Eighty-Sixed [manxman]

XIV | Exposure |

XIV

| Exposure |

-

Everything ached, not that I had a scratch on me, but still. The adrenaline dissipated and left me in a heap of limbs and oversized pajamas consisting of a black sweatshirt and matching pants. We'd been at Harlow's cousins' home for about three hours. Harlow had taken the girls to clean them up and put them back to bed. I, on the other hand, had been ushered straight into a bedroom, provided some toiletries, and left to my own devices.

For the last two hours, I'd tossed and turned in the plush bed, frustrated by the overwhelming exhaustion weighing on me while sleep eluded me. My mind kept churning, spitting accusations and assumptions between being a monster and a hero--between saving two lives and taking two.

My stomach growled loudly for the third time in fifteen minutes. I sighed and sat up, pulling the hood over my head as I shivered. It felt like they had the thermostat stuck on fifty. It wasn't nearly as warm as Harlow's house with all the windows welcoming the sunlight and natural warmth.

I had yet to meet Harlow's cousins as the hosts hadn't bothered to introduce themselves upon our arrival, but I felt settled enough to rummage through their kitchen. At the very least, I was Harlow's hired help. They couldn't legally starve me.

With that, I shoved myself out of the bed and padded through the dark hallway. I wondered where Harlow's room was. I hoped he was close to the girls. Actually, I hoped he'd elected to sleep in the girls' room that night given what had happened only a few hours before. From what I understood, they'd seen their mother's murder. Seeing two more murders, even those of complete strangers, had to bring back memories.

Everyone was eerily silent on the car ride. One of Harlow's security staff drove, dropped us off, and then headed back with plans to assist in sweeping the premises. Although he hadn't mentioned it, I assumed Harlow would be heading back home to check the property himself as well. That was what I would do.

After a few minutes of stumbling around, I managed to find myself in a simple kitchenette. The counters were marble, and the glass door of the pantry displayed a multitude of snack options. The home wasn't as extravagant as Harlow's, it was more modest in size, but the quality of everything seemed to be on par. I wondered how many generations of Harlows had money. And then, how many of those had ties to the criminal underworld.

Dismissing the thought, I opened the pantry and took stock of my choices. Settling on peanut M&M's, I grabbed the large bag, popped it open, and tossed a couple in my mouth. A familiar set of footsteps approached, and I turned to find Harlow standing in the threshold. He had a bit of scruff lining his jaw. His usually perfectly styled hair was tousled from running his hands through it. A bruise had started forming under his left eye.

"What happened?"

A frown creased his face before he realized. "I got into it with one of the cops that broke in. That was the only hit she got in."

"I don't know whether I'm impressed or concerned."

Harlow smirked and folded his arms across his broad chest, leaning against the doorframe. The navy blue sweater went taut across his skin. "What are you doing up? It's almost sunrise."

"Couldn't sleep."

"You keep seeing those cops?"

I frowned. "What?"

Cocking his head to the side, Harlow said, "You know, the way those cops were laid out... I saw the security footage--of you killing them. That's pretty impressive for someone who was just a PI."