Go Full Circle (A Go Novel Book 5) Read online

  “It’s nothing.”

  “That’s what you said to her,” Harlow said, touching the graze that was on his cheekbone just beneath his eye. “I’m not her. Answer me, Crash. Are you fighting again?” He nodded, so she smacked his chest. “Why are you so goddamn angry all the time?”

  “Why?” he asked, pushing away from her. His face contorted with rage. “Why?” He flew off the couch to pace to the fireplace and back to her, thrusting an arm toward the hallway door. “I want to break her neck… You know how easy it would be to—”

  “Don’t,” she said, thrusting to her feet. It wasn’t easy to argue in these hushed snaps of anger, but she wasn’t going to bend or shrink just because he was having a fit. “Don’t you dare think about fucking this up.”

  Ryske got in her face. “You have two choices, babydoll. Either I fuck her or I kill her. Those are your options. Decide.”

  Also by Scarlett Finn

  GO NOVELS

  GO WITH IT

  GO IT ALONE

  GO ALL OUT

  GO ALL IN

  GO FULL CIRCLE

  EXILE

  HIDE & SEEK

  KISS CHASE

  THE BRANDED SERIES

  BRANDED

  SCARRED

  MARKED

  THE KINDRED SERIES

  RAVEN

  SWALLOW

  CUCKOO

  SWIFT

  FALCON

  FINCH

  THE EXPLICIT SERIES

  EXPLICIT INSTRUCTION

  EXPLICIT DETAIL

  EXPLICIT MEMORY

  RISQUÉ SERIES

  TAKE A RISK

  RISK IT ALL

  GAME OF RISK

  HARROW DUET

  FIGHTING FATE

  FIGHTING BACK

  MISTAKE DUET

  MISTAKE ME NOT

  SLEIGHT MISTAKE

  STANDALONE ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

  RELUCTANT SUSPICION

  RESCUED

  STANDALONE CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  GETTING TRICKY

  HEIR’S AFFAIR

  MAESTRO’S MUSE

  REMEMBER WHEN…

  RIVALS ON AIR

  SWEET SEAS

  THIRTEEN

  XY FACTOR

  Copyright © 2019 Scarlett Finn

  The right of Scarlett Finn to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  First published in 2019

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  CONTENTS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  1

  After almost four weeks of being at the beck and call of her mistress, Harlow was used to being barked at and ridiculed. The snide looks and demeaning tasks were commonplace. Sometimes, on rare occasions, Ophelia pretended to be her friend. The duplicity was harder to stomach than the malice.

  Wrapped up in the most beautiful of packages, Ophelia Hagan was a bully, pure and simple. There were no other more apt words to describe her. She could simper and compliment with those equal to her or, God forbid, if she found herself in the company of someone who out-snobbed her. But with her underlings—who she saw as less than her in every way—there was always an undertone of contempt or scorn. With Harlow, she usually expressed both.

  The last time Harlow had been allowed to attend Windsor’s was the night she’d lost her liberty. Since then, she’d existed in Ophelia’s apartment, carrying out tasks as ordered.

  At that present moment, the woman who’d claimed her was pacing in her living room. Striding back and forth across the width of the fireplace, Ophelia spoke about what would be on her schedule that week.

  Harlow’s own schedule was clear. Save for her duties to the mistress. She was Ophelia’s lackey morning, noon, and night. Really any time her boss wanted to turn the screws. As difficult as it was to take orders and not push back against the subjugation, Harlow often reminded herself that she’d chosen this path. And that it was for the greater good.

  Life could be worse. She wasn’t beaten, and although she was irritated by almost every person in Ophelia’s life, their abuse didn’t extend beyond verbal. At least, it hadn’t yet. Harlow might be playing the dutiful slave, but she hadn’t turned herself off completely. When needed, she didn’t shy from putting others in their place if they thought about taking liberties with her.

  “Are you listening, Harlow?” Ophelia asked, pausing mid-pace. “You haven’t taken any notes. I don’t want mistakes. There is no way you’ll be able to remember—”

  “Dinners. Corporate drinks. The gym. Breakfast with a girlfriend. Brunch with your family…”

  Which Harlow thought was odd given the Hagan family was all dead. Harlow had questioned that appointment the previous month. Ophelia had explained that once a month, she liked to have brunch and reflect on who her family were. To appreciate their memories with herself. No one else was invited. It was typical that she’d chosen brunch too; God forbid she get up too early to show respect.

  “Why are you listing everything I’m doing this week?”

  It was Harlow’s way of showing that she had been paying attention. Not that playing assistant required a lot of brainpower. For the past month, her life had been nothing but a carousel of these meetings and preparing Ophelia for her life.

  “You want clothes and accessories prepared. You want drinks and food setup. It’s my job to make available what you need. All I need to know is the events you have. From there, I can work out what I’m doing,” Harlow said. “I really don’t need your feelings on every single subject and meeting.”

  “Aren’t you sassy today,” Ophelia said, letting her fingers open in the ends of her hair. “Time of the month? Maybe not. Seems you’re always moody. I don’t know how he lived with you.”

