Inherent

The ride southwest to Julia’s house feels like one of the longest I have ever endured, even though I break every speed limit and barely acknowledge traffic lights, so unconcerned for my own safety that I forget I have to keep myself alive in order to protect Jules. Only at this realization do I start to obey some rules of the road.

It feels like I could have traveled across the country in the amount of time it takes, done ten of the thousand-mile trips I have covered for the club on this very bike.

Because of the mass amounts of traffic from commuters heading home for the day, it takes nearly half an hour to make it to Julia’s neighbourhood, well aware of the fact that it is past five o’clock and she should be just getting home from work. She should be home, and the possibility of danger is so high that I can’t help but to feel the uncharacteristic nervousness that I have only ever felt for her. The concern for another’s safety I have never experienced so fiercely until she entered my life.

More than that, I am scared she won’t listen to me. Like these last few weeks. But today… today I have to get through to her. If anything at all happens, I can’t allow useless distance between us to prevent me from keeping her safe.

My resolve is short-lived, however, and so is the weak self-reassurance that I am overreacting as I turn the corner and Julia’s place comes into view. It’s all replaced by a shot of straight, unbridled panic at the sight of her car parked on an angle at the start of her driveway. My hand unconsciously lets off on the throttle, a hard, sickening feeling growing in my gut; and then I see the window, the one next to the front door—the living room’s—totally smashed and broken.

Pristine white curtains fly in the wind from the gaping hole, the delicate fabric caught in places on jagged shards of glass still attached to the frame.

It takes a split second for the shock to pass, and then I twist the throttle so hard I all but rocket the twenty meters to Julia’s house. My bike skids to a halt a the curb, and I launch myself off the seat, these precarious few seconds a blur right up until I take off in a sprint to the already open front door, shouting her name with so much fear and panic I don’t even recognize my own voice. Fear courses through me in waves when the house remains totally silent.

Without even a second’s worth of hesitation, I barrel through the door, one hand poised at my back to where my gun is hidden under my shirt, ready to reach for it if necessary. I round the corner, breathing fast and hard and panicked, ready to fight with my life.

And then I see her. She stands inert in the middle of the trashed living room, everything around her chaos. The coffee table at her feet has been flipped over, its legs snapped and pulled off, and I notice one of them impaled in the TV, also trashed, its screen totally obliterated by the sharp piece of wood. Long gashes have been cut through the sofa’s upholstery. Its stuffing is scattered throughout the now unrecognizable space along with scraps of dark blue, tattered fabric and glass all at our feet, even crunching under my boots as I pause in the threshold to stare at her, her back turned to me, totally dumfounded yet aware of the environment. Of the possibility there might be someone else in the house. Someone who wants to hurt her to get to me.

They obviously unleashed an astonishing amount of rage upon Julia’s home. This is when I see them, the pictures torn from the walls, every single frame broken and the photographs encased in them distorted by smashed glass.

Pictures of her lost brother and father, of her grandmother, and more of her family, all scattered about on the floor. As if the images depicted on them are totally worthless, as if they are not the last remaining reminders of her family that she has left. The sight alone is heartbreaking, but other than a half second’s glance at all the damage, I don’t pay attention to any of it, my sole focus on Jules and her still frozen form in the center of all the wreckage.

Standing only a few feet away from me, my first instinct it to reach for her, but as soon as the tips of my fingers skim over her slight shoulder she releases a shrill, terrified scream and blindly jumps forward, whirling around in fright at the same time, and she trips over what is left of the coffee table.

I only catch a quick glimpse of her wild and panicked blue eyes before she hurtles backward, my fast reaction and reflexes being the only things that prevent her from falling back and straight into the dangerous footing of broken glass and wood. The momentum I use to keep her from falling, fingers securely wrapped around her forearm, wrenches her forward and closer to me, but she struggles with me at every step of the way, sobbing now.

“It’s just me,” I try to reassure her, loud and deep, overpowering her cries in an effort to break through the sudden hysteria. As she thrashes and tries in vain to wrench her arm from my grip, sure to only fall again because her balance is totally uneven and my hold is the only thing to keep her standing, I manage to loop one arm around her waist.

Despite all the struggling, I forcibly pull her closer until she crashes into me, my arm tight and secure around her to ensure she doesn’t hurt herself. Finally she seems to realize who is holding her and she only glances up for a moment to lock eyes with me, both shocked and relieved, before collapsing into me. She clutches onto the fabric of my shirt while wrapping one arm around me, hold just as tight as my own, and buries her head into my chest.

“It’s just me,” I continue to repeat softly as I gently release my hold on her arm, moving it to gently travel up and down her back, glass crunching beneath our feet.

Anger fills me and my jaw clenches when I feel her trembling against me, sobs still wracking her shoulders as her hand shakes at my chest, fist clenched so tight on my shirt that her knuckles have turned white. Anger that someone could come in here and do this to her, something so horrid, destroy her home. Perhaps the one and only place she feels comfortable enough to be herself.

One thing I know for sure—I’m going to find whoever did this, and I’m going to make them pay.

“It’s alright, I’m here,” I murmur into her hair, knowing whatever scum that trashed the place is long gone.

As I lean down to all but nuzzle into her neck, I see it. On the wall—what captured Julia’s attention so fully that she didn’t even notice my arrival, didn’t hear me shout her name from outside. Spray painted onto the soft beige color of the wall in harsh, contrasting black and red is a design I recognize too easily—a crude, simple outline of a coyote howling inside a thick black circle. I know it’s a coyote rather than a wolf because I used to wear a jacket with that very depiction on its back. I used to wear it with pride, too, and now it looks to be the source of all this chaos, of Julia’s terror. It is now the reason my girl is frightened out of her mind, and I feel sick to my stomach for ever taking a liking to it in the first place.

