The Bastard (Filthy Trilogy 1)

“I’m protecting you,” Harper says. “One day you’ll thank me.” Her mother sobs and hangs up.

Harper sets the phone on the bed. “I’m all for digging into the data.” She grabs my cube. “I can never work these things. Can you?”

I take it from her, use a few rotations of my hand and solve the puzzle before setting it down. “Talk to me.”

She turns her stare on me and for several beats she just searches my face, just looks at me. “What if I don’t know her anymore, Eric? What if she’s one of them now? What if she knows what’s going on and has willingly stayed involved?”

I lean forward and stroke a strand of hair from her eyes. “Then you save her anyway. She’s your mother.”

“That’s not what you said when I told you I had to save her.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?” she asks, covering my hand with hers.

“Because, sweetheart, I wanted to save my mother from this family and I couldn’t.” It’s a confession I’ve made to no one, ever. “Just like your mother, she didn’t want to be saved.”

“Your mother was trying to save you, not herself. That’s different. She did what she did out of love for you. Mine. Mine doesn’t seem to care about me at all.”

“Or she’s desperate to protect you,” I suggest. “She wants you to back off before someone hurts you. Give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you, Eric. I know that you’re seeing her in a different light to help me. It really matters.”

“Yeah, well, sweetheart, I wouldn’t have gotten so damn pissed at you over Gigi if you didn’t matter to me. Trust is everything to me.”

She sucks in a breath and glances away before looking at me. “Because this family hurt you so badly.”

“They cut me, but I don’t bleed easily, not anymore.” Her phone buzzes with a text and she glances down at it and then shows it to me. It’s from Gigi and it reads: Answer me, Harper. Do not tell Eric.

I study it a few beats and look at Harper. “I’m not objective about Gigi. I hate her and I don’t hate easily. Tell her okay, you won’t tell me. Give her space to feel safe and we’ll sit back and see what she does next.” I wait for Harper to reject this directive, but she doesn’t.

She types a message and shows it to me. It reads almost identical to what I suggested she say, but she hasn’t pressed

send yet. “Good?” she asks.

“Good,” I approve.

She hits send and sets her phone aside. “I don’t have the capacity to wade through information with the same results you can, but let me help. What can I do?”

“Show me your file and explain what concerns you.”

From there, we dig in, and after reviewing her data with me, she starts reading through the files Blake sent me. In the midst of it all, I tease another investor on the NFL deal, refuse calls from Julius, the asshole trying to set-up the deal, and ensure Grayson knows what card I’m playing. It’s one in the morning when Harper is snuggled next to me, sound asleep, and I move her MacBook to the nightstand. With her pressed to my side, I continue to work, and I decide that I could damn sure get used to this woman by my side, in a bed, any bed, with me.

I flip through her data again, my Rubik’s cube in my hand, and I compare the data to the files that were deleted from Kingston’s systems, homing in on Isaac’s email when I set the cube down. He deleted every email to a man named Tim Carlson, who just so happens to be a high-ranking officer of the automobile union. And Harper is not only meeting with the union tomorrow, she feels like it’s a set-up. I don’t like how that looks, feels, or sounds, especially when Gigi, who I don’t trust, befriended Harper and now she doesn’t want me to know about cash deposits. But she wanted me here. She sent Harper to get me. Blake’s right. Harper and I are being set-up.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Eric

I wake at sunrise with Harper pressed to my side, the heat of her body next to mine warming me in places I thought to be pure, unbreakable ice, but I was wrong. This woman chips away that ice, and while I didn’t think I wanted it chipped away, now I want her warmth in all those cold places. She’s changing me. She doesn’t know it, but I do. With every moment that I’m with her, she seeps deeper inside me, and she was already there to begin with. She’s been there for six illogical, but absolute, years. For a solid fifteen minutes, I lay there, just listening to her breathe, and when I finally force myself to get up to deal with a phone conference I’ve set up on the NFL deal, she sinks deeper into the covers, and to me, this represents trust. With all she has going on, with all the fears she’s nursing, she feels safe with me here. And she is. No one is ever going to hurt her again.

I pull on my boots I took off hours ago, drag my jacket on without a shirt, stick the gun in the back of my jeans, and then head downstairs, exiting the house into a cold Denver morning to grab my garment bag from the trunk of my rental. I check in with Blake by text, despite talking to him a few hours ago, or rather texting with him. I re-enter the bedroom and Harper hasn’t moved. I finishing showering and still, she hasn’t moved. I shave and dress in a three-thousand-dollar suit, meant to represent Bennett Enterprises with the union today. I accessorize with the gun at the back of my pants, under my jacket. I make coffee and predict how Harper takes hers based on the supplies she has in the house and then head upstairs.

I set the cup on the nightstand and then settle my hand on Harper’s arm. She blinks and brings me into focus. “Eric? God, is that really you?”

My lips curve at her sleepy, dreamy reaction. “Yes, sweetheart. It’s really me. I brought you coffee.”

She rockets to a sitting position. “Eric?”