He’d pushed too far. With a roar, Bastian rounded on Harlow, his shirt bunching in Harlow’s palm. Harlow watched the attack unfold, aware that Bastian had pulled his arm back, and ready when his fist swung forward. With minimal effort, Harlow sidestepped the attack and used his momentum to sink his fist into Bastian’s gut. Air puffed from Bastian’s lungs, and he doubled over just like Harlow had hoped he would. With his target in optimal position, Harlow locked his arm around Bastian’s neck, trapping him.
“I tried to be nice.” Harlow tugged Bastian forward, not letting him go. They started down the stairs together, Bastian flailing and sucking in breath after wasted breath. “I gave you a hell of a lot more chances than I should have. The only reason you aren’t plummeting down the stairwell right now is because you’re too drunk to understand what you’re saying.”
“Fuck you!”
“Like I said.” Harlow spoke through his teeth. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“He’s going to fuckingruinyou,” Bastian spat. “He’s going to eat you one inch at a time. He’s going to take everything you have and leave you withnothing.”
“Great. How about you let me worry about it? What you need to do right now is worry about you—and the biggest thingyouhave to worry about right now?Me.” They took the stairs as quickly as they could, then left the dingy stairwell for the lobby. Harlow opened the front door with his hip and tossed Bastian out onto the stoop. He stumbled, then fell. “Sober up. Send Jayne a polite message with whatever your grievance is. Talk it out. If you come back here again and try to make a scene, threaten him, call him names, Iwillbreak your arm.”
“He’s going to fuck you over.” Bastian lifted himself up on his palms as he tried to get his feet beneath him. “Gonna—”
His palm skidded and he fell again. It was a sorry sight. If Harlow hadn’t just learned the things he had about Bastian from their brief conversation, he might have felt badly for him, but there was no room in his heart to sympathize with men who solved problems with their partners through threats and violence.
“It’s not too late to make this right and turn your life around,” Harlow said. It was the last kindness he’d afford Bastian. “Talk to Jayne. Work things out. Pull your head out of your ass. You can get through this.”
“Fuck you,” Bastian uttered. Cars rushed by. Several pedestrians had crossed the street to dodge the situation. Harlow prayed they didn’t recognize him. “Just…fuck you!”
“Go home,” Harlow said softly. “Don’t make this any worse.”
“All of you are fucked.” Bastian rolled into a sitting position. His palms were red with blood and pocked with gravel. “If you think this is over, if you think that I’m just going to let Jayne walk all the fuck over me, use me…”
Bastian wouldn’t listen, nor would he change his mind. Harlow had given him every opportunity to do so, and he’d taken none of them. It wasn’t worth it to pursue the conversation—there were more important matters to tend to.
He left Bastian on the step, no longer interested in hearing what he had to say.
The third floor beckoned. On it, he had a daughter to collect, a teenager to keep an eye on, and a young man to bring back home who, at one point, had made his heart almost stop with fear. They were what mattered—not the trash he’d already taken out.
The street-side door slammed behind him. Harlow went to protect what was his.
