“That The Sainthood were the ones behind my kidnapping and Dad was under their thumb?” I ask, because why beat around the bush.
His eyes pop wide. “Shit. You knew that?”
“Only relatively recently,” I confirm. “And I never talked to Dad about it.”
I regret that now.
I regret so much of what has transpired over the years.
But I can’t turn back the clock. I can’t undo my mistakes.
I can only try to make them right.
“He would hate that, you know.” His expression turns sad. “He tried so hard to protect you.”
“I know he did, Linc.” I knot my hands on my lap, slouching a bit in my chair. “He worked overtime to protect me and to equip me with skills whereby I can defend and protect myself, but he should have confided in me, because this isn’t over just because he’s not here.”
Linc’s brow furrows, and he leans in closer, his chest pressing against the edge of the table. “What exactly do you mean?”
“Why do you think Neo ‘Sinner’ Lennox is now engaged to my mom?”
“Neo has always been hung up on your mom, Lo. It’s how the whole sorry mess started.”
Now, it’s my turn to look shocked. “You know about that?”
He nods. “I know a little. Your dad was always very circumspect in what he told me. He never wanted to involve me, but I figured it out not long after I came to work for him. He was using his connections to obtain confidential information which enabled The Sainthood to avoid prosecution for crimes everyone knows they have committed.”
It was a lot more than that, but I don’t articulate that thought.
“Did my mom know?”
He shakes his head. “Your father protected her too. He didn’t want her falling back into Neo’s clutches for fear of what he would do in retaliation.” A pained expression washes over his face. “He would be so disappointed in me,” he adds, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Why? What have you done?”
“I should have warned her to stay away from him, but, quite frankly, he scares me.”
“She’s not your responsibility, and she knows what she’s getting herself into. She spent years with that monster. She’s not an innocent.” My cutting tone is obvious in the extreme.
He reaches out, taking my hand in his. “She doesn’t know they were the ones who kidnapped you. If she did, she’d never let that bastard anywhere near you.”
I snort, and my tone turns bitter. “She doesn’t care about my feelings, and I very much doubt she’s as ignorant as you think.”
He jerks back, extracting his hand from mine. “You think she knows?”
I nod. “Yeah, I do. I think she’s a lot smarter than Dad gave her credit for.”
A look of utter horror appears on his face. “You need to get out of that house, Harlow.”
“I’m working on it,” I mutter. I’ve already reached out to Darrow’s contact. I’m just waiting for him to set a meet so I can get that ball rolling.
“Why did you ask to see me?” he inquires.
“I need copies of the police and medical examiner’s report from Dad’s accident. I know you can get them for me.”
I’d thought of asking Diesel, but that’s not the type of stuff he usually procures for me. I don’t know his background, and I’ve no clue if he has those type of connections, so I thought it best to ask Lincoln first. If he can’t deliver, I’ll ask Diesel then.
He shakes his head. “You don’t want to look at that, Lo.”
I drill him with a deadly look. “I wouldn’t ask unless I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t believe it was an accident.”
He jumps up, clawing his hands through his hair as he paces, and it’s like watching a caged lion prowl an enclosure. He stops abruptly, crouching down in front of me. “I’m begging you, sweetheart. Please let it go.”
“I can’t, Linc.”
“It’s not safe, and you won’t learn anything from those reports,” he says, confirming he has copies. I know those reports are manufactured and riddled with lies. But I want to know who wrote them and who was involved, and then, I intend to dig up dirt on them I can use to blackmail them into telling me the truth. There has got to be someone, or something, I can locate to prove my dad was murdered.
“I still want a copy.”
His face hardens, and he stands. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”
I grab my bag off the floor and rise, eyeballing him. “If you won’t help me, I’ll have to resort to other, less safe, measures.”
“You’re not a little girl anymore, Harlow. You’re an intelligent young woman with a good head on her shoulders. I know you know a lot more than you’ve said here today. Please drop this. Your father would not approve. And his death will be in vain if you end up dead too.” He clasps my shoulders, pleading with his eyes. “Let it go, Lo. Please, please, just drop this. You have the resources and the wherewithal to get the hell out of Lowell. If you want my help fleeing town, I’m all in, but I won’t help you seek revenge.”
