Harley’s P.O.V.

My pulse stuttered as Carlos went rigid beside me, startled to be caught red-handed. Slowly, we all turned towards the stairs to face that person, and there he was, halfway down the steps.

Henry! The last man I wanted to see right now!

His lips curved into a faint smirk as his cold gaze swept over us, lingering on me for a moment too long. My gaze fell on his dripping red hand, the other holding a white handkerchief as he wiped his fingers like he’d just finished an art project instead of something monstrous.

“Can I know,” he continued in that same casual tone, “why you are...