Arkham Asylum Harley Novels & Stories

I retorted, matching my tone to hers. She huffed and crossed her arms over the too-white duvet, flexing her fists so the lettering across her knuckles stretched. Love and hate both got distorted. ‘Huh, sounds like your messed-up brain, buddy,’ said Knight. ‘Don’t act like yours is any better,’ I shot back. He held up his paws. ‘Can’t argue with that.’ “Some bastard poisoned me, all right?” said Harley, fixing her gaze on the linoleum floor. “I don’t know who it was or how they did it. Now Nova’s got the whole pack on lockdown while she tries to find the little bitch who did it.”

Maddy ordered “Please don’t leave me; I can tag along with you. The pain has stopped so I can run, I won’t be a burden please” Hakeem begged Caroline, Caroline hesitated but finally gave in “Okay then let’s go” They rushed outside and Roman stopped abruptly when his eyes met Harley’s red ones, she was covered in blood and standing over a dead kanima. Joan on the other hand was just watching in shock all along, Harley closed her eyes and opened them and they were back to their normal color. She was back to being herself

, I begin, trying to hide my embarrassment. Stanley sits down first and others do the same. Brandon throws me a cold glare before going over to take a seat too. I ignore him. Pointing my hand towards Harley, I say pointedly to Stanley. "Meet Harley Davidson, the woman I told you about over the phone." "Yes!" Brandon punches his hands into the air before Stanley can reply. I had told him over the phone about what Harley and I discussed, not the full details. The information I gave to him was enough for him to know we have someone we can use to get back at Xavier.

Jemma nodded. ‘Yes, Officially Allan isn’t here so I can say the group up words, We need you, Harley, to lure those guys one by one somewhere where the others-’ She pointed to the small group of remaining ‘’new’’ SS members were sat, ‘-can get them, take them and dispose of them’.

I held my stomach tightly, mindful of the growing bud in there. After making sure we were fine, I sprinted to the garage to look for a usable motor. The keys to these vehicles are also just in the garage, so it wasn’t a hassle to look for them. I chose a Harley Davidson and put on a helmet, putting my duffel bag on my back as I revved the engine. Time to go. — Jett

"I didn’t know you’d be here. Why are you so dirty?” I look at my shirt and realize I’m covered in debris from our little demolition session. “I was helping Jack with his plans.” Harley comes to have a look at the changes we’ve made and points to my calculations. “You’re an engineer?” “And architect.” “No shit?” Harley puts her helmet down, takes off her gloves and jacket. She catches me watching her and looks away, as if pretending to look around. “Is there something wrong with your bike?” “What? Oh, there’s a leak in the fuel line. I’m going to have to walk it home.” She says like it’s no big deal.

I’ve got to get Luna out of my system in the only way I know how—get hammered and hammer some pussy. It takes me nearly forty minutes to get back home, and when I do, Callan and Warrick are nowhere to be found. I take a quick shower, dress in cleanish Levis and a Henley, and head out to hop on my fully restored Harley motorcycle, circa the mid-2020s. She’s a forty-year-old beast of a ride with high-performance capabilities and the loudest, most powerful engine this city has ever seen. If she were any faster, she could parasail across the swamp.

Harley seemed to heave in relief before she started speaking, “I know what I did was wrong, and spies are normally killed. But because of Diana's previous contributions to the pack and for the sake of the information I am about to give, I plead for you to let us go, and we will never appear in the Moonshine pack again.” Just as I was about to scoff at her rejection, she added another statement that made me pause. With gritted teeth, Harley said, “I am willing to take the severing powder as well.” Hearing that, not just me, but everybody else in the hall was pushed into a state of extreme shock.

Perhaps it was something more. "Let's go," Steve said softly, his hand briefly squeezing her shoulder before he turned toward the door. Outside, the compound was a flurry of activity. Six different American muscle cars—red, blue, black, silver, green, and yellow—their engines growling like predators, were lined up at the entrance of the pack territory. Steve's sleek black Harley Davidson Hot Rod waited nearby, its chrome accents gleaming in the last rays of sunlight. The motorcycle seemed almost alive, vibrating with anticipation for the dangerous mission ahead.

"You have been cooped up inside this concrete compound for days now. I thought you might really need some fresh air to clear your head." He led me out through the back door and into the bright sunlight of the yard, walking toward the long line of shiny motorcycles parked against the wall. His bike was completely unmistakable—it was a massive, heavy black Harley-Davidson motorcycle with bright chrome details that caught the sunlight and a large Iron Reapers skull painted right onto the fuel tank. He reached over, grabbed a black helmet from the handlebars, and handed it to me. Then, he stepped closer and helped me strap it tightly under my chin, his large, tattooed fingers moving with careful