Sanctuary [h.s.]

Chapter Twenty-One

"For you, I would cross the line

I would waste my time, I would lose my mind

They say, 'She's gone too far this time'"

***

Harry pulled up in his sleek black car, the engine purring softly beneath the tension that hung thick in the air. We were in a rush—he always drove a little too fast, but tonight there was an urgency that tightened every motion, from the sharp grip on the wheel to the cold, unreadable expression on his face. For the past few days, he'd been hunting for information on Victor, chasing down every lead and shadow until something finally stuck. He'd been at the pub when he called me tonight, his voice low and urgent. He found out Victor was holed up in a rundown motel, the kind that reeked of despair and desperation. Apparently, Victor had a habit of feeding on the prostitutes who worked the nearby street corners. The lucky ones who survived were too terrified to resist him. Those who didn't... Well, their bodies rarely turned up.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked, my voice steady despite the pulse of anxiety that thrummed beneath my skin.

His eyes flickered toward me briefly, dark and unreadable. "I don't have one yet."

Great.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, my mind already racing to fill in the blanks. "Do you know if anyone's going to be with him?"

Harry shook his head, the motion stiff. "No. He's alone tonight."

I nodded, trying to piece together a strategy in the rush of thoughts. We couldn't just storm in. Victor was too dangerous for that, too old, too powerful. But then, an idea began to form, and I turned to Harry, heart pounding in my chest.

"What if I go in as bait?" The words left my mouth before I could second-guess them.

Harry's head snapped toward me, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "What? No."

"Why not?" I shot back, already anticipating his objection. "It makes sense, Harry. I could go in, pretend to be one of the girls, get close to him. Lower his guard or catch him off balance, then you come in and finish him."

His jaw tensed as he mulled it over, his hands tightening on the wheel. The air between us felt thick with unspoken tension, and I could see the conflict playing out behind his eyes. Finally, he let out a sharp breath, his voice low and edged with frustration.

"Fine. But if he so much as lays a finger on you," his gaze flicked to mine, dark and threatening, "I'll make sure his death is slow. Painful."

A chill ran down my spine, not from fear of Victor, but from the possessive protectiveness in Harry's words. He wasn't bluffing. For all his charm and cheek, there was a darkness in him that simmered just beneath the surface—one that was terrifying and, in moments like these, oddly comforting.

I tugged the hoodie over my head, letting it fall to the floor of the car, revealing a thin tank top underneath. The sweltering summer heat had forced me into shorts, which now seemed like a convenient choice. The outfit was revealing enough, suggestive enough, to pass for what I was pretending to be tonight. A prostitute. Especially in the eyes of a man like Victor.

With a deep breath, I flipped down the visor, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. My fingers worked quickly, pulling my copper hair into a messy ponytail, strands deliberately left loose to give it a dishevelled, careless look. The kind that made me look more vulnerable, more... approachable. From the corner of my eye, I caught Harry staring. His gaze lingered on me, unreadable and intense, though I didn't press him on it.