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  • To Know a Thief Ch. 01

To Know a Thief Ch. 01

"Don't get into any trouble." Jasper Penaflor's eyes danced with humor as he kissed his wife and headed out the door. Harper watched him go, smile sliding away as she turned the lock. He'd made the same joke before leaving for work every night for months, the punchline being there was no trouble for her to get into.

Harper stretched out on her couch, book in her lap, and looked around her apartment. To the untrained eye, there was no coordination between the elements that comprised her living room: mismatched colors, no prominent patterns, and more clutter than her mother would ever allow in her own house. Harper didn't organize her house by those standards, caring more for immediate function than flow or appearance.

Through the open window, the sounds of her neighbors chatting and laughed drifted up. Music eventually joined the cacophony and the loudness distracted her. When she realized she'd been reading the same sentence over and over, Harper marched into the bedroom and closed the door. Sprawled out on the bed, she let the pages thoroughly absorb her and forgot anything existed beyond the written word.

Hours later, lids drooping, she turned out the light and fell asleep. Her nightmares were chaotic, trying to scare her back into consciousness, but she couldn't lift the fog. She stayed trapped in her mind, living a montage of the worst moments of her life all at once.

Every night for as long as she could remember, she'd had nightmares. Not a single pleasant dream to subtly lift her spirits or assure her that there was happiness buried in her subconscious. Just the terror and overwhelming sadness that lingered long after she'd awoken.

Harper stopped fighting the images and let the dream take her under. Like drowning, the pain increased as she struggled against it and once she gave in, the undercurrent of calm soothed the hard edges. She stood in the ballroom where her senior prom had taken place, all eyes on her. She slapped her college boyfriend with all her strength, reveling in the shock written on his face. She—

She awoke with a startled breath, pulled from her torment by a loud noise. Harper's eyes flew open and she sat up on her bed, panic washing away all remnants of her nightmares. Another sound, louder than before, made her blood run cold.

Someone was in her apartment.

Harper checked the clock. Jasper wasn't due home for another five hours. Even if it had been him, he wouldn't make so much noise when she was asleep. She crawled out of bed, careful not to make the floorboards creak, and went to the door. The lock was thrown, but that didn't offer any comfort. Especially not when she looked at the nightstand for her phone and remembered where it was: on the living room couch.

A muffled voice caught her attention. Heart hammering, she pressed her ear to the door.

"—over there, in the corner," a man said, not bothering to be quiet. If he was talking, that meant there were at least two people in her apartment.

Harper bit her lip, pushing sweaty auburn locks of hair out of her face. If they wanted to rob her, fine. Take the electronics, take whatever the could carry, and disappear into the night. She didn't care about any of it, so long as they were satisfied with whatever was in the living room.

Fear writhing in her belly, she scrolled through the list of possible weapons at her disposal: a glass lamp, a spare curtain rod tucked away in the closet somewhere, and an aluminum tripod. Not exactly an arsenal, but she'd made due if she had to.

Footsteps approached, soft and unhurried. Harper backed away from the door, wedging herself between the dresser and closet door. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

The doorknob rattled. Once. Twice. A third, hard turn, sent a spike of horror straight through her. She didn't dare breathe as whoever was on the other side hesitated. Then, finally, they moved away and she drew in a quick breath.

Grabbing the tripod and wielding it like a baseball bat, she crept back to the door and listened. The same man who'd spoken before grumbled something else, too low to hear. More of her belongings were carried off or piled up and Harper hoped they were sated enough to get the hell out of her apartment.

"Locked," a second man said, his voice not quite as deep as the firsts. The silence stretched for a minute before the first man spoke.

"From the inside?"

Harper froze. She swore the sweat on her skin even stilled, not daring to roll lest it splash on the floor and give her away. When the doorknob turned with violent force, she couldn't help but flinch. A hush descended on both sides.

"I know you're in there," the first man said. His tone was matter-of-fact, detached.

"Do we break the door down?" a third man muttered.

Harper's eyes widened. There were three of them? God, why hadn't she brought her phone with her?

"We don't have to," the second one cut in. "They're going to be polite and let us in. Isn't that right?" The last part was directed at her.

Harper's grip on the tripod slipped, hands slick with sweat, and one of the legs smacked against the floor.

"Because you know we'll come in anyway," the third man said. "And things will be worse for you when we do. Be smart and unlock the door."

Harper shook her head, dread coursing through her veins and making her tremble. He was telling the truth: they were coming into her bedroom, and she couldn't stop them. What would happen to her when they did?

The first thief spoke, sounding more lively than before. "We came here to grab a few things, not hurt anyone. We thought the house was empty."

