“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t know what’s right.” Jayne paused. He was halfway through the first syllable of his next sentence when a noise interrupted.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Simon jumped and spun around to face the source of the disruption—the front door. His heart raced. There was a finality to the sound that was both expectant and foreboding. There was no doubt in his mind who was on the other side of the door.
His fantasy turned nightmare.
H.
Shep’s bedroom door swung open, and Jayne stuck his head out into the hall. Simon glimpsed him from the corner of his eye.
“Oh, Simon,” Jayne said. “We were wondering where you were. Do you think you can get it?”
“It’s Harlow,” Simon announced. He kept his eyes on the front door, waiting for the moment the wood would buckle and splinter to a well-placed kick, or simply tear off its hinges through exertion of force alone. “He’s here.”
“Great, then you got in touch with him.”
“I don’t know.”
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The sound echoed down the hallway, every bit as ominous as it had been before. Saliva pooled in Simon’s mouth, and he swallowed it nervously. What if Harlow hadn’t heard his voicemail? What if he didn’t care?
“If you want, I’ll go get it.” Jayne’s offer was so simple that it registered as wrong in Simon’s ears, like salsa music at a funeral, or a pop song played with minor chords on a foggy night. The anxiety clouded Simon’s mind, but didn’t obscure his understanding of the dangers at hand. If Harlow hadn’t listened to his voicemail, then whoever answered the door was going to be in danger. He couldn’t let Jayne suffer for his shortcomings. This washisproblem. He was the one who’d given Harlow their coordinates and the one who had rapport with him.
He would be the one to answer the door.
“I’ve got it,” Simon murmured, stepping toward the front door. “Just… stay here with Evie. Don’t try to fight him if he comes in, okay? Remember that you need to take care of Parker.”
“I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” Jayne replied. “You’re letting your anxiety get the best of you. You’re going to open the door and everything’s going to be okay, you’ll see. But if it makes you feel better, I promise I’ll be careful. All of us will.”
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
It was a final summons. The air in Simon’s lungs turned syrupy, clogging his chest.
This was it.
He left Jayne where he stood and went to open the door. The deadbolt slid sluggishly through its mechanism as if protesting Simon’s choice, and the twist lock felt slick to his fingers, as if even it was sweating in fear. Locks undone, Simon curled his hand around the doorknob and exhaled as much of the thick air from inside of him as he could. As he opened the door, he sucked in a breath and launched into the best defense he could think of in light of the situation—a rambling plea.
“I’m so sorry,” Simon uttered. “So,sosorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. Evie’s safe, and cared for, and she wants to talk to you.” He lifted his gaze, and as his eyes fell on the man standing on his doorstep, a shiver swept down his spine. It was, without a doubt, Harlow. His blond hair, blue eyes, and impressive musculature matched what Simon had seen in his photos, but seeing him in person, witnessing the majesty of his spirit in real life… it was like nothing Simon had ever imagined.
It was better.
Simon’s lips parted. His shoulders slumped. Anxiety melted from him like ice left on summer asphalt, leaving nothing but astounding desire in its place. Heat rushed to his groin, and his heart sped for reasons far different than it had just moments before.
He barely noticed when Harlow’s features twisted with searing anger, barely saw when Harlow drew his fist back, barely felt the impact of Harlow’s fist as it met his face. It was only thesnapof his neck as his head jolted back from impact that alerted Simon to the fact that he’d been hit. The throbbing pain central to his nose only followed a second later.
Stunned, Simon staggered back. His feet betrayed him, and a misstep caused his knees to buckle. Blond hair and sculpted muscle blurred. He hit the floor chest-down, skinning his palms on the wood floor while his glasses flew from his face and skittered across the floor. Wetness leaked down his face. Copper bloomed on his tongue.
This was it.
Harlow hadn’t heard his message. He was going to kill them all.