In the fraction of a second it takes to recognize the graffiti and connect the dots, I grow angrier and angrier than I have felt in years. My hold of Julia’s waist tightens subconsciously, and thankfully she makes no move to vacate the embrace like I so fear. Which is good, as I am not nearly equipped to let her go, to chance any small amount of distance.

This is unheard of for the club. I don’t know why they are targeting Julia, if it’s only Joe, or something else altogether. Never has there been a case where innocent totally naïve people have been targeted.

Especially with a warning, as I have to guess this to be. The only time the club gives warnings is to outsiders who have a debt to pay.

My eyes remain trained on the wall, breathing growing shallow and pulse rising with fury as my mind tries to connect the dots. If someone from the club is preying on Julia for money of all goddamned things… then they will be eliminated fast, before they can make themselves any more of a threat to her.

If not by me then by the skewed justice system the club conducts. It isn’t much of one, but we never tolerate this.

Joe—Joe has his name written all over the scene. My blood boils at this realization. In truth, I’d like to wring someone’s neck, and it further strengthens my confidence that carrying a weapon as serious as a gun is the right thing to do. Tucked away in the waistband of my jeans and underneath my shirt, the pistol acts as a silent, deadly reassurance.

“What happened?” I ask, softly, despite my ever present rage.

Scaring her more than she already has been is something I can’t bear. I can get angry all I want on my own time, take it out on those who truly deserve it.

For a few hushed seconds I allow her silence, knowing and sensing just how shaken up she is, but then I no longer feel her trembling hands and her hold on me slackens.

“Jules?”

Her continued lack of response causes me to become concerned instantly, and I rear back just a few inches, hands gravitating to her waist and upper back when she sways on her feet in a worrisome sort of way. As soon as I get a clear view of her face, her half-lidded eyes and parted lips, I draw her closer to support more of her weight.

“Julia,” I call louder, more serious, aware she is on the verge of fainting. Panic sweeps over all of my rational thoughts as dramatic fears seem realer than ever, yet I manage to maintain some semblance of calm. Fear only manages to inject itself into my tone as I repeat her name, shaking her softly. Air refuses to enter my lungs when I feel her legs fall limp and I catch her, now supporting all of her weight with one arm around her waist while I hoist her up into my arms, witnessing her fluttering eyelashes as she fights unconsciousness, knowing she isn’t quite gone yet.

“Jules,” I say desperately, on the verge of hysteria now myself. Quickly, I swivel around and stride from the living room into the hallway.

No, I won’t let her pass out.

“Come on, baby.” Murmuring soft words of support, I use the hand supporting her back to massage circles into her skin, pressure firm in an effort to stimulate her senses. “Come back to me.”

A couple of rare times now I have witnessed episodes similar to today’s, though none ever quite this severe, and there was always a way of bringing her back. Whether it be through simple comfort and reassurance, letting her know that I am here, or a secure embrace. It always worked. Bringing her out onto my terrace that morning when she woke up in a dazed panic is the worst I have seen her, but I am willing to try it all.

Finally after nearly thirty seconds of total silence when I fear I might have lost her to oblivion, her breathing picks up a heavy, quick rhythm and she gasps, her once limp hand held in her lap shooting to clutch onto my shoulder as though I am the only thing keeping her alive.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” I say, hold tightening as she fully comes to her senses and notices that her feet are no longer underneath her. Her eyes, wide and filled with panic, have snapped open to stare in shock at my surely paled face. Despite this, I can’t help but to breathe a deep sigh of relief. She’s back.

She glances around, clearly confused, and I end up easing us both down onto the floor so my back is against the wall and she rests on my lap, now sitting up herself. This way, there is less height between her and the ground, and no possibility of her falling as my worried mind pictures. Her hands, shakier than I have ever seen them, remain tense, one still at my shoulder while the other clutches the pendant hung from her neck.

Knowing she never stopped wearing it gives me reassurance, hope.

“Harry,” she murmurs for the first time, sounding drowsy, confused, and utterly out of it.

“Right here, baby,” I say quietly, set on not causing her any more fright than she has already endured, especially if this is its effect on her.

“I thought,” she starts but can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, dazed. “I thought you were…”

Her words are so broken I almost don’t understand, though I nod and never cease in the soft circles my fingers create against the warm flesh of her lower back. I hadn’t even realized my hand slipped underneath the hem of her tank top, the action so natural even though it has been so long since I have been able to touch her like this.

“I know,” I say. She thought I was the person—whatever scum—who did this to her living room. While not totally set on who did this, I do know one thing for absolute certain: I’m going to find them.

“You’re alright. I’m here. You’re safe.” When in such a vulnerable, terrified state it’s important for her to hear this. She needs to hear this, just as much as I should have been there for her these past weeks. But then I had to go and ruin every single bit of progress we had carefully made. I watch in despair as her bloodshot eyes well with more tears and I gently pull her closer, desperate to see her happy again. Or right now, not so panicked and out of her mind at the very least.

But thankfully she seems to understand my silent vow to protect her without me having to say it aloud, without having to scare her with every single incensed thought running savage through my own mind. She feels the amount of security I try to send through my hold, and while biting her lip she hesitantly lowers her head to rest against my chest. Every muscle in her body, however, remains tense.

“I was so scared.”

“I got you now,” I reply to her breathy, still disoriented whisper with soft and confident reassurance. And I don’t know if I will be able to let her go ever again. Not just from this embrace; it feels so very wrong to let her go, give her space to think, like I have been doing. Because looking around at the shape of things right now, for us both, it doesn’t look like much good came of it. Hell, I refuse to even let her out of my sight. If I do I might really go out of my own mind once and for all.

