46
Harlow
The front door of the apartment building swung open so abruptly that it bounced against its hinges, slamming shut behind Harlow a second after he’d set foot on the sidewalk. Justin Outerbridge wouldnothide from him. If Harlow had to chase him across the city, he would. If he had to cross states to find him, he would be found. If the punk tried to go into hiding overseas, Harlow would sniff him out. He’d picked a fight with the goddamn wrong man. It didn’t matter if Prince was on his side or not—Justin would be brought to justice.
He’d pay for what he’d done to Simon.
As it turned out, Harlow didn’t need to cross borders to find who he was looking for. Justin stood half a block down the street, wearing a hoodie he hadn’t been wearing before, the hood up, a baseball cap beneath it. Prince stood like a wall before him, his thick arms crossed over his chest, his expression flat.
When Prince noticed Harlow, he lifted his chin, but his expression didn’t brighten. “H.”
“P.” Harlow joined them, keeping an arm’s length from Justin. He didn’t trust himself to get any closer than that. He could snap a bone faster than Prince could fend him off, and while Harlow enjoyed the idea of causing Justin as much pain as he possibly could, he knew that petty vengeance would get him nowhere but in trouble. Evie needed him to stay on the straight and narrow even when he was incensed.
He’d find a way around his limitations. He always did.
Justin craned his head around, likely to glare at Harlow, but it was hard to tell with the large, round sunglasses that hid his scrupulously plucked eyebrows and dipped down to conceal his cheekbones. Whatever the purpose of his glance, Justin lost interest quickly enough and returned his attention to Prince.
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Prince continued. He was a man of few words, so his engagement was of particular interest to Harlow. The fact that he stood solidly in place and did not allow himself to be pushed away by Justin was even more telling. Prince knew something was up, and he was waiting to see what it was.
“I couldn’t say the same.” Harlow kept his tone professional. “I’m afraid I have business with your boy.”
“Prince,” Justin spat. “If you value your career, you’ll come with meright now.”
Prince paid no attention to his charge, his eyes locked on Harlow’s. Understated fierceness burned in them, a predator assessing the threat of an opponent. “What happened?”
“He grabbed one of my entourage and pushed him over the stairwell railing, down a four-floor drop.”
“Jesus.” Prince didn’t lose his composure, but the mumbled utterance was enough to convince Harlow that he hadn’t been aware of what Justin was up to. “H, is he okay?”
“Let’sgo!” Justin grabbed Prince’s hand, but Prince, ever in control, simply tightened his grip and lifted his arm, dragging Justin up so he dangled, his toes barely making contact with the sidewalk. Justin gasped and cussed, swinging at Prince in ways that would never hurt him. “Prince!”
“He caught onto one of the bars of the railing on the way down and I managed to drag him back up. He’s scared shitless, but alive.” Harlow nodded at Justin. “So, here’s how it’s going to go—he can either take himself in to the police, or I’m taking him there myself. I hope you understand.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Justin screeched. A few people on the street shot them nervous glances as they passed. Foot traffic wasn’t heavy, but if Justin caused a scene and exposed them, all it would take was one person cluing in for a social media meltdown to begin. “He’slying!”
“Do you have proof, H?” Prince didn’t let Justin down, causing Justin to thrash and struggle, hissing hateful things he would one day regret.
Harlow squared his shoulders. He didn’t.
“If you don’t have proof, it’s his word against yours.” Prince ran his tongue over his teeth, his dark eyes lost in thought.
“Simon has the bruising to prove it,” Harlow insisted. It was a weak argument, but it was something. There were no security cameras installed in the stairwell—he’d checked when he’d gone door to door, scoping the place out on the hunt for Evie. “His hands will still be raw from hanging. He’ll corroborate my story—ask whatever details you want.”
Prince glanced at Justin, then back at Harlow. “I’m not paid enough for this shit.”
“You don’t believe me?” Justin squawked. He pivoted and bucked, sending a kick directly at Prince’s groin. Cool and collected, Prince deflected the attack and remained unharmed. “You worthless sack of shit! You’re my bodyguard! You’re onmyside!”
Whether Prince was paid enough or not wasn’t Harlow’s concern. He took a small step forward—not enough to encroach on Prince’s personal space, but enough to make his intention obvious. “I told you before, Prince—either he turns himself in, or he’s coming with me to the police station. I’m being very patient, but I won’t stay that way for much longer.”
“I told you to stay on the street because I wanted to talk to Evie alone!” Justin snarled. He continued to fight for freedom, using what little traction he had from the sidewalk to stage attacks against Prince. Prince, cool as ever, never let one strike land true. “That’s all! I don’t know why you think I’m lying! Do you honestly think I could push someone over a railing? Do you think I’m a monster?”
Prince said nothing.
“Final warning.” Harlow rolled his shoulders back and stood taller than before, broadening his stance in anticipation of a fight he didn’t want to have. Violence wasn’t what he was built for—not anymore—but he wouldn’t let that stop him from protecting those most precious to him. Simon and Evie deserved his efforts. “Let me have him.”
“I’ll fire you!” Justin spat. “I’ll fire you so fast!”
A new voice joined the conversation—one Harlow was surprised to hear. “Okay, first of all, fuck you.”
