killed him..."
"He deserved it," I said, shrugging. "And you don't need to worry about how. We just need to get you cleaned up. Throw a different shirt on you. And then we can go, okay? McCoy, Che, and Remy will handle this now."
"Okay," she agreed, going with the flow even though she looked like she had a million questions.
With that, I pulled her off the floor, took her with me into the bathroom, helping her wash the blood away, yanking off her top, slipping on the tee that Che handed to me, hating that she had to wear anything from him, but knowing it was the only way to get out of here without someone seeing the blood.
"Okay. You and me, we are going to walk out of here like nothing happened, okay?" I said, watching as Che moved into the bathroom, tossing the washcloth and shirt into the trash, wiping off the counter, faucet, light switch, the mirror, shit we didn't even touch.
Our body count was high for one day. Their paranoia was going to work in our favor to make sure there was nothing of any of us at this crime scene.
"Here," Remy said, handing Harmon a trucker hat. "That hair," he said, shrugging.
"Right," she agreed, carefully twisting her hair up, holding it on the top of her head, then trapping it under the hat. "I guess having distinguishing hair colors isn't a good idea if you're a criminal."
"You're not a criminal," I insisted, reaching to grab her hand.
"I'm an accessory, at the very least," she said, tone a little dead, far away.
But there would be time to deal with that later.
Right now, we had to get out of here so the guys could clean.
Even as I thought that, Che was walking past with plastic gloves and a vacuum, walking out to the living room where McCoy was scraping under Kit's nails.
"Okay. Listen. Just duck your head, and walk out of here with me."
"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I have no shoes," she said as we moved in front of the door.
"It's Miami, not New York. People are barefoot here sometimes," I told her, pulling her with me, not wanting to waste any time.
I was pretty sure that the shock was going to wear off sooner rather than later, and we weren't exactly close to home.
"Hey, you're okay, alright?" I said as I felt her body starting to tremble as we made our way out onto the main street. "You're okay. We are almost out of here. Just hold it together for a few more minutes," I urged. But by the time I got to the bikes, I knew there was no way she was going to be able to hang on trembling like she was.
"Shit," I hissed, wrapping an arm around her, holding her to me as I tried to figure out my next move.
"I'm just going to pick you up," I said when her whole body jolted when she felt my hands touch her legs. "I am going to take you to Teddy's," I told her, even though I wasn't sure how much she was actually paying attention right then. "He's not too far from here," I added, even though that was complete bullshit.
It was a bit of a haul, made worse still by carrying someone and trying not to seem too conspicuous.
It was a full twenty minutes when we finally made it to the apartment building, my arms feeling numb and weak as I confidently walked her through the lobby, slipped inside the elevator, and rode it up.
There were two penthouse apartments on the top floor with a small hallway between.
My foot kicked into Teddy's door, praying he was home because I didn't have a key or anywhere else to turn right now unless I wanted to call Seeley to come with a car, and try to hold her down in the back while she lost her shit with her PTSD.
There was a long pause that filled me with dread before the door pulled open, revealing Teddy still in his slacks and button-up but the buttons were undone.
"Shit," he said, moving out of the way to let me inside, closing the door quickly, locking it. "What happened?" he asked.
He might not have been a technical member of the club since he couldn't ride, but he was an honorary member. He was in on most of the goings on.
"Stalker. Kidnapped. Handled it," I said, walking her into the massive, open space with its floor-to-ceiling windows, white couches, white kitchen with a huge island, a TV that came out of a cabinet on the wall across from the windows.
"Okay," Teddy said, able to read between the lines. "She's not doing great," I added.
"Clearly," he said, rolling his eyes. "I can't get her on the bike like this," I added.
"Want me to drive you back?" he asked, having a specialized car or a driver at the service at any time of day.
"She can't do cars," I said, shrugging. "I just need to clean her up, calm her down, and then I can get her back to the clubhouse. Not to make you an accessory to-"
Teddy held up a hand, stopping me. "I sat on your office couch while you chopped cars I told you to steal," he reminded me. "I'm not worried about it. Take her into the guest room. What do you need from me?"
"Call the guys. And Seeley. Maybe put some coffee on? I don't know. What does she need after a seizure, kidnapping, having some dickhead paw at her, then seeing him get killed right in front of her?"
"Coffee sounds right. Maybe a drink," he added. "I'll get on it. Go on."