“Police,” she says, still in somewhat of a daze because she doesn’t sound like herself. She more sounds like she has been injected with a sedative—distant, slurred almost, a result of her entirely too close brush with unconsciousness. As though realizing this herself, she attempts to push herself away slightly, but her hands tremble too much and ultimately are no match for my strength—which is minimally used to keep her close. I suddenly feel panic at the thought of her anywhere but in the safety of my arms.

It’s an irrational thought, but one spurred by severe circumstances. I need her close, need to know she is safe.

“Yes,” I agree, and she surrenders the futile amount of strength she used to settle closer. I almost breathe a sigh of relief—almost. She knows I need this right now, our past weeks of distance totally forgotten for the moment. Then I realize we both need this. “We’ll call the police.”

But first I want to hear her side of the story without any interrogating questions asked by the officers skewing her memory. I want to hear exactly as she recalls it happening, as blood-boiling as it will surely be.

Once again, it’s entirely too easy to think that I should have been here to protect her. Sooner than when I got here, because someone could have hurt her in those few moments. It only multiplies my intense need to keep her near so something like this doesn’t occur again.

Regardless I reach to pull my phone from my pocket, glad I don’t need an ambulance, had she passed out… or something worse.

It’s difficult to hold back the shudder my body wants to produce.

“What happened?” I ask again, soft, and without any of the heat previously used when I was ready to fight. Fight anyone who poses even a slight threat to Jules. My Jules.

It’s amazing, how well I can control my intense anger while in her presence. If I were anywhere else at all I would have exploded long ago, and I certainly would not have been able to comfort and hold a girl terrified out of her wits. How much she has changed me, without even realizing it…

“Wait. There’s no need for us to be in here.” I change my mind, slackening my hold on her only slightly as a test to see if she keep her balance. I watch in relief when she does, and then slowly stand up, holding nearly all of her weight as I help her too. She wobbles precariously, but holds a hand up at my instinctual move to take her into my arms again. I frown, not believing her for a moment, not even with her murmured insistences that she is okay. It’s difficult, but I know she hates to feel weak, so I settle for guiding her with one arm around her waist, pressing her close to my side.

Seeing all the wreckage will only cause her to become more upset. She shouldn’t have to look at any of this longer than she already has. And I have certainly seen enough, enough to be bloodthirsty.

She nods and I take it slow and steady as we venture out of the house and onto her front deck, holding onto her waist as she shakily makes her way down the small set of steps. It kills me to see her still so unsteady, so scared. Then, I lead her over to her car so I can call for help, opening the passenger door for her. I want her to be comfortable and not have a clear view of the broken window, and this is the best that can be achieved.

The police won’t really be of much help but it will make her feel better, and that is all I want. She slowly sits with her legs dangling from the side of the car. When she hesitantly looks up to me all I see is a vulnerable, scared girl, and she is this way because of something I could have surely prevented.

“Just sit tight. We’ll get this figured out,” I explain, holding tighter onto her hand which I refused to let go of when she sat down, and I stand tall next to her. It’s impossible to help myself, I find, unable to break the physical contact that I desperately need.

After calling for police and repeating the break-in, still feeling Julia shake with intense emotion, I wish none of this ever had the opportunity to transpire. That we hadn’t gone to the Castle for my stupid celebration, that Lucy would have stayed in Nevada along with Joe. None of this would have ever happened, then—that much I am sure of. I would not have said such awful things as an idiotic, long-learned defense mechanism to sharing things that should remain in the club, which should never be talked about, which would only put Jules in possible danger if she knew.

This break in never would have even happened.

Looking around at all the damage, from Julia’s house to Julia herself, a sense that this is all my fault comes over me. Like I could have prevented it from happening, had I been around. Had I been there for her, as I always promised.

I failed her.

Desolate, I sink to the ground until I am eye-level with her, ignoring the hot, coarse asphalt that digs into my knees, and take both her hands in mine. She snaps from what is most likely post-traumatic shock to meet me in the eye, looking startled to see that I have moved. With her lip held between her teeth, the delicate skin underneath her eyes red and puffy as she tries keep from crying, and looking absolutely exhausted, the sight of her alone is heartbreaking.

I feel sick. Sick that she could go from happier than I’d ever seen her to this in practically the blink of an eye, and I feel sick because it is my fault. All I want is to love her, and it’s unfathomable to think of how much I screwed up something already beautiful on its own. I had complicated something that I should have been trying to simplify.

Incapable of standing the slight distance any longer, I reach forward and tug her waist until she sits at the edge of the seat and bring her into a tight, desperate embrace.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” I breathe, lips brushing against her neck as I bury my face in her hair, wanting nothing more than to be surrounded by her. The small words carry much more meaning she knows.

Julia inhales slowly, shakily. “It’s not your fault, Harry.”

The force to her reply shocks me for a second, and lends to the belief that she might realize exactly what I mean. Everything she said up until now was nothing but a whispered, fearful whimper. She too sounds as though she means more—more than this, more than just this isolated incident. It’s now that I know for sure we are apologizing for every wrong that has taken place, whether it is really our fault or not. But the specifics aren’t important, we can figure that out later. We are sorry for everything that has torn us apart.

Begrudging, I pull away, reaching up to gently thumb her cheeks free from any lingering tear tracks, searching her eyes for whatever she might be feeling in this moment.

“I got home,” she begins suddenly, but sounds mostly in control. I dislike it, however, when she breaks the eye contact to look past me, to the once pristine curtains blowing in the wind. Clearing her throat softly, she works up the courage to tell the rest of her story. “And it… it was just like this. When I first got here, though, I heard someone out back. I tried to follow them… but they were too fast.”

