Hunter (The Fractured Fairytale Series)

by J. A. Wynters

  I sip on my coffee and take a few minutes to look through my phone and check emails. Red has tried to tag Wolf again in some Instagram story, and the picture is blurred as his face moves out of the frame. I shake my head, my face splitting in an amused grin. Eventually she’ll learn the man doesn't like his picture taken. Until then, it's another blurred photo for her growing collection. I answer a few emails and put my phone away knowing Rob will take care of things.

  “I’m Hunter by the way. We spoke on the phone.”

  She startles by the sound of my voice and jumps a little. I snicker and pink bleeds into her cheeks. “Emily. I know who you are.” She doesn’t look at me.

  “I feel like we might have started on the wrong foot,” I’m not sure why I’m extending this olive branch, she’s a cold, boring, snappy, bossy, rude little thing, but experience has taught me that jobs go much smoother if everyone gets along. Or at least if someone offers you a decent cup of coffee in the morning.

  “Did we?”

  Her cold demeanour has my back up, “I um—”

  Daryl strolls into the kitchen in a pair of boxers and nothing else and saves me from a conversation she’s clearly not interested in having. Emily’s posture changes immediately, her face tightens and her whole body looks like it’s been filled with cement, it’s rigid and taut.

  “Coffee!” he snaps his fingers, and she jumps off the stool to make his cup. Irritation prickles my skin. I don’t like the way he talks to her.

  He stands in the middle of the kitchen with a hand down his pants and his long bottled black hair tumbling down his back. I wonder what the press would make of it if he had a fatal fall in his kitchen.

  She hands him his coffee and he doesn’t say a thing before walking out of the kitchen.

  “Does he always speak to you that way?” I ask, my hands tightening around my mug.

  “It’s fine.” She avoids my eyeline and rushes to her paperwork gathering it all up and looking anywhere but at me.

  I grind my teeth as I watch her. “Thanks for the coffee,” I place my half-drunk cup in the sink. “I’ll wait outside.”

  She nods—barely—and I leave her with her paperwork and rosy cheeks.

  Emily

  I watch him march out of the room and a little flutter passes through me. It’s not like I need him to get angry on my behalf, but for some reason his reaction sparks something inside me that has me feeling something other than irritation. Of course, it helps that his jeans grip onto his ass like their life depends on it, and even when angry, he exudes sex appeal.

  I feel a little guilty at my coldness towards him, he was trying to be nice and I was trying to remain invisible little Emily Shepard, that keeps her head down and her secrets buried. Hunter has the kind of face that makes girls do stupid things they regret in the morning, and I have plans that can’t be derailed by green eyes, bulging muscles and a sexy smile that tilts a little more to the left.

  I allow a little smile to creep up to my lips as I think about his stupid coffee joke then wipe it away as I look over at the stash of paperwork.

  I sigh, getting ready to resume my seat where I can hurry up and wait for Daryl.

  My phone rings and I swipe before thinking.

  “Hi, Darling.”

  “Hello, father.”

  “Oh don't do that darling.”

  “Do what?”

  He sighs and moves on. “How’s work?” he sounds as condescending as ever.

  “You know how it is.”

  “Yes well, we both know how Daryl can be.”

  I say nothing. And a strange yet familiar silence hangs between us. “Was there a reason you called?”

  “You’re in London, I thought maybe you’d want to drop in?”

  I inhale the last bit of the air in the kitchen then exhale very slowly, “I’m really busy with work and...”

  “I’ve told you before, you don’t have to keep working for him, I can open any door for you.”

  “I want to open my own doors.”

  I can sense him nodding as I speak. “Just like your mother.”

  “Don’t talk about her.”

  We’re back to silence but it’s gone from familiar to uncomfortable. Or maybe that’s how it always is, it’s just easier to notice when I’m angry. And lately, I’m always angry.

  Except just before, when Hunter made me smile. I brush away the thought, “I have to go.”

  “Think about my offer darling.”

  “I will.” I won’t. “Bye.”

  I hang up before he calls me darling again and stare at the stack of papers on the breakfast table. Contracts I’ll be spending all day trying to get Daryl to sign. I sigh and look at the collection of framed pictures hanging in the foyer. Hall of Famers that I assume have stayed in this house previously. I know all their names and at least one song from each of their albums, in fact, I’ve met most of them. As I turn away I make a silent vow to have my picture up there one day too.

  I make another cup of coffee and Hunter’s comment of it being very serious keeps floating around my head, I let the smile that keeps wanting to burst from me stay on my face. But only for a minute.

  6

  Hunter

  We leave after mid-day and every nerve in my body is on edge. I can breathe as deep and as often as I like, but there is no calming me around this guy. It’s been twenty-four hours and I’m about ready to throw him to the wolves.

  I stare out of the window tracking every car and checking every street corner as we make our way to the studio. I know there’s no need, but it’s habit. I’m always looking over my shoulder. Tom takes the route we previously discussed and with the light afternoon traffic, we make good time.