  Ryske.

  Even when Harlow had been living with him, and sleeping with him, he hadn’t been as constant a feature in her life as he was at Ophelia’s. Talking about him, in some respect, was Ophelia’s favorite hobby. It was possible Ophelia was so vocal in her obsession with him because Harlow was around. But she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure about that. Maybe the woman had always been this chatty about her infatuation.

  Ophelia could find a way to bring him up in the most random of moments. It would be an impressive skill, if it wasn’t so conniving and pathetic. Even if she hadn’t come to resent her new boss in the way she had, Harlow would still feel the same way.

  Everything about Harlow’s life was controlled by the woman who was prattling
on about the importance of always being a lady even when one’s mood wished to do otherwise. It was amazing that Ophelia could clamber up on that high horse and deliver such a haughty speech in light of what she’d done.

  Harlow was half a second away from asking if murder was ladylike when the front door opened. Someone strode in. She didn’t even turn around. She didn’t have to. Anyone else would’ve knocked and waited to be invited. Not him.

  “Darling, Ryske!” Ophelia exclaimed and opened both arms.

  Ryske strode past the couch that Harlow was sitting on without so much as looking at her sideways. She was used to it, but it still left a bad taste in her mouth. That taste was almost joined by bile when she watched Ryske kiss each of Ophelia’s cheeks and then pull her into his arms.

  “You look good today, Fi,” he said, sliding a hand down her back.

  Harlow appreciated that he kept himself angled away from her when he showed Ophelia any kind of interest or affection. Not that his consideration did much to quell her urge to kick his ass. Though the white strip of fabric wrapped around his hand suggested maybe somebody had gotten there before her.

  She hadn’t seen his face because, knowing he wouldn’t acknowledge her, she hadn’t bothered to look up when he went past. But, from what she could see, it definitely appeared that his knuckles had been bandaged.

  Ophelia laughed. “I always look good,” she said, pulling herself to Ryske’s side and stroking a hand up and down his chest. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Always happy to know my name is on those lips,” he said, cupping Ophelia’s jaw and trying to raise her focus while brushing his thumb across her mouth.

  Ophelia was weak and entranced. Her rapture was obvious from the color in her cheeks and the looseness of her body. She couldn’t resist being in Ryske’s arms and absorbing his compliments. Harlow doubted his motivation even mattered; Ophelia just wanted to be under his focus.

  Being ensnared in his spotlight could be intoxicating. In the times Harlow had been under his spell, she’d never cared about his motivation. Sometimes she tried to, but it never lasted. Something about the texture of his fingers and the warmth of his breath coupled with the pound of his heart got through every time. It made her vulnerable to giving him whatever he wanted.

  Ryske could control every part of his anatomy. At least, it seemed he could. Even those parts that worked on mechanics rather than choice.

  While Ophelia could claim to have known Ryske for longer, Harlow better knew his amour. If he really wanted to be kissing Ophelia, he’d be kissing her. The grip he had on her jaw was intended to imply urgency. Like he meant business. Like he was holding tight. But the force wasn’t close to what he would use if he wanted to demand her mouth.

  Caught up in the seduction, Ophelia hadn’t been aware of Ryske’s bandages until the fabric rubbed on her delicate cheek. “Oh, my sweet, what happened?” she asked, taking one of his hands in both of hers. “Did you hurt yourself again?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said and took a piece of paper from his back pocket to hand it over. “These are our figures for last week… There’s an upward trend.”

  “Just as we thought,” Ophelia said, taking the paper from him to open it. When she read the numbers, her eyes bulged before she did a double take. “This is enough for the basement renovations.”

  “Yeah,” Ryske said, bobbing his head in agreement.

  “Did you look at the plans?”

  “I did.”

  Being evasive wasn’t going to earn him any points with Ophelia. Though, if there was anyone who could get away with pissing her off, it was Ryske.

  As proved when Ophelia laughed and drove a knuckle into his upper arm. “Well, silly, what did you think? Did you call the contractor?”

  This time, he shook his head. “Nah, I don’t like his plans.”

  A wide smile spread on Ophelia’s face. She moved in closer, pressing her body to his. “If there’s anyone I trust to optimize sexual experience, it’s you.”

  His chin dipped, but he didn’t crouch, so Harlow figured he wanted to avoid kissing her. Not that she could use her own experience as an honest barometer because Ophelia was taller than her. Maybe if the hostess pushed up, she’d be able to reach him anyway. Instead of a kiss, Ryske did his mesmerized thing, where he treated Ophelia like the only person in the room.

  Harlow was the only other one around. Neither Ryske nor Ophelia had any trouble acting like she was invisible. The idea of doing something shocking to throw him off his game was tempting. Considering how he might react if she took off her clothes or crept up behind him to slip her hand into his pants, Harlow giggled to herself. It hadn’t been deliberate, but her laugh broke the moment between the couple.

  Both turned toward her wearing similar annoyed expressions.

