Beyond The Fury

Chapter Thirty-Nine

(DEVILISH by Chase Atlantic)
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Hardin's POV

I have eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing happens in London without me knowing about it, that's for fucking sure.

Bruce called me the other night, but he didn't spare any details- it's too risky nowadays to talk over the phone, cops are always listening. So, I've flown home.

The last year has been both physical and mental torment. Night terror after night terror- waking up to an empty cold bed, no loving arms to fall into. No gentle hushes from Ivory as she cradles me in her arms. There was nothing but darkness.

Over the past 368 days I have been checking in with Bruce- not too often, but enough to make sure that business was running smoothly.. and that Ivory was doing okay.

I'd question him about if she has spoke about any other men, maybe came into work smelling of some douchebags cologne- but Bruce confirmed that she hadn't... that she has been waiting. She never really spoke to him about how she felt about me, but Bruce said that after I left, she changed. And that really fucking hurt, because Ivory has always been perfect. She is so effortlessly happy and she remains impeccable. If it weren't for the hope of seeing her again one day... I may not even be here right now.

America has a lot to offer, lots of drugs, lots of product. But... not many friends or companions. I don't trust a single fucking person. The first month I stayed with my mother, but I always felt suffocated so I moved to a motel room. Pricey but I could afford it.

I was restless, constantly thinking about the 'What if's?' I couldn't find it within me to accept that maybe this is what was supposed to happen- between Ivory and I. Maybe I had to leave in order for her to succeed... in order for me to get better for her.

My flight arrived in London early this morning, the streets were silent as I walked along the concrete and soft chimes came from the trees as birds chirped quietly amongst themselves.

Something has changed. My gut never lies and it is telling me right now that something isn't fucking right.

I head for the bar, already stressed and completely sleep deprived. You know what happens when you don't sleep often? You get fucking paranoid.

Bruce is waiting behind the bar, the place is dead as I step foot inside. I wonder how brutal the murder was- how messy it was to clean up. How many witnesses there were. Did Ivory see anything?

I flinch at the thought. She better fucking not have.

"Hardin," Bruce speaks happily, "Welcome home."

Home. The word lingers in the air for a moment. This place doesn't feel like home- it just seems like business. Somewhere I occasionally sleep- if my nightmares allow me to.

No where feels like home. Not London. Not America. No where. Except with her...

I nod my greetings and Bruce visually stiffens, coughing lightly to clear his throat.

"So, care to explain?" I wave a hand over the empty bar and Bruce shifts to come and stand in front of me, polishing a glass.

"A guy's throat was slit here a few nights ago." Bruce looks off into the corner of the room and I follow his gaze. For someone who has dealt with shit like this before, he seems pretty shaken up.

"Ivory found him, Hardin." His voice is quiet and I nearly bite my tongue clean off as I try to contain the instant anger that surges through me. Ivory witnessed a fucking blood bath? She physically saw a man with his throat slit open. Jesus fucking Christ, hasn't she been through enough?

"Hardin." Bruce speaks again and I finally feel calm enough to let my eyes gouge into his head.

"Where is it," My throat becomes dry, "Where is the body?" Bruce's busy hands pause and he sets down the glass and the microfibre cloth. Remaining eerily quiet he quirks his head to the side, beckoning me to follow him into another room, which I do.

But I wish I hadn't.

Reaching for the light switch I patiently wait as it flickers to life, revealing what seems to be a fucking crime scene, "Fucking hell." I breathe out, my nose twitching at the rancid smell that hits my nostrils. I haven't smelt something this horrid in a long time.

The whole room is covered from head to toe in clear thick plastic, like the kind out of the film 'American Psycho'. There is a pile of bloodied knives in the corner along with a meat carver. All are covered generously in dry blood.

"What the fuck is this shit, Bruce?" I bark, my throat pin holing. I can see that there are multiple parts of the man's remains and I instantly know what they must have done. They have dismembered him so disposing of the evidence will be a little less messy- as funny as it fucking sounds, considering the splatters of blood all over the goddamn room.

"We had too, H. The cops are starting to get braver, this is the second guy that has shown up in the past month. I handled it last time, but Ivory got involved this time... I knew I had to call you." Bruce is breathless by the time he is done speaking and I can hear the fear in his voice. It's obvious that he cares for Ivory, but not as much as I do.

"It's fine. Just, clean this mess up." I wave a hand at the horror show laid out in front of me before turning my back to the room and scurrying out to the front of the bar. I have to rid my brain of the smell and the sight of that shit fest.

I turn up my wrist and glance at my watch. It's nearly 6:00am and I can't help the excitement that fills my chest at the thought of possibly seeing Ivory. Maybe she has taken up jogging, or yoga or maybe she has picked up earlier shifts. What if I bump into her? What will I say? What will she say?

My chest tightens and I turn to Bruce as he enters through to the room, "When does Ivory start her shift?" Bruce is hesitant at first, possibly thinking about Ivory's exact schedule.

"She's not in today. No one is until that shit in the back is sorted out," He pauses, "I do have her new address, though."

And with that said, I smirk.