He pauses for a beat before saying, “That’s what got your dad killed in the first place, and I’ll be damned if I help you do the same.”
CHAPTER 18
I RETURN HOME empty-handed, in a foul mood, further compounded when I hear sounds coming from Dad’s study. I’m mad at Lincoln even though I know he’s a good guy, and he believes he’s protecting me. But he’s clearly forgotten how stubborn I am, especially when I set my mind to something, and I’m not backing down.
I remove my boots and pad quietly toward the door to the office, peering through the gap, watching with mounting anger as the guys rifle through my dad’s things.
Theo is sitting at the desk like he fucking has a God-given right to sit in my dad’s chair, tapping away on Dad’s laptop with a concentrated expression on his face. Saint is rummaging through Dad’s filing cabinet, Caz is going through his desk drawers, and Galen is sifting through a few boxes of paperwork I’ve never seen before. They are resting on top of the mahogany table, just inside of the door, and each box is clearly labeled. It’s definitely my dad’s stuff, because I recognize his handwriting.
Where the fuck did they find those? And how the hell did I miss them because I went through this office with a fine-tooth comb after Dad died looking for evidence. I obviously missed something, and I mentally kick myself. I can’t afford to make mistakes like this, and I’ll have to redouble my efforts.
“What the actual fuck?” Galen roars, removing a bunch of photos from one of the boxes. The others drop what they are doing, walking over to the table. They stand behind him, trading worried looks as they stare at the pictures as Galen flips them over, one at a time. His hands are shaking, and the look on his face is downright furious. “I want to dig that motherfucking bastard up out of the ground and kill him all over again.”
A red glaze coats my eyes and my blood is boiling as I instantly conjure up various ways to murder Galen Lennox.
Pulling out my knife, I charge into the room, launching myself at Galen without hesitation. Caz gets to me before I can reach him, snatching my wrist and digging his fingers into my flesh until I drop the knife. I knee him in the balls, ducking down as Saint reaches for me, grabbing the thick hardbound legal book on the desk, and swinging it in Galen’s face. A loud whack rings out as it slams into his face, sending him sprawling backward.
He loses his balance, falling into the cabinet behind him, the glass panel on top shattering with the vibration of the heavy impact, raining shards of glass on top of us.
It doesn’t stop me or the murderous intent flooding my veins. Galen slumps to the ground, cussing, and I jerk my head back, slamming it into Saint’s head as he makes another grab for me.
Pain rattles through my skull, and my vision blurs in and out as I sway on my feet for a few seconds. Behind me, Saint is cursing profusely and wincing. Caz is still incapacitated, cupping his ball
s and groaning, while Theo has jumped back a few feet to avoid the glass.
I pounce on top of Galen on the floor, slamming my fist into his face, ignoring the splintering pain as glass embeds in my skin. “Fuck you, you fucking asshole!” I shout, punching him in the nose. Blood spurts, spraying over my shirt, but I barely notice it or the pain in my knuckles as I keep hitting him. “How dare you talk about my dad like that!” I thrust my sore fist into his jaw this time. “I will gut you to shreds and leave you to die a gruesome death,” I threaten, snatching a jagged piece of glass from the floor and pressing it to his throat.
Cold metal presses against my temple as Galen stares at me with unforgiving eyes.
The clicking of the gun pulls me back to my senses. “Give me the glass, Harlow, or I’ll blow your fucking brains out,” Saint coolly warns.
I hold my hand firm, keeping the glass pinned to Galen’s throat, despite the way my body trembles all over.
“Lo.” Theo’s voice is soft as he comes closer. “You don’t want to do this. This isn’t you.”
I bark out a laugh, and it sounds crazy even to my own ears. “You don’t know who I am anymore, Theo.”
I don’t know who I am anymore.
“I know how much you loved your dad and that he wouldn’t want you to do this.” He places his hand on my arm, and I let him pull it away from Galen’s neck.