Her eyes turn glossy again and she shakes her head, a stray tear slipping down her cheek. I wipe that one away, too, hushing her before she becomes hysteric. It’s harder than ever to keep my anger at bay at this news, at Julia having been so close. It wasn’t smart to try and follow them.

“It’s over now. It’s alright. We’ll get all this fixed,” I promise, desperate to take away her pain. The details don’t really matter, not as much as she does. “What’s important is you’re safe, baby. All the rest can be fixed.”

And I will find the son of a bitch that did this, I silently vow, but don’t scare her with any details of my plan; a plan I intend to execute after I know she is safe and not in any danger.

Fear and intense hatred mingles dangerously, knowing that this was closer of a call than I ever, ever imagined. She had gotten home just as the filth was leaving. If they’d seen her, she could have been hurt.

In the distance we start to hear police sirens. Knowing their destination, I sigh and pull away to stand up, still refusing to let go of her hand.

“We’ll have it all sorted soon, I promise you. It’s going to be okay.” For a short moment Julia seems to panic at the sharp, high pitched sound from the sirens nearing, and I squeeze her hand gently to draw her attention away. When she looks up to me, searching my eyes for reassurance, I don’t think I have ever seen her so scared and lost.

“I promise,” I repeat, and slowly, as if learning now to trust me, Julia nods. She surprises me with her courage as she stands up too, steadier than she has been since I arrived. Even so, I watch her carefully, just in case she becomes overwhelmed again.

With a soft encouraging smile I bring her hands up, cupped in my own again, to tenderly kiss her knuckles.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll be right here with you.” I mumble against her hands, surely sounding like a broken record, but for the moment reassurances are all I can give her. The slight, hesitant smile she produces at my desperation to see her happy is the best thing I have ever seen. Though only for a second, her mouth turns upward from the small, pensive, worried frown she previously wore. It contrasts greatly against the scene before us, the pureness to her smile the only hope in sight and it is all that keeps me grounded and from taking immediate, reckless action.

More of my anger dissipates at this new accomplishment, at distracting her from everything around us, at temporarily giving her happiness. If I can keep this going until the police are finished with their work here and they have their investigation over with—or at least the part where they need Julia’s report—I can take her home, keep her safe. With me.

Whatever issues, which feel miniscule now, we can sort later.

“Harry,” she starts, wobbling on my name, and seems to finally recall all the torturous time we have spent apart. “We—we should talk.”

I nod, refusing to brush off her concerns, but now is not the best time to rehash any of these bad memories. She is already stressed enough. “Later.”

Damn it; the one time Jules is willing to open up to me, to most likely tell me exactly what is weighing on her mind and what she thinks of me (be it good or horrible—I just want to hear how she feels), and I have to tell her to wait. I feel like an asshole now.

With the police rounding the corner, however, I want her as stable as possible. I know how shaken up she is, too, and she needs to be sure of what she actually wants to talk about. So first, we need to get this out of the way.

It took a total of seven minutes for the first police car to arrive. Predictably, I don’t hold the highest opinion of the force, nor Julia’s neighbours for having failed to call emergency responders in the first place. The place is wrecked—and you would have to be a fool to believe no one heard anything.

This is why I don’t like this neighbourhood. Everyone in this area is either so old they really couldn’t hear the major crash the window must have made as it was shattered, or they didn’t care and kept it to themselves. There is no real level of safety here.

“Okay.” Julia nods after a moment, and I lower her hands to hold just one of them while the patrol car pulls up. What she says next does not come as a surprise, since she has always seemed to believe that everything is her fault, but I dislike hearing it as much as I always have. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I reject instantly, keeping my voice low. What happened at the Castle is my fault and mine entirely. Mine and my temper. At this point, I can’t even blame Lucy any longer. Her appearance only set me off and I was wrong, a total idiot, for having taken it out on Jules.

As soon as the police officer gets out of his car, Julia stiffens, realizing abruptly that they will want to know what happened here. It was hard enough for her to tell me, and it pains me to know she will have to go through it again and in much more detail.

Instinctually, I loop my arm around her waist in a silent vow of total support, and she surprises me when she grabs onto my hand held at her hip, holding it as she gratefully glances up to me. At least she wants me here, I think with relief, but hell… I would be present regardless, because I know how hard it would be for her to go through this alone.

The officer, a man in his late thirties with dark hair and wary brown eyes, patiently records Julia’s information as his partner enters the house to, I assume, ‘officially’ clear the scene. I listen intently to every question posed, ranging from what time to the minute that Julia got home to whether or not there were any other witnesses, and mention that I was the one to call 911 when he asks. Mostly however I stand in silent support next to Julia.

For a while at least until the officers switch tasks. While they are both in the house for a moment, Julia recalls that she was supposed to spend time with Vivian tonight, and then hurriedly retrieves her phone to dial her friend’s number with trembling hands. She answers quickly, and I have to imagine the snarky red head is demanding to know why Julia is late.
“Wait—wait a sec, Vivian. Something happened,” she pauses, as though she doesn’t want to admit herself. “Someone broke into my house.”

“What?” Even from several feet away, I hear her shocked exclamation. Julia shakes her head, stressed all over again and bites her lip, not knowing how to explain. Ultimately she settles for a quiet run down of the event. “Yeah—the living room is trashed. No, I got home and found it like this. The police are here now. I just finished talking to them.”

It’s hard not to notice that Julia neglects to mention the fact that she heard someone in her backyard when she got home, and that she did the same when the officer questioned her. While curious, I know not to press for an explanation and instead furrow my eyebrows as I observe her closely, on the hope that maybe she will tell me on her own terms.

