“Why?”
“Because I don’t believe it was an accident.”
He jumps up, clawing his hands through his hair as he paces, and it’s like watching a caged lion prowl an enclosure. He stops abruptly, crouching down in front of me. “I’m begging you, sweetheart. Please let it go.”
“I can’t, Linc.”
“It’s not safe, and you won’t learn anything from those reports,” he says, confirming he has copies. I know those reports are manufactured and riddled with lies. But I want to know who wrote them and who was involved, and then, I intend to dig up dirt on them I can use to blackmail them into telling me the truth. There has got to be someone, or something, I can locate to prove my dad was murdered.
“I still want a copy.”
His face hardens, and he stands. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”
I grab my bag off the floor and rise, eyeballing him. “If you won’t help me, I’ll have to resort to other, less safe, measures.”
“You’re not a little girl anymore, Harlow. You’re an intelligent young woman with a good head on her shoulders. I know you know a lot more than you’ve said here today. Please drop this. Your father would not approve. And his death will be in vain if you end up dead too.” He clasps my shoulders, pleading with his eyes. “Let it go, Lo. Please, please, just drop this. You have the resources and the wherewithal to get the hell out of Lowell. If you want my help fleeing town, I’m all in, but I won’t help you seek revenge.”
He pauses for a beat before saying, “That’s what got your dad killed in the first place, and I’ll be damned if I help you do the same.”
CHAPTER 18
I return home empty-handed, in a foul mood, further compounded when I hear sounds coming from Dad’s study. I’m mad at Lincoln even though I know he’s a good guy, and he believes he’s protecting me. But he’s clearly forgotten how stubborn I am, especially when I set my mind to something, and I’m not backing down.
I remove my boots and pad quietly toward the door to the office, peering through the gap, watching with mounting anger as the guys rifle through my dad’s things.
Theo is sitting at the desk like he fucking has a God-given right to sit in my dad’s chair, tapping away on Dad’s laptop with a concentrated expression on his face. Saint is rummaging through Dad’s filing cabinet, Caz is going through his desk drawers, and Galen is sifting through a few boxes of paperwork I’ve never seen before. They are resting on top of the mahogany table, just inside of the door, and each box is clearly labeled. It’s definitely my dad’s stuff, because I recognize his handwriting.
Where the fuck did they find those? And how the hell did I miss them because I went through this office with a fine-tooth comb after Dad died looking for evidence. I obviously missed something, and I mentally kick myself. I can’t afford to make mistakes like this, and I’ll have to redouble my efforts.
“What the actual fuck?” Galen roars, removing a bunch of photos from one of the boxes. The others drop what they are doing, walking over to the table. They stand behind him, trading worried looks as they stare at the pictures as Galen flips them over, one at a time. His hands are shaking, and the look on his face is downright furious. “I want to dig that motherfucking bastard up out of the ground and kill him all over again.”
A red glaze coats my eyes and my blood is boiling as I instantly conjure up various ways to murder Galen Lennox.
Pulling out my knife, I charge into the room, launching myself at Galen without hesitation. Caz gets to me before I can reach him, snatching my wrist and digging his fingers into my flesh until I drop the knife. I knee him in the balls, ducking down as Saint reaches for me, grabbing the thick hardbound legal book on the desk, and swinging it in Galen’s face. A loud whack rings out as it slams into his face, sending him sprawling backward.
He loses his balance, falling into the cabinet behind him, the glass panel on top shattering with the vibration of the heavy impact, raining shards of glass on top of us.
It doesn’t stop me or the murderous intent flooding my veins. Galen slumps to the ground, cussing, and I jerk my head back, slamming it into Saint’s head as he makes another grab for me.
Pain rattles through my skull, and my vision blurs in and out as I sway on my feet for a few seconds. Behind me, Saint is cursing profusely and wincing. Caz is still incapacitated, cupping his balls and groaning, while Theo has jumped back a few feet to avoid the glass.
I pounce on top of Galen on the floor, slamming my fist into his face, ignoring the splintering pain as glass embeds in my skin. “Fuck you, you fucking asshole!” I shout, punching him in the nose. Blood spurts, spraying over my shirt, but I barely notice it or the pain in my knuckles as I keep hitting him. “How dare you talk about my dad like that!” I thrust my sore fist into his jaw this time. “I will gut you to shreds and leave you to die a gruesome death,” I threaten, snatching a jagged piece of glass from the floor and pressing it to his throat.
Cold metal presses against my temple as Galen stares at me with unforgiving eyes.
The clicking of the gun pulls me back to my senses. “Give me the glass, Harlow, or I’ll blow your fucking brains out,” Saint coolly warns.
I hold my hand firm, keeping the glass pinned to Galen’s throat, despite the way my body trembles all over.
“Lo.” Theo’s voice is soft as he comes closer. “You don’t want to do this. This isn’t you.”
I bark out a laugh, and it sounds crazy even to my own ears. “You don’t know who I am anymore, Theo.”
I don’t know who I am anymore.
“I know how much you loved your dad and that he wouldn’t want you to do this.” He places his hand on my arm, and I let him pull it away from Galen’s neck.
The glass has cut him, and a line of blood is visible along his throat. His face is covered in scratches, and drops of blood trickle down his chin. A bruise is already forming on his temple where the book slammed into him, and there is other discoloration on his jaw and his cheek.
I’m guessing I haven’t fared much better. Feeling is returning to my numb body, and my face and my arms sting with a multitude of tiny cuts. I’m chilled to the bone as I climb awkwardly to my feet, brushing Theo’s arm away when he attempts to help me.
Saint helps Galen to stand, and we stare at one another with mutual pain and hatred in our eyes. “Talk shit about my dad again and I will end you.”
I turn to leave, and my eyes land on the photos scattered across the hardwood floor. I crouch down, swallowing back bile as I inspect them.
The woman in the photos is reed thin and pale with gaunt cheekbones and sunken eyes. The telltale hazy look in her eyes confirms she’s totally wasted as a variety of different guys fuck her every which way from Sunday. Acid swirls in my gut as I flick through them, growing more and more disgusted.
I drop to my butt, staring at them in horror, wondering what the hell they were doing in my father’s things. I glance over at Galen as he crawls toward me, wincing in obvious pain.
Is this why he hates me?
He shoves me aside, grabbing the photos, his jaw taut, anger and pain oozing from him in spades.
I stare at him as my brain scrambles to make sense of this. “Is this—”