The Bastard (Filthy Trilogy 1)

“Who owned it and please don’t say Harper.”

“The account had Harper and her mother on it.”

Those words punch me in the fucking chest. “Who closed the account?”

“Harper.”

“She knew about the wires then?”

“I don’t know the answer to that question, but yes, I would assume she did.”

My jaw tics. “I’ll call you back.”

I disconnect the line, walk back inside and head to the conference room where I pick up my Rubik’s cube and I try like hell to calm my mind. I start turning it and turning it, casing every moment with Harper in numbers, in a way no one but me would understand. The numbers just keep fucking coming. Exactly an hour and thirty seconds have passed when I come back to reality and to three text messages from Harper that I don’t answer. I need out of this office. I grab my things and head upstairs where the offices are closed up.

I exit to the parking lot into the darkness when it hits me that I rode with Harper. I’m about to turn back to the building and do what I should have already done; talk to her. I need to talk to her. Why the hell am I leaving? I’m two steps from the front door of the offices when Isaac joins me outside. “There he is, my brother.” Isaac greets with a sneer that tells me he’s up for games and nastiness and I’m not in the mood. “Coming back to get your woman?”

I ignore him and reach for the door when he says, “She needs you until she doesn’t. She helps you until it doesn’t work for her anymore. That’s how she works.”

The way he says that, like he knows her intimately, claws at me, and I take the bait I would never take if it wasn’t Harper. I stop and turn around, numbers exploding in my mind in random bursts. “She won’t help you now,” I say. “No one will.”

“She needed me once. Gigi told me you fucked her not long before that. She saw her go to your cottage. Then she came to me. Harper had a miscarriage, and fuck, it was a disaster. She is a disaster that started rumors. She bled out right here in the office. I took care of her the way you want to take care of her now. I wonder if the brothers thing gets her off.” He smirks. “But I’m sure you don’t care. You’re just fucking her to fuck me, right?” He turns and starts walking toward his car.

Numbers pound at my mind again. I want them to replace the emotions that want to consume me. I try to open the lobby door, but I don’t have an after-hours card. I dial Harper. “Come outside,” I order when she answers. I disconnect before she can reply.

I lean on the wall, watching as Isaac drives away in his two-hundred-thousand-dollar special edition Kingston convertible. Harper exits, pulling her coat on as she does. “What’s wrong?”

I grab her and pull her in front of me. “Did you fuck Isaac?”

“God no. No. No. We had this conversation. Where is this even coming from?”

“Did you have a miscarriage?”

She pales, her hand settling on her belly and I know even before she whispers. “I was going to tell you. I was—”

“What happened to no, you didn’t fuck Isaac?” I challenge, those fucking numbers beating at my mind.

“It wasn’t Isaac’s. It was—I was going to call you but I—”

“Call me? We didn’t even finish fucking, sweetheart. Why would you call me?” I don’t give her time to reply. “Don’t answer. I don’t care. I’m gone. I’m done. Save yourself.” I start walking and she screams after me. “Eric! Eric, wait.”

I don’t wait. I climb into my car, and she pounds on the window but I don’t care. I meant what I said. I’m gone. I dial the airport, book a private jet, and

head that direction. I can’t get out of this city fast enough. I can’t get away from Harper fast enough.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Harper

I stop outside the lobby door and try to pull myself together. There are cameras inside. There are people watching me but I can’t stay outside in the cold and I don’t have a car. I swipe my card and head inside, my knees wobbling as I walk. I enter my office and shut the door, as if that offers privacy, but it’s all I have. The tears explode from me the second I draw another breath. The tears that I cried six years ago. The tears that I have cried randomly since my miscarriage, and I wanted to call Eric every one of those teary nights. I don’t know how long I cry now, but I can’t stop. It guts me, it cuts me, it tears me into pieces. He’s gone. Isaac told him and he’s gone. My phone rings and I reach into my pocket, praying it’s Eric but it’s my mother. I disconnect the line and try to call Eric. He doesn’t answer. I try again. And again. I cry some more.

I’m on the floor crying when I finally come back to reality. I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling. I’m hurting in every possible way. I should have told him last night. I should have told him six years ago. I force myself to my feet and I do what I have done every time I’ve tried to survive this. I go to my desk and try to work. I’ll find out what that damn sequence is. I’ll find answers and somehow that will make this better, somehow that will make Eric forgive me. No, he won’t forgive me. He believes Isaac. He thinks I fucked his brother.

I dial him again and when he doesn’t answer, I burst into my confession on his voicemail. “I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t want you to think I was playing you and then you got rich and I was afraid you’d think it was about money. I can’t make you believe me, but you know—I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you so I just have to tell you.” The phone beeps and disconnects. I let out a sound of utter frustration. God. No. I need to say this.

I dial the phone again and when the machine answers I pick up where I left off. “I got pregnant the night we were together six years ago. I know you pulled out, but you were inside me and it happened. I wasn’t with anyone else. I didn’t think you’d believe me and what would forcing you to believe me, achieve? It was too late to change what happened. I lost the baby.” The machine beeps again and I redial, my hand shaking as I do. The machine beeps again and I launch into the rest of the story. “When I missed my period, I thought it was stress, but then one night I was working late and suddenly I was bleeding. Lots of blood and Isaac was here and I was bad. I was hemorrhaging and—I had to let him help me. I didn’t even know what was happening. I was scared and when I found out there was a baby—” The machine beeps. I sob with the pain of doing it like this, with reliving this. I dial again. “Bottom line,” I say when I can speak again. “I hated so much that Isaac was the one who helped me. And I really wanted that baby, our baby, but now I’m damaged goods anyway. I don’t even know now if I can have kids. They said—”

The machine beeps and tears stream down my cheeks. I can barely take this but I started it. I have to finish. I dial again and this time the call goes straight to voicemail. Eric turned off his phone. Obviously, he’s tired of me calling. I force the words out. I start talking again. “Eric,” I whisper. “I didn’t betray you like everyone else in this family. Have Blake hack my medical records. If I was with Isaac and he was the father, why would I fight the ER staff and insist that I couldn’t be pregnant? Why wouldn’t I put him down on the medical records? I just—I need you to know that I didn’t betray you. You matter to me. You’ve always mattered to me and I regret that I didn’t call you. I regret—”