Page 155 of Allegiant

The Buckinghams can’t help me with this, but the Windsors can. I don’t even care what price they demand. Anything will be better than living here with Patrick, dying a little more day by day.

I hear the front door open, and I brace myself. Patrick’s right, I can’t hide in here forever.

It’s time to try running.

I hold my breath as boots hit the stairs, but these are lighter. Quicker. Moving almost silently. I know in my bones who it is.

No. No no no.

I stare at the doorknob. It’s fine. It’s locked. Stay silent, and he’ll think you’re not here.

I should’ve known better.

Harley is smarter than that.

I hear him move around the various rooms upstairs before his soft footsteps come to a halt before the bathroom door.

“Jules?” he whispers. The doorknob rattles. “Are you in there?”

God. He can’t come in here. He can’t. He can’t see me like this.

I’m hyperventilating, my hands shaking again. I’m more afraid of facing Harley than I am Patrick. He’ll take one look at my face, and he’ll know the truth.

He’ll know I’ve been lying to him.

“I can hear you, Jules,” Harley says urgently. “Let me in.”

I don’t. I can’t.

There’s a loud sigh and then a few scratching motions. Before I have time to retreat to the tub, like that’ll do any good, the door opens.

There, in all his glory, is Harley Buckingham.

Like all the Buckinghams, he’s tall, but his build runs leaner than his brothers’. That’s not to say he isn’t muscled. He walks around shirtless too often for me not to know that. His curly hair is in its usual disarray.

But his dark eyes aren’t shining with joy. There’s no smile or pout on his full lips.

No, there’s nothing but shock. Shock and incandescent rage.

“Jules, baby,” he whispers, quickly stepping up to me. His big hand gently cradles my chin as he turns my head from side to side, examining my injuries. “What the fuck? What happened?”

“I fell.” The automatic lie falls from my lips with ease. “I’m fine.”

“You fell,” he repeats slowly, his eyes searching mine. “Where, exactly?”

“The stairs.”

He grabs my arm, managing to miss my bruises by accident. Then he slowly lifts the limb, and I realize it wasn’t accidental at all. “And the stairs left finger-shaped bruises around your wrist?”

My throat bobs. I don’t know what to say.

Murder flashes through Harley’s eyes. He’s so far from the man I care for that it terrifies me.

“Who did this to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper urgently, snatching my hand from his grip. “But you need to go. Now.”

Harley doesn’t shift an inch. “No.”