Harper cursed her shut-in tendencies to the depths of Hell. If they'd been watching her house, they would've seen Jasper going in and out, but not her. They would've assumed he lived alone.

Clearing her throat and working as much confidence into her words as she could muster, Harper addressed the thieves who had ransacked her house.

"You got what you wanted," she said, and the muttering in the hall dissipated. "You can just leave. I don't know anything about you, I'll have nothing to say to the cops." She bit her tongue, cursing her stupidity.

"I appreciate what you're saying, but it's not that simple," the first man began.

One of the others cut him off, addressing her with vehemence. "He said to open the door so open the fucking door, bitch!"

Harper could practically hear his spittle hitting the other side of the door, and her blood chilled. There was a scuffle in the hall and then the first man was once more the mouthpiece.

"Sorry about that. He's uncivilized."

Harper nearly choked. A thief, uncivilized? Who would've thought?

"Truth is, there's only one way out of this building: the front door. You know that. You're going to watch us leave and then you'll have a lot to say to the police."

"I won't," she began, but knew it was useless. Once again, he was right. Her only argument against them coming in had been weak and now that it was gone, there was only one outcome.

They were going to storm her stronghold. If there had been only one, she would've risked a fight. But Harper knew her limitations, and taking on three men in a fight was one of them.

Tears tangled in her lashes as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She conjured up images of her family—Jasper, her parents, her brother Ethan who'd moved away—and let them settle into her heart. Then she tightened her grip on the tripod and unlocked the door.

It creaked open with painful slowness. Each inch of the hallway it revealed made her chest grow tighter, and she knew she was going to die. They were going to kill her. When the first figure came into view Harper dropped her gaze to the floor.

The creaking stopped and she could feel eyes raking over her, taking in her bare black nightgown and the long strands of hair still sticking to her face and neck. Harper cursed herself for not put on something more modest, before opening the door to a group of criminals.

Three sets of boots came into view as the men crossed the threshold. The air grew dense, heated, and Harper wondered if she was breathing the last breath she'd ever take.

"Drop the tripod," the first man commanded in that same cool manner. Harper obeyed. She'd seen the glint of metal poking out from the third man's boot and knew all of them probably carried similar weapons. Or worse. Her chances of survival were quickly whittling down.

"Look up," he ordered.

Harper's heart beat so loudly it nearly drowned him out. Her mind ordered her not to obey, to grab the tripod and start swinging, but she knew it was folly. She raised her head.

They weren't wearing masks. Another nail in her coffin. Harper tried not to look too closely at their features, at their varying heights or measurements, but her eyes betrayed her by taking in every detail. She used to pride herself on her ability to sweep a room and remember little, seemingly inconsequential facts, but now she felt that final nail hitting home. These three men were her doom.

The one on the right was barely a man at all, not yet in his twenties. His blonde hair was cut in that trendy style she hated and his cruel eyes swept her with hunger. The man on the left was taller and a few years older, long hair pulled back in a tight and efficient ponytail. He stared at her with a detachment she almost married to the first man she'd heard speak. She would have, had she not looked at the man in the middle.

He was taller than the others, broader, and black curls framed his freckled face. In others the freckles would've added a softness, a touch of innocence, but he wore them like battle scars. Unattainable power and strength radiated from his every pore, evident in the way he held himself and the set of his mouth.

He was the leader. He was the one she needed to convince to let her live. As he stared at her, face void of emotion, Harper felt that counter of her odds drop to zero.

The three men stared expectantly and she felt like she was on a stage and had forgotten her routine.

The leader flashed a hard smile. "We're waiting for you to beg."

Despite her situation, Harper bristled. Of course that's what they expected. That was probably what she should have been doing, but she'd never been one for acts of futility.

She straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I'm not going to beg. I'm going to do something that will make you leave my house with me still in it, alive."

The leader's eyes narrowed and locked securely on hers as the other two guffawed. "How exactly are you going to do that?" he asked.

Good question. Harper gulped, casting her gaze around in a desperate search for inspiration. Then she looked down at herself, at her near-nakedness, and had the worst idea of her life.

Unfortunately for her, that life was drawing to a close. Some primitive part of her—the one that wanted to live at any cost—howled in approval. That alone nearly made her chicken out.

But Harper Penaflor refused to die. She would not let three thieves destroy her and leave her dead body for Jasper to find. It wasn't going to end that way. So she locked eyes with the black-haired leader and spoke directly to him.

"You committed a crime tonight," she said evenly, betraying no terror. "You did something you knew was wrong. In exchange for my life, I'll do something worse."

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