The Bastard (Filthy Trilogy 1)

I exit the car, waste no time grabbing my bag, and right as I reach the passenger door, Harper pops it open. I offer her my hand and pull her to her feet and to me. Her arms wrap my waist, and I know the moment her hand manages to hit the gun she’s miraculously missed until now. Her eyes rocket to mine. “Walker armed me,” I explain.

“Right. Well, Mr. Navy SEAL. I’m not complaining. I approve and so would my father. He made me learn to shoot, and I carry.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes. I do. I should never have left without my purse or my Baby Glock.”

It’s not the weapon I’d choose for her, but we’ll deal with that another time. She’s carrying, and that could be a good thing or a bad thing. Weapons can be used against you if you don’t handle them correctly. “How often do you practice using it?”

“Not as often as I should.”

I take her hand and start walking toward the house. “We’ll fix that,” I say, digging her keys from my pocket to quickly turn the locks and shove open the door. “Your castle awaits.”

She shivers and snuggles deeper into her coat, but she just stares at the door, nervous to enter her own safe place. I pull her in front of me, my body cradling hers. “You have me, remember? You’re safe, and as a bonus, Walker has a man watching the house.” I nuzzle her ear. “I got you, Harper, and one day you’ll know that.”

She darts away with those words, grabs her phone from the island, and then turns to face me. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

I shut the door and lock it before giving her my full attention. “I never make a promise I can’t keep.”

“Actually, I said don’t make promises, but I don’t think you’ve really made any. I don’t know what I’m talking about. My room is upstairs.” She turns away and starts walking.

I don’t stop her. I follow. Her room and her bed seem like the perfect place to finish this conversation.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Eric

I follow Harper up the stairs, and I don’t waste any time doing it. The last thing I want is for her to find more reasons to divide us and that’s what she just tried to do; divide us, pull back. Push back. I grab my bag and I’m behind her by the time she’s halfway up the stairs. With a few skipped steps, I’m at the door to her bedroom moments after she enters.

I pause in the doorway as she takes off her coat and tosses it onto one of two large gray chairs in front of a garden window, and I take in a room as masculine as her living room. The bed is king-sized with a slate gray headboard that matches the chairs. The floor is also gray. The only thing feminine about the space is Harper herself and the red pillows and red lampshades. Even the lamps are gray. Her décor now strikes me as a window into who she’s become. She’s living in a Kingston, male-dominated world, barely holding onto herself. I’m going to change that.

She steps to the side of the bed and sets her phone on the nightstand as if she just needs something to do with herself. I toss my bag on the chair next to her coat, remove my gun and stick it inside the bag, and then drop my own coat next to hers. We stand there, staring at each other, intimacy weaving between us. “I am glad you’re here. That’s all. I just want you to know that whatever else happens, I’m glad you’re here.” She cuts her gaze and tries to turn away.

I catch her arm and turn her to me. “Me, too, Harper. Me fucking, too. Why don’t you understand that? I didn’t come to help you. I came because I couldn’t fucking turn away. If I had my way, I’d take you and your mother the hell out of here, and we’d leave Isaac to burn in hell on his own.”

“She won’t leave. She won’t, Eric.”

“Get her to,” I say. “Convince her staying is dangerous.”

“Is it?”

“Dangerous enough to get your mother out of here and for me to get you out of here.”

“I can’t leave. I could have access to information we need.”

“Blake has everything you could have and more at his fingertips.”

“There’s value to an in-person, physical presence to investigate, especially when my mom’s on the line.”

“She’s not a strong person,” I say. “You are. Get her out,” I repeat.

“How? How do I do that? I have nothing but my suspicions to support her leaving, and that’s not enough. She’s afraid to be without your father.”

“But does she love him?”

“No. I don’t think so. No. I know she doesn’t. She doesn’t act at all with him like she did my with father.”

“Then she’ll leave him. Let’s find the motivation for her to get out.” I grab my briefcase and set it on the bed. “Let’s dig in.”