Page 122 of Stroke of Shadows

“Hiccup?” she parroted. She’d crashed one of his precious cars, but in her defence, she’d told him she wasn’t ready. Three lessons were not enough. “Is that what it’s called now?”

Sythe’s eyes glistened with mischief, the beast prowling beneath his irises. “You’ll be a pro soon, and then you can go anywhere you want. Until then, I’ll always take you.”

Her heart fluttered.

“Here it is,” he said, parking in one of the spaces.

Harper looked up at the large black building. “Where is ‘here’ exactly?”

“The jury’s made a verdict.”

Harper blinked, finding the boring looking building suddenly more interesting. The media circus around Angel Beauchamp had been extraordinary. Which was exactly what she wanted. He couldn’t hide his sins when his face was plastered across every newspaper and magazine. Sythe had explained his money had been seized upon arrest, every penny under investigation. His name couldn’t get him free, not this time.

“We don’t have to go in,” Sythe continued. “But I wanted you to have the option. I persuaded one of the guards to sneak us through the back.”

A surge of panic, but Sythe was there, calming her down.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I want to go in.” She needed to show him she was free while he was the one behind bars.

Sythe guided her through the cold building, his hand always on the bottom of her back. Harper didn’t say anything as she passed security, or when she was shown to a private room at the side of the court.

A judge sat on his pedestal, a cruel pinch to his face as he listed every single one of Angel’s charges. He didn’t break from his speech as they took their seats, the room a hum of activity as cameras flashed and people murmured. She drowned it all out, staring at the profile of the man who’d essentially raised her. He’d lost some weight, his cheeks gaunt and skin pale. His wrists were bound by thick metal manacles, and Harper rubbed her own wrists. Her skin was rough, the scars something she’ll have to wear forever.

Fifteen other people had already been charged and sentenced to do with the ‘collectable’ business her uncle was running underground, and another sixty-five clients had been named. She never knew how far that side stretched, and she’d enjoyed helping the detectives collect evidence on every single buyer.

Angel’s head turned, and Harper struggled to breathe as their eyes met.

Sythe pressed his hand against her thigh. “Remember who you are,” he whispered, his hand giving her a reassuring squeeze on her thigh.

Harper straightened her spine.

He was right.

This time when she met her uncle’s gaze, she was prepared, even as his lips twisted into a vicious sneer. She no longer saw him as someone to fear. Someone who had control over her. Instead she smiled, making sure he saw how he’d lost everything.

Harper gripped the metal key she kept in her pocket, hard enough it dug into her palm. The house, as well as everything not seized under the Beauchamp name, was hers. It had always been hers, her father setting it all up in a trust for when she reached her twenty-first birthday. Angel had kept the paperwork hidden, but until she was ready, the house would continue to be empty, gathering dust.

Her mother was still there, and one day soon, she’d reopen the hidden door and lay her to rest. But until then, with the golden key safely with Harper, her mother’s remains would be protected.

The judge commanded the room, a hushed whisper quietening the crowd. “The jury finds the defendant, Angel Beauchamp, guilty of all charges.”

Harper didn’t hear the rest, the crowd going wild as the verdict was decided. She’d been obtaining evidence against him for years, and finally he was getting exactly what he deserved. She hoped he suffered every single minute for the rest of his life.

A weight was lifted. She no longer had a knife dangling over her head.

She was finally free.

Epilogue

SYTHE

THREE WEEKS LATER

“Ifold,” Sythe groaned, shoving his cards down on the table with more force than needed. “This is bullshit.”

Lucy snorted, pulling all the chips towards him. “Not my fault you’re shit. Maybe get a better poker face?”

---