“Pissant little car?” Foxx gasped in outrage. “I’ll have you know—”
“Hold that thought!” Harlow yelled, as he ran to the driver’s side of the van and quickly got in, locking the doors, ignoring the angry stream of words coming from his tiny partner. He waved with a smile as he backed out of the driveway. Foxx stood there in the van’s headlights, hands on his hips, lips pursed as he glared.
Harlow absently waved goodbye as Foxx drove off. The vampire’s expression…wasn’t happy. They had bickered about random shit the whole drive back to Hazard. And the last hour of the trip, Foxx had sat there, arms crossed, completely silent with a pout on his face.
Shaking his head, he picked up his two bags, the water he'd brought with him long gone, and headed to his Jeep Grand Cherokee, which was parked further into the lot.
He would never admit it to Foxx, but he just may have found bickering with him entertaining. The tiny vampire was ridiculous in clothing and personality. A bright light of sunshine, too talkative for his own good. And if he hadn’t been so calm when they’d ‘fought’ the criminals late last night, he’d have seriously wondered if he could actually do this job.
But it appeared that under all that happy, happy sunshine was someone who enjoyed a good fight. Which was a pleasant surprise. God forbid he had gotten a pansy for a partner—he shuddered at the thought.
Reaching his Jeep, he quickly tossed his shit inside and hopped in, buckled up, and set off towards home. Maybe one day he’d trust Foxx enough to let him know where he lived. Probably not, but who knew?
God, it was so fucking weird. Having someone beside him that wouldn’t shut up. He enjoyed the bickering, but the talking… Foxx seemed to have this constant need to go on and on about nothing. Harlow was so used to silence.
He felt drained. He wasn’t sure if it was just his normal lack of sleep hitting him, or due to his new partner.
The drive home took about twenty minutes. By the time Harlow reached his house, the sun had risen fully. Harlow lived outside the city of Hazard, in a small town called Brighton. It wasn’t exactly a suburb, more farming area than anything. This meant there were no neighbors close enough to talk to, and he didn’t have to deal with a Home Owners Association—dumb fuck HOAs and their out of touch rules. So there had been no questions asked about all his security measures, like the cameras everywhere…and the tripwires. Best of all, not a single complaint was made when he put up a nice, tall, and very ugly electric fence.
Reaching the gate of his property, he pressed the button clipped to his visor. There was a buzzing noise, and the gate slowly swung open. Driving in, he pressed the button to shut it behind him and waited until it was fully closed before going forward.
A few minutes later, his house appeared. It wasn’t huge by any means. A nice one-story white house with black trim. It had three bedrooms, a large basement, which he had converted into a shooting range, and a detached two-car garage. The garage was down a little bit from the house. To be honest, the house was probably too big for just him, but he liked the land and the space. Everything cost a pretty penny. But luckily, hunting paid good—real good.
There were trees all around the house for added privacy, his land thick with them, allowing him to hide cameras and traps everywhere on his property.
Harlow pulled up and clicked the button for the garage. Once open, he drove in and parked in the empty space on the left. Currently, his black Ducati motorcycle took up the right half. It was laid out on a drop cloth in pieces… He’d been fixing something, and that somehow ended with him taking even more apart for cleaning. Harlow eyed it. Maybe he’d try to get it back together this weekend.
Yawning, he got out without bothering to grab anything. The bag of weapons usually stayed in his SUV, and the clothes he could grab later. He paused… “My laptop,” he grumbled. He stood there staring blankly ahead for a moment before shaking his head. “Tomorrow… I’ll grab it tomorrow. Sleep first.”
Mind made up, Harlow walked to the side door. He hit the button to close the garage as he stepped out, and headed up the small grassy hill. On reaching his front door, he paused, frowning as an odd overwhelming smell hit his nose. At the same time, there was a faint ticking noise. His eyes widened, and Harlow sprinted away the moment his tired brain made sense of both.
Heat swirled at his back, a loud boom going off as he found himself blasted forward. Harlow landed hard into a heap on the ground, the wind getting knocked out of him at the same time something slammed into his back. He laid there for a few moments, getting his breath back, before groaning and forcing himself to roll over. Knocking the debris off himself, he sat up. “Ugh.”
Harlow shook his head, trying to get rid of the dizziness, and the ringing in his ears, but no such luck. He stared at the burning inferno that used to be his house. “What…the…fuck?”
He winced when smaller explosions started to go off. That would be his weapon supplies… Harlow sat there for a few minutes, just taking it all in, when another medium sized explosion sent a piece of his house flying. His eyes widened in horror when it landed on the roof of his garage.
“FUCK!” He jumped up, ignoring his protesting body, and sprinted towards his garage as it too, caught fire. Coughing in the smoke, he burst in, slammed his hand on the button for the door, and glanced sadly at his poor motorcycle as he ran to the driver's side of his Jeep.
Quickly starting his car, he reversed and sped out the minute he could clear the door. Harlow kept backing up until his burning, still exploding, home was at a safe distance away. He was going to guess, the secondary explosions were due to the fire reaching his grenade stash.
Harlow stared at his house and just let out a scream of fury, slamming his hands against the wheel a few times, cursing the world. “Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck. My house, my bike… My stuff…” He sagged and banged his head against his steering wheel before just sitting there slumped.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Harlow straightened up and pulled his phone from his pocket. Flipping it open, he dialed Tony’s number.
Calm, he was calm. Yes, calm…
When it connected, he roared, “Someone blew up my fucking house!”
There was silence for a few moments, just Tony’s breathing, before he cursed, “Well shit. That’s not good.”
“You don’t say?! My house is a fireball!” In the distance, he began to hear the sound of sirens. Oh joy, the fire department was coming… He probably should open the gate.
“You don’t have anyone to stay with, do you?”
Harlow blinked. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, you can’t stay with me. I’d let you, but my wife doesn’t like you.”