Whatever Vivian says causes Julia to pause and glance sideways, up to me, but only for a second. “Yeah.”

Then, in another split second, she hurries on. “Wait, Vivian—!”

With pursed lips she lowers her phone and sighs in frustration, unimpressed. “She’s on her way over.”

Great, I think. Just wonderful. Of course my sarcastic thoughts have everything to do with what occurred weeks ago, and the time since then. I don’t have anything at all against Vivian, as I know for a fact what a good friend she is to Julia, but I am aware that she likely isn’t my biggest fan at the moment. If she has caught wind of anything at all she shouldn’t be. I wouldn’t blame her, either. But I only hope that for Julia’s sake that Vivian remains calm when she arrives, since she obviously doesn’t know of my presence.

I glance up at the other officer as he emerges from the house, leaving the door untouched as he casually approaches. He is decidedly not quite as kind as the first officer was, or at least not uninterested in a polite way. This officer looks at us both as if we committed the crime ourselves.
He wears a deep frown and eyes us both with a suspicious glare. Since I know he has undoubtedly seen what has been spray painted in the living room as well, I am willing to bet that he is no longer looking at this as a regular run of the mill break-in.

Any self-respecting officer of the law is capable of putting two and two together. The only time this sort of mark is left is when it is affiliated with a gang, or a club in our case. To prove a point, usually.

To start a war.

If that’s what Joe wants, then I am ready.

Julia shifts uncomfortably underneath the man’s scrutinizing gaze, subconsciously shifting closer to my side in search of support. It is instinctive for me to squeeze her hand and pull her even closer in response, sending the officer a warning glare of my own.

I have a feeling that he is only going to needlessly upset her even more than she already is. His beady gaze has already scared her enough.

“Other than the property damage, Miss Townsend,” he concludes, unrelenting in his accusing tone. “Nothing appears to be stolen. Now in a minute, though, I’d like you to take me through the house to make sure.”

From how he sounds, he thinks doing so is a waste of time. My jaw clenches and I glare even harder as I realize what a waste of space this man is, being so horrible to woman who has just had her house broken into and trashed. It becomes even more difficult to restrain myself from saying anything, aware it would only make things harder on Julia.

“For the moment we are not looking at this like a regular burglary, as you can understand.”

He pauses in his spiel to look to her, like he has some crazy hope that she will fess up to the crime. She only continues to stare at him, confused and scared. He sighs. “From what I saw, the suspect gained entry through the back door, and then threw a brick through the window from the inside.”

On the plush green grass, a lone red brick sits out among the shards of glass—any onlooker could easily gather as much. His hypothesis doesn’t impress me. I subtly roll my eyes.

“The back door has been broken, too. Officer Lyle is currently processing the scene. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”

Julia nods meekly, although he doesn’t make it sound like a request or one she is allowed to refuse. You don’t have to tell him anything, I want to say, but with my motorcycle parked out front we look suspicious enough. Everything he does just raises my blood pressure that much more.

“Are you aware of anyone who would want to hurt you? Break into your house like this? Or anyone who knows enough about the layout to be able to execute a crime like this, undetected?”

Eyebrows pinched, Julia’s frown deepens as she listens to each of the questions he fires off with absolutely no mercy. She appears to think hard, shaking her head in disbelief at having to wonder such things. She ends up looking up to him, desperate and dumbfounded.

“No, no. I can’t think of anyone like that. Who would ever do this... I’m sorry, but this is just so crazy.”

Infuriatingly, he doesn’t so much as give her a second’s rest before shooting off another question. It’s obvious he does not really care about her response, and that he either takes his job too seriously or hates what he does. “Has anyone made any unexpected visits lately? Like salesmen, or people who claim to be inspectors. It would have been sudden and without an appointment.”

Julia exhales, her breathing fluttery and short, and massages her temple with her free hand. If we were at home, safe, I would do that for her. I would make sure she is totally at ease, not like this idiot. In truth, I just want to get this stupid procedure out of the way so I can take Julia home, and then at some point start my own (lawless) investigation. I know for a fact that the Chicago police department has nothing on the club. It shouldn’t even be on their radar, and they can’t force much out of a little graffiti on a wall.

This investigation is going nowhere fast.

After Julia confirms that there haven’t been any suspicious visits, wavering in a worrisome way which only causes me to frown in concern… concern that there may be more she isn’t saying—he asks her to give him that tour to see the layout and if anything actually has been taken.

I go along with Julia for support, even though the officer makes it clear that he doesn’t like my presence. It takes nearly ten minutes to go through the place, and the rest of the house seems fine until they get to Julia’s bedroom. She enters first, doing a three-sixty degree circle to take everything in. Halfway through a shrug, however, just when she is about to give the okay, she freezes. Her eyes land on the top of her dresser by the door, and even I start to panic when she doesn’t move from her shock.

Then she gasps, eyes tearing up and growing in size, and she clamps a hand over her mouth as she takes a step back.

“Julia?” I ask warily, stepping through the threshold. The officer remains where he is, but her reaction has caught his attention. When she doesn’t answer, only shaking her head, I place a hand at the small of her back. All I feel under her shirt are tense muscles. I glance only once to where she is staring, but keep my focus solely on her. “What is it?”

“My jewelry box,” she utters, verging on hysteria as she slowly drops her hand from her mouth. “It’s—it’s gone, Harry.”

As soon as she gets it out she turns to me, desolate and frantic, and clutches onto the sides of my shirt as she buries her face into my chest. I instantly wrap my arms around her, shocked all over again. Seeking comfort so openly like this is unexpected from her, but I know it’s all too much for her. Today is too much.

“It—it had—everything was in it. Dad’s rings. Everything. It’s all gone.”