With that, I took Harmon
down the hall and into the guest room that was bigger than my master and a fuckuva lot better decorated with its white and black color scheme, its ultra-sleek marble bathroom with its all-glass walk-in shower and giant soaking tub.
"Bath, I guess," I said, carrying her over to it, reaching in to turn it on, then carefully stripping her before lowering her into the steadily filling water. "I, ah, I guess I'm coming in," I said when that dead look stayed on her face, her body strangely limp.
I shucked my clothes, climbed in with her, reaching for the soap, squeezing it into the hot water.
"Come back to me, babe," I said, settling her back against my chest. "I'm no good with this shit," I added, feeling hopeless as the minutes ticked away, no sounds but our breathing and Teddy talking on the phone in the other room.
This was when having my sister or Ayanna around would have come in handy. They would have known what to do, what to say, wouldn't have sat there feeling and being useless, having no right words, and afraid to start cleaning her body to get rid of any evidence because I didn't know how she would respond to more hands on her body.
"Everything alright in there?" Teddy's voice called through the door what felt like a lifetime later.
"I, ah. Maybe we should call Ayanna," I suggested, feeling out of my depths.
"No."
"What?" I asked, sure I misheard her.
"No," she said, voice stronger.
"Put a pin in that," I called back to Teddy.
"Alright," he said. "I'm a shout away," he said, moving away from the door.
"Ayanna would be better with this," I insisted.
"I froze."
"What's that?"
"When he came at me. I froze. For a long time."
"Everyone reacts to shit differently. It's okay. Everything is alright now. And you got some shots in."
"I couldn't stop him," she said, voice a sharp sound, close to cracking.
"I know, babe. It's alright now, though. He can't hurt you again."
"He was supposed to be a she!" she said, voice getting stronger, her hand lifting up then slapping down on the surface of the water, making it shoot up into my face.
"I know."
"I told him things," she said, anger slipping into her voice. It was probably cowardly as fuck of me, but I would take the anger over the sadness any damn day. "I told him what I named my vibrator," she said, scoffing. "And that I used my last one so much I broke it and was trying to pick out a good new one. God," she seethed. "How did I not know?"
"We are going to circle back to the vibrator discussion at a future time," I started, getting a snort out of her as she looked over her shoulder at me. "But, I don't know, babe. I didn't think twice about it when I saw the screen name either. Who the fuck is named Kit Kat?"
"Wait... what? Kat? she asked, turning in my arms so she could look at me.
"Yeah. That was his name. Kit Kat Gadleigh. Hand to God," I added when her brows furrowed.
A snorting laugh bubbled up and burst out of her, making her hand fly up, slapping over her mouth like she was horrified by her ability to laugh after the day she'd had.
"It's okay to laugh."
"I watched you kill a man."
"We can debate his right to ever call himself a man some other time. But yeah, you did, babe. And in the interest of full disclosure, that wasn't even the first man I killed today trying to find you."
"Wait. Who-"
"They weren't innocent," I cut her off. "For a while there, I thought the drive-by guys and this one had something in common. Regardless of that, though, this was the end they were going to meet. It's just been a busy day."
"You shouldn't have to kill someone because of me."
"I didn't have to do shit. I wanted to. I get that this is new for you, babe, but it's been a rough year. I have more than a handful of bodies behind me. I get that coming to terms with that might not be easy, but that is how it is. That's what this life is like. It's kill or be killed. Sometimes, it is not business, but personal."
"But this was... this was neither," she insisted, her gaze falling away.
"This was personal," I told her, reaching out, carefully grabbing her chin, forcing her head up. "He fucked with you. That means he fucked with me too."
"But we're not..."
"No?" I cut her off, brows raised. "I think we are. Or we are heading that way, at least. Weird timing to say that shit, but it's true."
"It's okay if it isn't that way," she said, not believing me.
"Look, babe. I'm not that guy. The one who makes declarations in some attempt to get ass or something like that. I don't need to play those games. I've never been someone who even wants to say that shit. But I'm saying that shit. So I mean it. Now, if you don't want it to be that way—"
"I do," she cut me off. "I know it's early to say that, but I think there's something here. At least I think we should, you know, see if it goes anywhere. Now that all the shooting and kidnapping is over with."
