Page 54 of His Gift
Conrad
All my attention is still on Harper as we step into the lobby. The usual hum of the city is muted here, replaced by a stillness that feels immediately off. At this hour, Joseph should be on duty, but the chair behind the doorman’s desk is empty, his newspaper lying open. He doesn’t leave his post unattended. My gaze sweeps to the elevator, where a man leans against the steel, his back to us, waiting. Young, built, tattoos peeking from his collar and covering his arms.
His stillness is unnatural, a coiled tension I recognize all too well. A knot tightens in my chest. This isn’t just a tenant going home. This is a predator, a soldier.
He starts to turn. Slow, deliberate. A man on a mission. I've seen too many of them to doubt I'm right. And then I spot it. The shape of a gun held low in his right hand.
My training takes over. Protect the civilians: Harper. Her slight sway from the wine, the trusting way she leans against me. Vulnerable.
I sprint before the thought fully forms; pure instinct. The distance closes in a heartbeat. He doesn’t expect the speed, the sudden violence of my approach. My hand clamps onto the barrel, twisting, jerking it upwards. A surprised grunt escapes him, but he doesn't let go. A few shots resonate in the lobby, all directed to the ceiling, then I finally get a better grip on the now scalding metal and yank the gun from his hand, sending it flying on the floor.
I move in to immobilize him, kill him if I need to, but the motherfucker is not going down so easily. A knife. Close, the edge sharp. And he's clearly trained to use it.
“Harper! Hide!” The command—a plea—rips from my throat, raw with urgency, laced with terror. Whatever it takes. He's not getting to her.
I lunge, trying to create space, to control the new threat. He’s fast, his attacks precise. My awareness tunnels to the flashing blade until Ihear Harper’s choked scream from behind. It tears through me, fueling a desperate surge of adrenaline.
I can't lose focus. The knife is a silver blur that keeps me on edge and parring becomes more and more difficult. Pain explodes in my shoulder, a hot, searing tear that makes my arm go momentarily weak. Enough for him to assess a second blow. A deeper, more agonizing pain in my side. I grit my teeth, the world narrowing to the man’s face. He's fucking dying today. I have to survive. For her.
But I don't have much time. I'm getting weaker. Desperate, I lunge again, taking him by surprise, gripping his wrist and twisting until the bones crack. And finally, the knife is in my hand and then finds its mark—a sickening resistance followed by a wet give. A choked gasp and the weight against me goes slack. He’s down. Dead.
The adrenaline begins to recede, and I know what comes next: shock. My breath comes in ragged gasps. Pain throbs in my shoulder and side, a dull, insistent pulse that’s rapidly growing stronger. I can't give up now. Harper. I need to see Harper.
I stumble towards the doorman’s station. She’s in front of it, curled small, her eyes wide, fixed on me. Horror. That’s the first thing I register. And disgust, because she witnessed the raw, ugly violence I’m capable of. The blood that's covering me from head to toe.
“Conrad…” Her voice is barely a whisper, thick with a terror that mirrors my own but is directed at me.
"I won't hurt you." How can she believe me? She saw me kill a man. She knows I've killed her uncle. The image of her trusting face as we walked in twists in my gut. Will she ever look at me the same way again? I want to reach for her, but my feet are rooted to the spot. I want to take her in my arms, but I have to accept she might not want to see me ever again. It was worth it. She's safe.
The sudden crash of the lobby doors sends a fresh wave of panic through me. Dark figures flood the space, weapons raised, laser sights painting red dots across my chest. They think I'm the threat. Maybe I really am. All I can think about is Harper, still huddled, still trembling.Don’t hurt her.
“Hold! Stand down! He’s with her.” Agent Vance’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and authoritative, instantly taking control. Her eyes scan the scene, taking in the dead man, the spreading pool of blood, Harper on the floor. “We received a credible alert. Lost contact with our agent. We moved in immediately.” Her gaze flicks back to me, her expression grim. “But it looks like we're late. You’re injured.”
It doesn't matter. "We have to get Harper to safety."She wants nothing to do with you.I take a step back, swaying. "You have to take Harper to safety."
Harper pushes herself up, her eyes locked on me. “Conrad, you’re bleeding. A lot.” Her voice trembles, laced with a raw fear that claws at my own control. She reaches for my arm, her hand coming away slick and red. “You need a hospital. Now.”
I shake my head, my gaze fixed on her. She still feels sorry for me. “No. You’re not safe. They need to get you out of here. Fast.” My voice sounds rough, distant, fading even to my own ears.
“Conrad, damn it!” Her voice rises, hysteria creeping in. She should never have witnessed this. I've failed her in every way possible.
"Harper, I'm fine. Go. They'll take you somewhere safe. You won't need to see me again."
“What the fuck are you talking about? Look at you! You’re hurt. You’re going to die.” Tears well in her eyes, and she reaches for me. “I'm not going anywhere without you. I don't want to be without you. I love you, you crazy ass man. Please, Conrad.”
Her words hit me, eclipsing the pain. She's not disgusted. She's not horrified. She loves me. The realization settles heavy and warm in that space inside me that belongs only to her. That can feel only for her.
I step forward, to touch her, to tell her she’s my only priority, but a violent wave of dizziness washes over me. The pain in my side intensifies. My limbs feel leaden, unresponsive. The fight has taken more than I could have imagined. Harper's eyes widen with terror, and she reaches for me, hugging me. It doesn't matter she's pressing on the cut in my side. I thought I'd never get to have her in my arms again.
It doesn't last long. Strong hands are on me. Relentless. I can't resist. The fight has gone out of me, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. My gaze stays locked on Harper’s. She’s stammering, her voice a panicked litany ofworries. I try to reassure her, to tell her we’ll be okay, but I'm pulled to the floor, forced on a stretcher, no matter my protests. I just need stitches. I've had way worse, and I still ran to safety.
I hear Agent Vance’s voice, firm and reassuring, directed at Harper, but the words are muffled, distant. They're taking me out of the building. Loading me in an ambulance. And Harper is still there. Not safe.
forty-three
Harper
"Harper… Ms. Schmidt, we need to move now. Your belongings will be secured later."