The glass has cut him, and a line of blood is visible along his throat. His face is covered in scratches, and drops of blood trickle down his chin. A bruise is already forming on his temple where the book slammed into him, and there is other discoloration on his jaw and his cheek.
I’m guessing I haven’t fared much better. Feeling is returning to my numb body, and my face and my arms sting with a multitude of tiny cuts. I’m chilled to the bone as I climb awkwardly to my feet, brushing Theo’s arm away when he attempts to help me.
Saint helps Galen to stand, and we stare at one another with mutual pain and hatred in our eyes. “Talk shit about my dad again and I will end you.”
I turn to leave, and my eyes land on the photos scattered across the hardwood floor. I crouch down, swallowing back bile as I inspect them.
The woman in the photos is reed thin and pale with gaunt cheekbones and sunken eyes. The telltale hazy look in her eyes confirms she’s totally wasted as a variety of different guys fuck her every which way from Sunday. Acid swirls in my gut as I flick through them, growing more and more disgusted.
I drop to my butt, staring at them in horror, wondering what the hell they were doing in my father’s things. I glance over at Galen as he crawls toward me, wincing in obvious pain.
Is this why he hates me?
He shoves me aside, grabbing the photos, his jaw taut, anger and pain oozing from him in spades.
I stare at him as my brain scrambles to make sense of this. “Is this—”
He clamps his hand over my mouth, muting me. “Don’t say one more fucking word. You think you know it all,” he says, releasing me as he staggers to his feet, clutching the photos protectively to his chest. “But you don’t know shit.” He stumbles out of the room as I sit on the floor, numb and in a daze.
“You need to go,” Saint says, lifting me up by my upper arms. “We’ll clean up before the oldies get home.” He nudges me toward the door. “Theo.” He looks over his shoulder. “Grab the first aid kit and tend to Harlow and Galen.”
“I’ve got my own first aid kit. I can look after myself,” I mumble, still staring at the empty doorway.
“Of course, you do,” Saint says in an exasperated tone, grabbing my face and forcing my gaze to his. “If you breathe a word about this to your mom or my dad, they will be the last words you ever speak. Understood.”
“They would be the last people I tell anything to,” I blurt, too shellshocked to play the game.
He peers into my eyes, nodding as he sees the truth. “Go. And stay in your room.”
I walk on wobbly limbs toward the door, clutching on to the doorway as I cast a glance over my shoulder. “Why did my dad have those pictures of Galen’s mom?” I ask.
He stares at me as Caz starts cleaning up the mess and Theo gathers his things.
The connection between us kicks in, shooting electrical currents across the room, and it’s like being hit by a lightning bolt.
His brow creases, and for the first time, Saint Lennox looks less than assured. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
_______________
Their retaliation is swift and not entirely unexpected. However, I didn’t anticipate being dragged out of my bed in the middle of the night and thrown into the back seat of their car. I’m in my pajamas with no shoes, a rag stuffed in my mouth, and a bag over my head wedged between two of the assholes as we drive along a bumpy road in the dead of the night. They don’t talk, because the heavy metal blaring through the speakers is too loud to converse.
If they wanted to deliberately unhinge me, kidnapping me is their best chance of success. My nerves are frayed, and I sit stiffly in between them, wondering what fresh hell this is.
I don’t know how long we drive for, but it’s long enough to leave the town boundary. If I had to guess, we’re going to Prestwick, because that’s their main stomping ground.
The music cuts off when we come to an abrupt stop. I’m yanked out of the car unceremoniously, and I cry out against the gag in my mouth when my bare feet land on rough gravel. I stumble, almost tripping until someone grabs a fistful of my shirt, pulling me upright. A gun prods into my lower back as I’m marched forward, stumbling over the uneven path until my feet meet damp grass.
