Page 45 of Queen of Blades

Harper was Paul’s. She was his responsibility to protect. Snoopy had failed to do it in the past. He had no history of rising to the task, so he had no say in that. If the biker was a smart man, he’d understand that. If he actually cared a lick about his daughter, he wouldn’t fight that decision either. For the first time in his life, he’d do what was best for her.

24

Harper

Thiswasabadidea. The house was safe. It was out in the middle of nowhere. Harper was pretty sure only Paul and his family knew about it. Why take this stupid risk and leave? People were looking for them. It made absolutely no sense to come out of hiding just to talk to her dad. Especially when Harper was willing to bet he didn’t know a damn thing about any of this.

Sitting in the passenger seat of Paul’s BMW, she gnawed at her thumbnail as the ball of nerves twisted within her gut. She should’ve fought harder against going. As much as she wanted to see her father, it wasn’t the right move. Not right now. A video call could’ve reassured him.

Then again, a video call might have given their location away. He might recognize something in the background.

Who was she kidding? Her dad wasn’t that observant. Even if he’d been to the house a dozen times, he wouldn’t put two and two together. And he didn’t have anyone in his club who was tech savvy, so it wasn’t like he could geolocate them or anything. Besides, Paul was smart. That phone he left at the house definitely wasn’t traceable.

Pulling into the lot of the body shop, Harper couldn’t shake the bad feeling chilling down her spine. Scanning the area, she spotted several Harleys lined up along the wall of the building. Her father’s was closest to the door, and the rest she couldn’t place. It’d been so long since she’d been around anyone in the club but him. She wasn’t as familiar as she’d once been.

After Paul put the car in Park, he turned to her. “We’ll be in and out.”

She nodded. There was no need to prolong this visit. The longer they were out in the world, the more likely they’d get shot at. One bullet was enough for her.

“Here.” He extended his hand.

Looking down, she smiled, seeing the purple handle of her blade. She took it from him and wrapped her fingers around her old friend.

“If shit hits the fan, I want you to defend yourself,” he said, then reached over her to pop open the glove compartment. “Do you want a gun too?”

“God no!”

He looked at her in confusion.

“I don’t like them,” she asserted, completely aware it was a strange stance to have, considering her background and their current situation. “Statistically, you’re more likely to get shot by your own weapon than to effectively use it to defend yourself.”

“I guess if you aren’t familiar with using one,” he said as he slowly closed the glove box.

She stuffed the blade into the back pocket of the jeans she put on earlier. “I know how to use them. I just prefer knives.”

Shaking his head, he sighed. “That’s something we’ll work on. You need to be comfortable using a gun.”

It wasn’t about comfort, but she wasn’t about to explore that with him now. If he brought it up again, it would be a discussion for sure. She didn’t like guns, and she didn’t want one. They were too deadly for her liking. She didn’t want to carry that on her conscience. At least with a knife, the person had a chance of survival while mitigating the threat against her.

The two of them exited his sleek sedan with their heads high and hyperaware of their surroundings. The slightest movement, the faintest of sounds, had them on edge. Harper’s heart raced inside her chest, and she did her damnedest to keep her breathing calm. She had to appear confident—like this was all according to the plan.

What plan?

They had no strategy. Winging it definitely wouldn’t cause their deaths.

This was a horrendous idea.

Paul opened the door to the garage portion of the body shop and peered in anyway. There was a time and place for chivalry, but this wasn’t it. Not when people were poised to have quite the payday upon confirmation of their deaths.

Taking her hand, he led Harper into the large space where two of the bays had cars lifted high into the air and the other one sat empty. Her father emerged from behind a half-built Corvette.

“Harper!” The relief in his tone did nothing to calm her nerves.

He trotted toward her with his arms out.

“Who’s here with you?” Paul asked, his gun in his hand and his gaze sweeping the area.

“My men,” her dad said dismissively as he wrapped her in a hug.

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