Page 10 of Harley's Hex
Hex held her tighter. “I’ll always come for you, Harley,” he promised.
“But I left you that stupid note and took off in the middle of the night. God, how could I have been so stupid?” she asked. “I don’t even have a cat.”
He chuckled, “Yeah, I figured that part out. But why did you leave?” he asked.
She shrugged, “I’m an idiot,” she said as though it was that simple. “And I got spooked. You were so wonderful, and I didn’t want to fuck things up between us by the time morning rolled around, so I went with my go-to move—I took off.”
“You couldn’t have messed things up between us, honey,” he promised. “And I don’t want you to keep how you’re feeling from me. How about you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours and we can work it out together?” he asked. Harley nodded her agreement, and he pulled her in for another hug. For the first time in hours, in days, he let himself believe they’d be all right—and with Harley back by his side, he was sure that they would be.
Harley
Harley sat on the edge of the worn couch in the back room, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles ached. Everyone around her kept saying that she was in shock, and maybe she was. All she was sure of was that she was safe with Hex, and he seemed to sense how much she needed him. He hadn’t left her side the entire trip back to the clubhouse from the docks.
Honestly, she had no idea where the Dead Rabbits had even taken her. They had given her something that knocked her out. All she remembered was them sticking a needle into her neck when they got her into the van and then waking up in a cage. They had moved her a few times after that but didn’t sedate her. She was disoriented enough that even if she could figure out where they had her, there would be nothing that she could do about it.
All she knew about the guys from the Yonkers RBMC was that they were good guys and they had gotten her out of hell. The Dead Rabbits were dead or gone, and the warehouse was nothing but a crime scene now. She was free, and that was something that she kept repeating to herself, over and over.Even if her aching body didn’t seem to believe it yet, her mind was slowly catching up with the truth—she was safe.
Her clothes still smelled of concrete dust and gasoline, and her ribs hurt every time she breathed. Every sound made her flinch, and Hex seemed to notice that too. Every time someone slammed a door, and she jumped, he was right there next to her with his arm around her body, giving her comfort. A few times, he’d whispered that she was safe or how much he missed her, and she knew that she was losing her heart to him. How could she not?
Hex was across the room, talking to Hurricane and Reacher. His voice was calm—that low, rough steadiness she’d clung to when the world went dark. Every time she let her fear get the best of her, she’d close her eyes and hear his voice telling her that everything was going to be all right. He looked exhausted—as though he hadn’t slept in years, not just days- and she felt bad that she was the cause of his sleep deprivation.
When he finally crossed the room toward her, she felt herself breathing for the first time since he had left her side. “You’re safe now,” he said quietly, crouching in front of her. “You hear me?” She nodded, though her throat was too tight to speak. His hands were warm where they rested on her knees, seeming to ground her.
“I should have found you faster,” he murmured, mostly to himself.
“Stop,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “You found me, and that’s all that matters.”
The guy they all called Reacher crossed the room and towered over her. “Hey, darlin’. You look like hell — no offense.”
She barked out a gruff laugh, and even that seemed to hurt like hell. “None taken,” she groaned, holding her ribs.
Reacher glanced toward Hex. “Brandi’s here. She’s a nurse and she’s also my better half. I told her you might need a check-up, make sure those bastards didn’t leave anything behind that needs fixing.”
“Why can’t you check me over?” Harley asked him. Harley started to shake her head at Reacher’s request, but Hex’s look stopped her cold.
“I have some business to finish up with Hurricane, or I’d take a look at you myself. Please let her take a look,” he said softly. “For me. You’ve been through hell, and we just want to make sure that you’re all right.” She wasn’t all right. Hell, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel that way again.
She wanted to argue, to pretend she was fine. But the truth was, her body hurt in ways she didn’t want to admit, and there was something about Hex’s voice—with his quiet edge of fear that made her swallow her pride and agree to be checked out.
“Okay,” she whispered.
A few minutes later, Brandi came in wearing scrubs and a calm, steady smile. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m Brandi. Reacher told me you’ve been through it.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Harley mumbled. “Everything hurts.”
Brandi gave her a soft, assessing look before kneeling beside her. “Mind if I check you over?” Harley nodded, and Brandi shooed everyone out of the small room. She was impressed at how she handled the big bikers.
Brandi’s touch was gentle but sure; she had a nurse’s hands, practiced and kind. She asked a few quiet questions, then said, “You’re bruised up, but you’re strong. I’m afraid that you have a cracked rib or two, but time and rest will heal those. Your body’s just in shock. You’re safe now. Let your body catch up to your brain.” Harley’s eyes burned unexpectedly. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to hear those words.
She thanked Brandi, and when she left, Hex returned and sat beside her on the couch. He didn’t say anything at first—justreached for her hand, and she let him take it. His thumb brushed slow circles over her palm, and she couldn’t believe how that simple gesture calmed her. But then, Hex seemed to have that kind of power over her—making her feel as though everything was going to be all right.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he said finally, breaking the silence.
She leaned into him, the exhaustion crashing over her like a wave. “I scared myself,” Harley admitted. His arm came around her shoulders, pulling her close until her head rested against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and real.
“Rest, Harley,” he murmured. “You’re safe. I promise.” For the first time in days, she believed that she was safe. She let her eyes close; her fingers curled against the leather of his cut. The chaos outside—the shouting, the roaring engines, and the aftermath all faded, and all she was left with was the quiet beating of Hex’s heart against her cheek. In that quiet moment, with Hex’s warmth anchoring her, Harley realized something she hadn’t dared to before. She didn’t just want to survive anymore. She wanted to live. And Hex made her feel more alive than she ever felt in her life.
The clubhouse had gone still. Somewhere downstairs, the last few voices from the bar murmured over a low hum of rock music, but up in the quiet room Hurricane had lent them, everything felt safe.