From the doorway the policeman sighs, as though disappointed, and begins to jot this turn of events down on his notepad. I completely ignore him, his existence totally useless and nothing more than an intrusion on Julia’s grief, and I don’t pay him any mind whatsoever.

I pull her closer, running my hand up and down her back, and continue to hush her from saying anything more. Tears soak into my shirt, and I don’t think I have ever seen her cry this much. In the presence of others, no less. She hates to cry when she is alone, and the fact that she is so broken now has me extremely close to my breaking point.

Right now, I want nothing more than to strangle the life from the person who would even think of doing something like this to her. Jules is the innocent, kind person who goes out of her way to help others. I don’t understand any of what is happening, now. Why would Joe take jewelry? He doesn’t need money, not to my knowledge. Did he do it knowing it would get to her? As more tears slip unbridled from beneath her downcast eyes, soaking her lashes, I sigh and kiss along her hairline.

“We’ll find it, baby,” I promise her quietly. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it all back for you.”

It takes several minutes for her to have the courage to turn away from me and face the hard reality, of having something that meant so much being taken from her in the most cowardly of ways. The officer left more than a minute ago, tired of her quiet distress, and when she does she grabs hold of my hand in the tightest grip I have ever felt from her. My eyes follow her, unwavering.

“Are you ready to go back out?” I ask. She nods silently, but the action is jerky and it is quite obvious she is not as ready as she tries to lead me into believing.

“I mean it, Jules. I’ll find it—I don’t care if I have to go over hell or high water to do it, but I’ll get it back for you.”

Sniffing, she smiles through her tears. The sight is heartbreaking. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Thank me when it’s all back to its rightful owner,” I murmur, forcing a smile of my own. She doesn’t know quite how serious I am about my promise, probably assuming that I am just telling her these things to calm her down. In reality, however, there is a trail. One the police won’t be able to follow. If Joe didn’t take it, then I will find out who did. If there’s one thing the police are right about, it’s that this was not a random attack.

This was personal.

“Come on, this will be over soon,” I gently tug on her hand to lead her out from the house, making sure my body shields her from seeing the living room as we pass by. When we get back out into the front yard, I keep my arm around her unstable form, aware of exactly how upset she is. Officer Lewis, the one who is on the very last of my nerve, asks her the approximate value of the jewelry box and its contents—which is just about a couple thousand dollars.

Again, I wonder who could have taken it. The club wouldn’t, that much is for sure. It just isn’t their M.O. Perhaps Joe really did do it to get to her, or maybe he did it to throw off the police. But just what point is he trying to prove?

Stood next to Julia’s car, the policeman looks at us for a long pause. “I’ll report the stolen property. Officer Lyle is going to investigate further so see if he can find any fingerprints, and I’ll keep an eye out on the streets. That’s usually where it all ends up. There have been a string of burglaries lately where only jewelry has been stolen, but the gang tag on your wall deviates from their usual method.”

“Gang tag…” Julia whispers, paling.

Not a gang, I want to growl. A club. A violent, dirty club, but a club nonetheless.

The officer shakes his head, looking twice as perplexed and suspicious as ever. “Do you have any affiliation with The Rogues, Miss Townsend?”

Though he asks Julia, I know he aims the question toward me. I don’t react, don’t stiffen, don’t even blink at the mention of the club’s name. As honest as ever, Julia shakes her head in return. Yes—he knows more than I figured he would, but he doesn’t recognize me. All he has to go on is my motorcycle parked out front, which is purely circumstantial. He can’t even consider making me a suspect.

One of the perks of being my father’s son—or the son of the president of the club—is that my identity has almost always been protected. In Nevada sometimes things slipped, but here in Chicago my aliases have been rock solid. When I operated with the club I did so under a fake name, although not once did I have any close brushes with the law.

Hell, my police record is totally clean.

Perhaps this is one of the few things Des has done to protect me over the years. One of the few things I can thank him for.

“Well,” he sighs. “That means we have no leads. This gang hasn’t been active in Chicago for over a year.”

Good. Not since I left, went on the permanent hiatus.

Seconds after we finally finish the police report once and for all, Vivian pulls up in her red sedan, parking in front of my motorcycle. She wastes not a single second in getting out to hurry over to us. I don’t remove myself from Julia’s side as Vivian approaches, narrowing her eyes at the sight of me, at how close I am to Jules.

Yes, I may be all for allowing the redhead to be a good friend, but I am almost sure from the way Julia clutches onto my shirt at my hip that she wants me here right now. She needs me, and I wouldn’t ever deny anything at all that helps her feel even a little bit at ease.

And I would be the biggest liar in the world if I claimed I didn’t need her just as much or more. Julia speaks up, voice fragile and quiet as Lewis turns around to peer at Vivian, and tells him it is okay for her to pass.

Vivian only spares him one quick look over her should as she nears, appearing sympathetic after taking in the sight of the smashed window.

“Oh, babe,” she cries, holding her arms out, and Julia hesitantly leaves my side to meet her friend for a hug. Briefly, I suspect Vivian may have done this just to get Julia away from me, but after they part I am a little surprised—pleasantly so—when she steps back to stand next to me again, as close to my side as she was before.

At Julia naturally gravitating back to my side, Vivian appears none too pleased. If there wasn’t a member of police present, I reckon she wouldn’t be so placated and neutral toward me as she is right now. For once, I am somewhat thankful that Lewis has stuck around for these extra few moments

“Julia, oh my god. I can’t believe this. What the hell happened?”

Repeating most of what she told the police, except a little more clearly now that she isn’t crying, Julia once again omits the part where she heard the burglar leave through the back door. I still plan to talk to her about that later. The part about needlessly endangering herself, which I have been trying to get through that thick skull of hers for months now. But she adds on the newest discovery, too, voice trembling as she forces it out.

