Defending Harlow (Mountain Mercenaries #4)(46)

Lowell: I’m sorry. We’re trying to figure this out.

Harlow: I know you are. And I’m grateful.

He didn’t want her to be fucking grateful, damn it.

Lowell: Night.

He didn’t wait for her to respond, simply clicked off his phone and threw it on the dashboard of his car before turning on the engine and gunning it out of the parking lot. He knew he should’ve said something else. Ended their conversation differently, but he was so fucking frustrated, he was on the edge of losing it.

He was pissed at Rex. Pissed at Brian “Bear” Pierce for fucking with Harlow. Upset that they’d spent so much time concentrating on the exes when the most likely reason behind the harassment—interest in the building itself—had been right in front of them the entire time. And he was frustrated over his relationship with Harlow.

He scoffed. What relationship? It had only been two weeks since they’d reconnected, he realized. They were no closer now than they’d been when he’d first seen her almost two months ago.

No, that wasn’t exactly true. He felt as if he was starting to know her fairly well. They’d spent a lot of time together simply talking and having a good time.

He smacked his palm on the steering wheel.

He liked Harlow Reese. She was compassionate and funny and a damn good chef. He’d eaten enough of her meals to know that much about her. But he wanted more. He wanted the right to put his arm around her shoulders just because he liked being near her. He wanted to be able to pop over to her apartment, simply because he missed being around her.

The bottom line was, he didn’t want to hide behind the charade of talking to her because of the shelter or harassment anymore.

He wanted a relationship with Harlow. He wanted to make love with her. Wanted to know what kinds of noises she made when she came. Wanted to know which side of the bed she liked to sleep on. Wanted to know if she snored or if she hogged the covers.

Tomorrow night, he needed to step up his game. He still needed to stick close for her safety. He’d use that as an excuse to spend as much time with her as possible, and eventually, he hoped, he’d break down her walls.

Satisfied with his reasoning, Black gunned the engine and took his frustrations out the way he usually did. By driving fast.

Later that night, he did the other thing that always reduced the tension inside him. He jacked off. Picturing Harlow’s face the entire time.



Nolan Woolf was getting impatient. He was ready to start applying for permits and putting his plans into motion, but the small fact that he still didn’t own the women’s shelter was fucking everything up. It was smack-dab in the middle of the other buildings he’d acquired, and he couldn’t continue with his plan without that property in his pocket.

He’d had the forethought to purchase the other buildings under different company names. He’d used one of his cousin’s friends, a somewhat shady lawyer, to assist him in filing the paperwork as anonymously as possible by creating bogus limited liability companies. That way, if someone was checking up on him or the properties in the area, they’d hopefully never realize one person actually owned them all.

What more did that old broad want? He’d offered a very competitive price for the building, but hadn’t heard one word from her. He knew she’d received a few other offers for the property recently, but he was sure his was the strongest.

Nolan knew the city wanted developers to remodel the existing buildings to keep their “historical charm,” but fuck that. He was going to raze the motherfucking things. His plans included building cheap-ass apartment buildings in their place and raking in Section 8 money from assholes living off the government, like the four chumps he’d hired to harass Loretta Royster and her tenants. He’d already had blueprints drawn up, making the apartments as small as he could get away with. Building apartments rather than condos would earn him ten times the rent money. It was the perfect plan.

Except for that fucking old woman standing in his way.

He didn’t give a damn about the women who’d lose their home once she sold the building. They probably deserved to be beaten and homeless.

He needed to up his game. The fire at the gas station hadn’t done the trick. Hadn’t scared Loretta into accepting his offer.

He needed to give the old bitch a reason to sell. He’d already intercepted her mail and reported her credit cards stolen so they’d be canceled, but that obviously wasn’t enough. She could easily get that straightened out. He needed to do something more drastic.

A smile formed on his face. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about this before now.

First Hope Women’s Shelter was a nonprofit. Loretta probably relied on funds from the government to keep it up and running.

What if that money stopped coming in? Perhaps his offer would look a lot more attractive then.

Nolan rubbed his hands together as he planned. He’d call the same shady lawyer who’d helped him before and see what he could come up with. Loretta would regret not accepting his offer.





Chapter Fourteen

“I’m not sure about this,” Harlow whispered to Black as they stood in the lobby of the Great Escape.

“Why?” Black asked.

He looked around at the crowd waiting to be shown into the three rooms they’d been assigned. There were eighteen of them who’d decided to come to the impromptu night out.