  “I’m sorry,” Harlow said, her smile still flirting with her face. Leaning back, she crossed her legs and waved an absent hand at them. “I’m sorry, carry on.”

  “Is something funny?” Ophelia snapped.

  Ryske could get away with being an asshole; Ophelia laughed his rudeness off. In contrast, Harlow’s laughter, a happy sound, was met with anger.

  “No,” Harlow said, shaking her head and curling a finger into the loop of her necklace to pull it side to side. “I was just thinking of something… in my head.”

  “What?” Ophelia asked, raising her fists to her hips. “What were you thinking of?”

  “It’s nothing, really,” Harlow said. “Really. Carry on.”

  “I told you to correct your mood today,” Ophelia said. “Didn’t I?”

  Pondering the question for a second, Harlow let her eyes roll upward. “No. You asked if I was on my period because I was sassy… If one caused the other, I’d be menstruating three hundred and sixty-five days a year.”

  The corner of Ryske’s mouth reacted, and she noticed it. Ophelia saw her noticing and turned to him.

  Before Ophelia caught sight of it, Ryske flattened his reaction and slid his arms around her again. “Ignore her, Fi,” he said. “She’s here for a reason, and it’s not to entertain us.”

  Straightening her arms, Ophelia let them stretch to his shoulders and drape around his neck. “I love this new you, Ryske,” she said. “Have I told you that recently?”

  “Not nearly enough,” Ryske said and began to lower.

  Sensing the kiss was coming, Harlow tipped her face away to avert her gaze from what would be a hideous sight.

  “Miss Hagan.”

  The interruption was enough to make Ryske forget his trajectory. They all twisted to see Penzance coming from the hallway, looking through the papers in his hands. Harlow grinned. He was good. By all appearances, he was completely oblivious to what he’d just interrupted. But she’d come to know him so much better in the last month. Nothing he did was an accident.

  “Oh, Vane,” Ophelia said, chastising him, coming across as a petulant child.

  Penzance stopped reading and looked up, doing a good job of appearing surprised by what he’d found. “Oh, I didn’t realize… Want me to come back?”

  But it was too late. Ryske was already withdrawing, putting a foot of space between himself and the woman he’d just been holding. Harlow tried to figure out if he would’ve let her go in the same situation. When they’d been together, he’d never shied from holding her or touching her, no matter who else was in the room.

  “You’re here now,” Ophelia said, tsking at him. “What is it you want?”

  “These emails came through,” Penzance said, holding them up. “You’ve got some final figures you need to approve and your auction is about to end…”

  Ophelia looked at her watch and huffed out a breath before stomping across the room. She grabbed the papers from Penzance who slipped his hands in his pockets and looked over the top of Ophelia’s head to make eye contact.

  “Thank you,” Harlow mouthed over the back of the couch, knowing no one else would see it.


  “You slacking, Sweeting?” Penzance asked.

  “Much as I can, Vane,” she said, lounging in a slouch.

  Penzance sauntered past Ophelia. The lady of the manor was distracted, leafing through the sheets he’d handed her.

  “I heard a rumor about you,” Penzance said, dropping onto the couch beside her.

  “A rumor about little me?” Harlow asked, slapping a hand onto his thigh. “It can’t possibly be true…” Despite her assertion, she slanted herself toward him. “Is it dirty?”

  “Little bit,” he said, and twisted to cup a hand around her ear so he could whisper. “You never wear panties.”

  Something made her eyes slink toward Ryske at the same time her lips curled. With his hands in his pockets and his eyes on her, her love was trying to remain indifferent. Her salacious smile made his brow twitch.

  “Who told you that?” she asked.

  Penzance straightened. “Doesn’t matter, is it true?”

  “It matters,” Harlow said, but was still grinning when she poked her friend. “You knew that about me already anyway… How could you forget something like that?”

  The night they’d met she’d told him she wasn’t wearing underwear. Harlow couldn’t be explicit about that in front of Ophelia. As far as Harlow knew, her boss was unaware that she and Penzance had met before they both came to work together.

  Penzance was smart enough to recall what she was referring to. “I didn’t know it was a permanent thing,” he said. “I thought it was just that one time… A permanent thing is definitely hotter.”

  “You’re spending too much time with Brash. He’s obsessed with my habits. It’s rubbing off on you.”

  “Brash is obsessed with you,” Penzance said and slid an arm around her. “I’m more subtle in my approach.”

  This time it was Ryske’s jaw that moved. Harlow was almost sure she could hear his teeth grinding.

  “I have to make a phone call,” Ophelia said, her voice distracted. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Harlow, you remember what I told you about being good. If you behave for the rest of the week, I’ll let you come to Windsor’s on Friday night… So don’t dare think about breaking the rules.” The rules had a lot to do with not seducing Ryske. Ophelia had told her not to think of Ryske in that way, but policing someone’s thoughts was difficult. Harlow looked over the back of the couch at the same time Ophelia pinned her sights on Penzance. “Vane, you do not leave this room.”