Getaway Car [HS]

Chapter Twenty-Five

On the car ride over to the safe house the next morning, Harry laid down a few ground rules about how they'll have to conduct themselves to act as inconspicuous as possible about the new job they've been given, as well as their undefined sexual relationship.

"Y'have to stay with me until it's over," he said. And before she could open her mouth to tell him no, he held a hand up as if to tell her to keep quiet. "Listen, if we're doing this, we're doing it my way. I know Leo, I've known him since I was a teenager, and I know that I need you close to keep you safe from him. We can't spend any time apart."

What else was she supposed to do? Say no? Not when their potential escape from Leo depended on this future job going smoothly. Did she want to live with Harry? No, especially not with how they're prone to fighting and fucking like uncivilized beasts at the drop of a hat, and she still hadn't fully forgiven his treachery from that night at Leo's house yet.

Naturally, none of this could be spoken of outside of the four walls of his penthouse apartment. He made sure to check later for any recording devices or cameras that may have been planted by either Leo or Garrett, though he didn't know how they could've gotten inside, and gave her a strict story to stick to.

As they approached the safe house on foot, his Escalade parked around the corner, he said to her, "If anyone presses for information, tell them the original story. The one Leo thinks is true—that Perez sent his men after him in revenge f'me attacking Tate, and I had to kill the one that got away. That's it. If they keep asking more questions, stick to that. Keep saying it until it becomes the truth."

If this plan were to succeed, they would need to be perfect. She would need to be perfect in playing the part of the trapped damsel, forced to work alongside a monster she hates and who hates her in return.

That was another thing.

"When we're around everyone, Leo in particular, don't talk to me unless y'have to. Don't touch me, don't look at me too long—just don't let anyone suspect it." He paused, then went on, "Or since everyone already thinks we fucked, make it look like it was a one-time thing that ended badly. They already think I'm a piece of shit anyway, so let them think I used you. Y'have to hate me."

Harley spun around to halt his swift walking pace and crossed her arms over his chest as she looked up at him. The morning sun warmed her battered face and haloed his head from behind, nature crowning him one of its angels—a dim shadow wreathed in golden light. His wording caught her interest, and it took every morsel of control she had not to call him on it.

Just don't let anyone suspect it.

It. What is it, then? They haven't fucked since the day Leo had her beaten on his behalf, a fact she's unfortunately reminded of every other moment due to the simmering sexual tension that never dissipates between them, and she didn't consider their relationship outside of sex to be more than friendly. So, what were they? What was it? If it was her as both the hitman's Achilles heel and his plaything, then so be it. She was beyond pretending to care about whatever title their relationship held after the news they received from "Perez".

Checking twice to ensure no one watched them, she asked, batting her lashes dramatically, "You mean I can't follow you around like a little puppy and beg you to date me in front of all our friends?" Her hands pressed into the center of her chest as she let out a forced sigh, staring at him. "You know that's my favorite pastime. How will I survive?"

As amusing as he found her teasing him to be, he kept his face blank and stared at her right back. The dominance in that stare, as well as the words that followed, sparked a rush of pleasure to life between her thighs that she missed in their time apart.