“They... they took the jewelry box. Grandma’s. With Dad’s rings in it.”

“Those sons of bitches,” Vivian swears, instantly angered and unbothered by the police presence. Now, I have to fight a slight smile—this is why I like her, despite the obvious disdain she harbours for me. She turns to the officer, accusing. “And what are you doing to help?”

He peers at her appraisingly. “Officer Lyle is conducting an investigation in the house and we are making every effort possible to locate Miss Townsend’s property. And find the suspect.”

It’s hard not to react this time when his small, glossy eyes flit over my form as he mentions ‘suspect’. Hard not to totally snap.

Vivian purses her lips, as though she doesn’t believe they are doing near enough. Lewis glances back to the house while his partner remains inside, making it very clear that he wants to wrap this up.

He turns to Julia once more. “You’re sure you have no idea who could have done this?”

Before she can get a word out Vivian answers for her, all but snarling. “Of course she doesn’t. She isn’t involved with whoever this freaking psycho is,” she huffs and finishes with a flurried hand gesture toward Julia’s living room window, the sight alone enough to prove her point.

The cop doesn’t even bother to ask her to calm down, most likely due to the fact that he doesn’t seem to really care enough.

“We ask that you not touch the crime scene until we get it completely processed. We should be out of here by tomorrow afternoon—Officer Lyle wants forensics in just to be thorough. Is this alright with you?”

Stiffening, Julia glances between the three of us in renewed panic. “I—I can’t stay here. Not when it’s like this, not when I know…”

Not when she knows that whoever did this could come back, she wants to say, but uttering it aloud would only make her fears seem more real. Such thoughts only cause me to shift closer to her, wishing more than anything that she could trust me totally to protect her. She must be crazy or totally out of it, anyhow, if she thinks I would allow her to stay in her trashed house. Alone or even with me. I don’t want her to see it, don’t want the unnecessary stress put on her.

She doesn’t deserve any of what has happened.

“You’ll stay with me.” I don’t offer or pose it as a polite request because there is no chance I’ll even let her say no. I’ll take her back home with me, with the top notch security, private elevator and the tallest floor in the whole building. I’ll baby her and love her and smooth over our problems so it will be as if they never happened.

She eyes me shyly, like she wanted this option all along but has been too afraid to ask. She looks at me with relief and gratitude, and I smile weakly in return. What else did she expect? For me to just dump her here on her front yard for her to fend for herself?

Never. I would never.

Still, I wish she wouldn’t have to feel like this—like she is in danger, scared to spend any amount of time in her own home. If I weren’t so selfish I would regret ever forcing my way into her life, because this is inevitably my fault. Startlingly so.

“No, I think it would be a better idea if she stayed with me,” Vivian argues slowly, as could have been predicted. From her point of view, and perhaps from any logical standpoint, it makes sense that Julia would go with Vivian. But goddamnit, I don’t know if I could handle that. The space, the uncertainty, not knowing if she is okay and the fact that I can’t comfort her if she starts to cry again. That she won’t be safe without me, because nobody knows the club like I do, nobody knows what Joe is capable of but me.

I can’t bear the thought of not having her as close to me as she is right now. Besides, there is no denying that my apartment is safer than Vivian’s. Julia is just safer with me. Vivian doesn’t know the whole story, she only knows that some idiot broke into her best friend’s house. I can better protect Julia, and maybe there is just one silver lining to today—the possibility that we might finally have the chance to work things out together. Though I wouldn’t ever wish for this to happen, and I don’t even want to have Julia be pushed back to me. But if she wants me, I am here. Maybe she will even forgive me, while I know I don’t deserve it.

“She would be more comfortable,” I start, and try to choose my words carefully, aware that Vivian is capable of producing an argument out of anything and nothing at all. “If she stayed with me.”

Only a once-over is spared to Vivian before I focus on Julia in anticipation of her reaction to my claim. She bites her lip, visibly stressed, torn as she looks between the two of us. Clearly, she is so upset and distraught already that forcing her to make such a choice right now is cruel. I glare in Vivian’s direction, now unimpressed for putting Julia in such a position. Even now, under all this stress, she is afraid to hurt either one of us. Her constant kind heart is another thing I love about her, even while she is so obviously upset.

“Excuse me?” Vivian asks incredulously, like I have personally offended her, and I brace myself.

Quietly, the observing officer shakes his head at the unneeded antics and excuses himself, muttering to Julia that he will let her work this out and that he’ll call her with any updates. I know just as well as he does that there won’t be any, however. Not when the club is involved. He doesn’t want to stay around to hear Vivian’s impending rant, and I wish I could whisk Julia away with me right here and now.

I exhale slowly, not in any mood for an argument, and continue to observe Jules as inconspicuously as possible. It must be blaringly obvious, though.

“How the hell would you know where she’d be more comfortable? Last I checked, Styles, you are a total jackass and you definitely don’t make Julia comfortable.”

My jaw twitches with undisguised annoyance at her implication that I cannot take care of Julia. If there’s one thing I am capable of, it’s that. Otherwise I remain impassive, managing to compose myself fairly well. All in an effort to make things as easy as possible on Jules—Vivian, however, resembles more of a hypocrite as she doesn’t mind shouting to make her point.

“Now is not a good time to argue about this, Vivian. Don’t you think Julia has been through enough today?”

She scoffs and mutters something incomprehensible through clenched teeth, something along the lines of ‘like you can talk’. I tune her out as I see Jules become increasingly overwhelmed, cursing her sudden appearance. If she had just gotten her a few minutes later, Julia and I could have worked this out ourselves, and with much less stress. Applying gentle pressure to her lower back, I lower my head to whisper in her ear.