Without my vision, I put one foot in front of the other, walking blindly ahead, hoping I don’t faceplant a tree or run into any wildlife with big teeth. My balance is wonky, and I’m wobbling and swaying like I’m drunk or high. I urge my errant pulse to calm down while I concentrate on my surroundings, remembering what Diesel has taught me. The chill night air coasts over my prickly skin as we walk. It’s deathly quiet out here. The only sounds are the soft tread of our footsteps and the occasional hoot of an owl. I start counting my steps, trying to make sense of which direction we’re going in, but it’s challenging.
I have a pretty strong idea where I am. My money’s on Prestwick Forest, their usual burial ground, which does little to help my unease.
If they decide to kill me, no one will ever find my body out here.
Bits of fluff adhere to the inside of my mouth, and I gag, almost choking. A cold pair of hands pulls me back against a solid chest, and someone rolls the covering up to my nose, removing the cloth from my mouth. I splutter, coughing out bits of fuzz, before swallowing lungsful of crisp, clean, pine-smelling air.
“Keep moving,” Saint commands, his voice close to my ear, confirming it’s him I’ve been leaning against. He lets me go, keeping the gun prodded into my back as we forge ahead. Giant goose bumps sprout on my frosty skin, and I wrap my arms around my shivering form to try and keep warm.
I jump when some animal lets loose a bloodcurdling howl, a whimper escaping my mouth before I can stop it, and they all laugh.
The bastards.
Eventually, we come to a stop after it feels like we’ve been walking for miles. Cuts and blisters cover the soles of my feet and they ache. The covering is removed from my head, and hands sweep my tangled hair back off my face.
“Screw off.” I swat the hands away, smoothing my hair behind my ears and leveling a glare at Caz as he watches me with evident amusement. He’s firmly back on the anti-Harlow team, and I doubt my next seduction attempt will be as successful.
I look around, taking in the environment. We’re deep in a forest, and tall, ominous-looking trees hover over us as we trek across a grassy path. The moon is high in the sky, casting creepy shadows on the ground below.
“Tie her hands behind her back,” Saint instructs.
Galen steps forward, circling me with an evil grin, like a serial killer hunting his next victim. His f
ace is mottled with cuts and bruises, and I take some small satisfaction from that fact. He takes enormous pleasure in yanking my arms back so tight they almost wrench from the sockets. That’s clearly a specialty of his, and he’s waiting for me to cry out, but I don’t make a sound. Not even when he ties the rope too tight and it feels like he’s cut off my circulation.
“On your knees,” Saint demands, and before I’ve had time to even consider complying, Galen thrusts his knee in my back, and I faceplant the ground. The muddy grass is cold and squishy under my cheek, but at least, I avoided eating a mouthful of it.
Saint yanks me up by my hair, fisting it around his hand and keeping me steady on my knees. He stands at my side, while the three stooges stand in front of me with their arms folded, wearing mutual inhumane expressions. They are all dressed warmly in hoodies, jeans, and boots, and a shudder works its way through me as I remember how fucking cold I am.
Saint removes a gun from the back waistband of his jeans. “Open your mouth.” His blue eyes pierce mine as he attempts to look deep into my soul.
My instinct is to tell him to go to hell, but my sense of self-preservation is stronger, so I open my mouth wide, keeping very still as he slides the muzzle past my lips.
“Suck on it,” he commands, and I’d arch a brow if I didn’t have a fucking gun in my mouth and I wasn’t concentrating so hard.
I do as he asks, licking all sides of the gun while keeping my gaze trained on his.
“Fuck, that’s—”
Saint whips his head around, and Caz breaks off mid-speech. When Saint turns back around, his gaze is like a heat-seeking missile as he watches me with dark intent. A knowing, proud smile slightly curves the corners of his mouth, and I don’t know if he realizes it, but he’s let the mask slip, and he’s broadcasting his feelings pretty loud.
I’m eye level with his crotch, and there’s no hiding the monster bulge tenting his jeans.
Where Caz is turned on at the sight of me sucking a gun, Saint is aroused because I’m obeying him.
I have totally been going about this all wrong. And whatever tonight is about, it gives me an opportunity to change my playbook.
The Sainthood : A Dark High School Romance (The Complete Series) Page 16