The Empire (Filthy Trilogy 3)

he haul in the closet I’m now sharing with Eric. The idea of hanging my things next to his forever more, does funny things to my belly, but the fight we’re just recovering from is hard to shake. No. It’s more than that. I believe Eric and I are stronger for that blowup and our talk that followed. It’s more a clawing sense of foreboding that just won’t go away.

Eric appears in the closet door, his light brown hair rumpled, his jaw now sporting a heavy stubble that is a far contrast to the refined businessman I’d met at the party that first night, and at the Bennett offices. And yet, somehow, it’s just as Eric as is the man in the perfectly fitted expensive suit. Two pieces of one puzzle, the rougher edges he’s sporting now, a part of him that I know is always present, but his need for control doesn’t allow him to show that side of himself to others. But he is home now, and he’s relaxed. He’s with me and he’s choosing to let me see all of him.

His eyes are warm on my face as he says, “Take whatever part of the closet you want, Harper.”

I cross to join him and wrap my arms around his waist. “I can’t believe this is our life. Us. Together. One closet.”

“I don’t invite people into my space, Harper, but I like you here,” he says. “More than you know.” His voice is low, rough, and yet so damn tender.

“I like me here, too. More than you know.”

His lips hint at a smile, and oh how much I love his smiles, and how few I’ve seen, but soon this hell will be over. Soon, I silently vow, I will make him smile as often as possible. “Let’s order dinner,” he suggests.

I nod eagerly and we head downstairs, debating our dinner choices. We ultimately order takeout from a Mexican joint Eric loves, and the delivery is fast, and the food amazing. I approve of his choice and soon our bellies are full, and we curl into an oversized chair in front of a stunning city view, the sun long gone. The city lights twinkling and winking, almost as if they’re celebrating this chance we have at peace. Some part of me knows that we have a world of evil waiting for us outside this apartment but the idea that this is our safe place together, our home together, fills me with warmth I can’t wish away. I need this. Obviously, Eric needs this, too.

And so we sit there, staring out at the city in a few minutes of comfortable, relaxed quiet, each of us sipping from our glasses, enjoying a delicious red blend wine. Eric and I have just set our glasses on a small round stone table that is to his right, when he drags my leg across his lap. “Can you learn to love this city, Harper?”

“You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

“Bennett has operations all over the world,” he says. “If you end up hating this city, we’ll move.”

That offer speaks worlds to me. He’s all in with me. We really are the team that I doubted just hours ago. I lean forward and press my hand to his. “We can go where we decide we want to be, but I love that this place is your life. I love that it can be my life.”

“It’s already your life,” he says, cupping my hand and kissing my knuckles. “It’s our life, Harper.”

“And I love that, but being here with you lets me learn all about you. I want to know your favorite places. I want to know your friends. I want to see your brilliant mind work and—” I consider a moment, then continue, “I want to know what every tattoo on your body says and the story that goes with it.” I point to a row of numbers. “This one. What does it mean?”

He laughs, low and rough, so damn sexy. “That one: mud puddles.”

I frown. “What? What does that mean?”

“Family.” He doesn’t wait for the obvious next question. He launches into the story. “I was on a mission during a particularly bad rainy season in Europe. Me and three other SEALs had to drag each other through mud puddles that felt like quicksand to complete a mission and survive.”

“And you helped each other,” I supply. “The way family is supposed to help family.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“I’d pull you through mud puddles, or well, I’d probably just fall in it with you.”

He laughs. “I’d stay in the mud puddles if you were with me, baby.”

“What happened to those SEALs?”

“We stay connected, but it’s more—a pack. We live our lives separately, but we have a communication system. If we ever need each other, we’re there for each other, no questions asked.”

I’m in awe of this discovery. He has SEAL buddies—no, brothers—that would come to help him if needed, and while I wonder if he’s considered that now, with the mob, I find myself resisting the idea of letting that hell into our evening. As it is, I expect the phone to ring at any moment and while I welcome answers, I really do want this time alone with Eric.

We spend almost two hours drinking wine and talking about everything but the Kingstons. He gravitates toward telling me funny stories about a few of his Navy pals, which I believe is because they are so far removed from this life, this world. He meant it when he said he needed an escape. In turn, I avoid the Kingstons and share stories of my frequent outings with my father, who I went to a Sunday movie with two times a month.

“Movies,” Eric murmurs, stroking a strand of hair from my eyes. “I haven’t been to the movies in years.”

“Me either,” I say. “Not since he died. I just—I can’t.”

“What if we went together? A way to bring your father to me, since I can’t meet him.”

If the man is trying to make me fall more in love with him, it’s working. “I’d like that,” I say, my eyes burning, emotions expanding in my chest. “Very much.”

“Well then, it’s Friday night. Why don’t we make it a Saturday night date?”