"Gonna level with you, babe. The shooting will likely never be over with. Though, as soon as we get back to the clubhouse, I will be doing everything in my power to make sure no one could ever come in and just take you—or anyone else—again."
"I know that your job isn't, you know, the safest. That's something I can learn to live with. And, ah, I want to, you know, learn some other stuff too."
"Other stuff," I repeated.
"How to shoot," she told me. "I've never even held a real gun. And all of this today, it makes me want to, I don't know, learn how to fight to something. Just so if anything like this ever happens—"
"It won't."
"But if it did," she insisted. "I don't want to freeze up like that again. Or have to rely on dumb luck and a food tray to be able to just barely get away, only to be caught again. I want to be able to defend myself."
"I think it's a good idea." And I was starting to understand why all the women who shacked up with the men of the mother chapter of our club ended up taking extensive martial arts classes.
"Maybe we can spar together," she suggested, smile a bit... suggestive. Or maybe that was my wishful thinking since we were both stark-fucking naked in a bathtub.
My gaze lowered, roaming over her body, seeing the bruises on her shoulder, her back, her thighs, even her shoulder. He'd struggled to get her out of the house, being a small, weak fucking excuse for a man. So he bumped her all around after a serious neurological issue.
"Think I would be down for that," I told her, trying to keep my tone light. "When you're back in fighting shape."
"Hey, are you calling me fat?"
"What? No. Where the fuck did that come from? I carried you all the way here."
"It was just something he said. I didn't expect it to bother me."
"He had arms like fucking limp noodles. It wasn't about you. And that wasn't what I meant. I meant that you're sore all over. It doesn't look like there is anywhere I could touch you without hurting you."
"Here," she said, reaching under the water, grabbing my hand, pulling it over, and placing it just above a bruise on her hip. "That doesn't hurt," she told me. "Neither does this," she added, moving my hand up her belly, pressing it over her bare breast.
"Harmon..."
"I want your hands on me. I don't want his hands to be the last that were on me," she said, tone taking on a hint of desperation again.
And, really, could I deny her that?
I didn't know if it was the right move, if it was the healthy thing to do, all I knew was that she thought it might make her feel better, might make the memory of this whole shitstorm of a day a little better.
Who the fuck was I to deny her that?
"Okay," I said, pulling her up onto my lap, my thumb moving out to glide over her hardened nipple, listening to the way her breath sucked in at the contact.
My other hand moved out, sinking into her ass, pulling her closer, then sliding up her spine to the back of her neck, pulling her toward, sealing my lips to hers.
A shiver coursed through her at the contact as her arms wrapped around the back of my neck, her breasts crushing to my chest.
Her hips ground against me, trying to shift to get my cock to glide against her.
"We can't," I said against her lips before turning my head, running my lips over her neck.
A low, whimpering noise escaped her, making me wish I was the type to just say "fuck it" about this kind of shit.
"But you know what I need to do?"
"What?" she asked, rubbing her hips against me one more time.
"I need to wash you off," I told her, already pushing her back far enough so that I could turn her, resting her back against my chest. "Got any objections to that?" I asked, reaching out to snag a bar of soap in the shape of a fucking koi fish, and slipping it under the water before sliding it across the uppermost part of her chest, the suds spreading across her soft skin.
"No objections," she said, head turning so her face was resting under my chin as my hands soaped over her breasts, up over her shoulders, down her arms, then back, moving over her belly, then hips, thighs, then, finally, slipping between, feeling her body jolt at the contact.
I kept up the pretense of cleaning her up for another second or two before I dropped the soap, my fingers finding her clit, and working it until she was writhing and panting, her lips pressed together to try to keep any sounds in.
My thumb moved to her clit as my two fingers thrust inside her, moving slowly, lazily, in no rush now that I had her back, wanting to make a rough day a little less awful. Maybe the better way to show her I cared was the flowers and candy and wining and dining shit. But I was a firm believer that good orgasms could do wonders for the mind and body. And it certainly never hurt to try, anyway.
"Come, babe," I demanded softly as she tightened around my fingers, as her heavy breathing became soft whimpers, unable to control herself anymore. "Come," I demanded again, fingers turning, rubbing over her G-spot.
The orgasm crashed through her, making her gasp, her body stiffening for a long moment before going lax.
"Little better?" I asked, fingers still inside her. "What was that?" I asked, lips curving up when she let out a little humming noise.
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