“It’s fine, sweetheart.” My murmured reassurances are quiet so only she can hear. Vivian huffs when she realises we aren’t paying attention to her. “Just relax, and we’ll get this settled.”

“Julia, you aren’t seriously considering going with him, are you? Julia,” she calls her name loudly after the trembling, dark haired beauty stuck to my side fails to answer. I want to tell her to piss off, but I can’t, because I know how much she means to Julia.

Her name being uttered in disbelieving anger, however, causes Julia’s eyes snap toward her friend.

“Um, I,” she says brokenly, in total panic now, but Vivian doesn’t relent, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“It’s a bad idea,” She presses. “You need to rest and come home with me, honey. This idiot will only stress you out.”

I would be offended if Vivian wasn’t currently eating her own words.

“Look,” I snap, voice taking on a rough note as I struggle to remain calm. “Relax. This is a decision Julia has to make, and you have to respect that. Freaking out isn’t going to help any.”

While it is clearly a bad idea to entertain or antagonize her further, there’s only so much I can take. She glares at me.

“I liked you, you know,” she says coldly. “Julia, I’ll run and pack you a bag for tonight.”

Without even waiting for a response, Vivian stalks off toward the front door in an angry huff.

A small fleeting gasp is what draws every drop of my attention back to Julia, concern causing me to frown as she dips her head from my view. Her stiffened form alarms me, and I rapidly take in her stature. To me it looks as though she is visibly wilting under the pressure, the sound of Vivian’s heels clacking against the hardwood floor inside the house easily heard. At this point, I couldn’t care less about her or the useless police officers inside. Everything else becomes white noise, secondary.

Another shot of worry pierces through my steely resolve that formed after Vivian arrived when Julia sways to the side, my close contact briefly leaving her back, and I take a concerned step closer to keep her steady.

“Jules,” I call slowly, arm closing around her waist. A hard lump rises in my throat at the possibility of what happened in the house, when I scared her, happening now. Is that what this is? I start to panic even more, because all I can do is be here for her, and I don’t know how else to help or what exactly is wrong. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

I know she isn’t alright, not by a long shot. But I mean right now, in this very moment, and she surely understands what I imply.

Failing to respond, I call her name louder, more concerned than ever. She only leans into me as I bend in an effort to see her expression. Her eyelashes flutter, much like they did back in the house when I feared she was going to faint from sheer fear and shock.

I wonder about this in between all my panicked, quick thoughts, because nothing that stressful is occurring in this moment. It’s not like someone has snuck up on her again, though that wasn’t my intention when I first entered the house.

“Baby,” I implore, fear inserting itself into the one word despite my best attempts to remain visibly calm. What’s wrong? Where is Vivian when she might be of some use?

Her grip on my shirt is weak for a long moment, like she is losing the last of her consciousness, until most of her weight leans on me. Fear takes over totally, now, and I give her shoulder a small, anxious shake, heart dropping in my chest. “Julia.”

Then, as quickly as it was brought on she snaps out of it, stumbling to the side and nearly falling, but I easily catch her with my hold already around her waist.

“I’ll go with Vivian,” she decides, the small sentence alone fragmented and hard to understand, her breathlessness making it hard for her to speak at all. She stares at me with wide, fearful eyes, and I return her stare with my own worried scrutiny.

“Baby, just slow down for a minute.” When she tries to pull away from me, but clearly is too unstable just yet to walk on her own, my reaction to only hold her closer to my side is natural.

“Please, please just wait,” I beg. “What was that?”

Her cheeks have flushed from what I can only suppose is embarrassment, now, and I grow more confused than ever. What the hell is going on? Why is she suddenly cowering away from me?

But Vivian is already striding out from the house, a small duffle bag stuffed full with Julia’s belongings tucked under one arm. Julia pushes away from me totally, stumbling and looking as though I physically harmed her. I can only watch while she looks once between Vivian and I, who has since settled against her car to watch the scene unfold, totally oblivious to what just happened.

“I—I’m sorry, Harry. I…” she stops short, unable to answer a single one of my questions. Her eyes fill with more tears, and she shakes her head despondently. “I’m sorry.”

Nothing more is said before she turns around, trembling all the while, and makes her way toward Vivian with visible effort.

“Wait, Julia,” I call and make a half step toward her, but then fall short, my world cracking until it breaks totally right in front of me. “Just wait a second, please.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she glances back only once, and the last glimpse I have of her before Vivian opens the passenger door and helps her inside is of the tears rolling down her cheeks in steady, anguished torrents.

“Julia…” I whisper, watching hopelessly. I don’t know what just happened, what made her change her mind so quickly. I don’t understand anything and I have to watch as the love of my life is driven away, clearly upset and on the verge of falling apart.

And I can’t do a single thing about it… but I’m going to try.

Notes

Hellooo, just want to fill you lovelies in on what's been happening. All month I've been writing like crazy for NaNoWriMo with this story. I just achieved my goal and I have about six more chapters aside from this ready to be (finally) edited and posted! So that's kinda big :)

Quite a few shocks in this chapter, I know! I kind of forget how crazy it is because I'm farther ahead in the story haha. Harry didn't really overreact after all, did he?! And Julia's stuff is stolen! What do you think could be happening?! Any thoughts, predictions?

Thank you all for your patience. It means the world to me, including your comments, and anyone who subscribes and/or votes. It provides me with so much inspiration! Right now I have a wrist injury (which is partly what delayed this chapter from being posted) and a migraine, so I'm just generally not feeling well at all. If at all possible and you have the time, please do consider leaving a comment. I'd love to hear from you :) And thank you, again!