  We park in the underground parking and I follow Daryl into the studio, which I already know is secure, with only the producer waiting inside. They shake hands like old friends but as Daryl grabs his guitars, I see the eye roll. I bite down my smirk. Guess I’m not the only one pretending around his guy.

  It’s not the first time I’ve seen a musician create. But Daryl, despite his abrasive personality, really is a musical genius and though I thought I’d stand around all day with my dick in my hands watching just another guy with a guitar do his thing, Daryl lives up to his reputation. The man is a visionary.

  A cigarette hangs from his mouth and smoke swirls in the booth as his fingers dance over the aged guitar. He’d recorded all his newer albums with her, his famed "Black Dust," and the older she gets, the more tonal she becomes. His fingers grip her wooden waist and when he plays her, he bleeds sound from her. It’s like watching two lovers speak a language only they can understand.

  He sits on the stool and from mere sounds, he throws out melodies and scribbles lyrics on a scruffy piece of paper he keeps in his back pocket. It seems that he reserves all his beauty for his art, and it all gets left behind in the small recording studio as soon as he steps out.

  A few hours into recording he growls into the mic and sets his guitar aside. “This is shite mate,” he calls out to the producer, who like me, clearly disagrees.

  “What about a break Daryl?”

  “Yeah, good idea.” He tucks a long strand of hair behind his ear and grabs the mic. “Oi, Love.” I follow his eyeline to find Emily sitting at the back of the room. She’d somehow managed to blend into the furniture.

  She looks up from her laptop, looking like a deer in headlights with an eighteen-wheeler coming her way.

  “Coffee, and a sandwich, and be quick about it yeah?” he calls out and everyone’s eyes fall away but mine. She tips her head and digs under her chair for a handbag which she throws over her shoulder. She walks over to where my body is blocking the door and lifts her eyes to mine. The hazel burns behind glistening eyes and I shoot Daryl an annoyed look, but he’s too busy strumming his guitar to notice.

  “Excuse me.” She whispers and her eyes fall away.

  I step aside and let her walk by me, her elbow grazes my side as she passes but sh
e doesn’t look back at me, she rushes outside and vanishes around a corner.

  I bite my tongue and say nothing, while the producer and Daryl talk over the last track he’d recorded and the changes he wants made. I zone out till my radio comes to life and one of the boys sitting outside lets me know Emily is on her way back inside.

  I open the door just as she steps into the doorway. Her eyes meet mine and she hands me a wrapped-up sandwich and a plastic takeaway cup, “A splash of milk and one sugar right?”

  I nod and accept the food from her as my brow furrows. My fingers brush over hers for just a second as I take the coffee cup and her eyes dart to mine and it looks like she might want to say something. She doesn’t. She tears herself away and walks into the studio. Maybe that was her way of extending an olive branch. My stomach growls in appreciation as I watch her.

  She hands out the rest of the food then goes to sit down at her desk again trying to disappear into the wall. She unwraps her own sandwich and takes a delicate bite. She covers her mouth with her hand like she’s too afraid to be seen. The tips of her fingers touch her lips, and I can’t help but stare. She has lovely lips. A little pouty, full and pink, I wonder how they might look locked around my cock.

  I rip my eyes away and shake my head at the thought. No, I actually don’t. I concentrate on my own sandwich and ignore her for the rest of the day which stretches well into the night. My shift should have ended hours ago, but Daryl’s timetable doesn’t conform to the hours he’d put down on paper. We will have to have words about that.

  By the time we’re back in the car, I can feel exhaustion creeping up on me. I grip the back of my neck and let my head fall on the headrest while Tom drives us back.

  In the back Daryl is on his phone, “yeah brother, just got into town,” he pauses. “Sure, you should come over. Tell Dexter too.”

  Come over? I rub my eyes and think about the conversation I will need to have with this man in the morning about protocol and background checks and schedules. But as we pull into the driveway another car arrives. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention and before I can say two words to Daryl he is out of the car and heading towards the headlights. I jump out after him and close the distance in three strides then grab his elbow and pull him behind me.

  “Let go.” He says and tries to pry his arm out of my grip. He can try all he wants; he’s not going anywhere.

  “Mr. Dark,” I exhale sharply, “I can’t protect you if you don’t let me. You can’t just run off and—"

  “Relax, it’s just a few mates coming for a nightcap.” He taps my hand like I’m a kid and my head wants to explode.

  “Mr. Dark—” I’m cut off by approaching bodies and I automatically spin. The three men walking towards us all wear similar outfits and smiles. Torn up faded metal shirts, worn-out tired jeans and long black hair.

  They approach Daryl who sidesteps me and they hug, then he leads them towards the house just as another car pulls into the driveway.

  He turns back to me as the other three make their way inside. “Hey, I know I can be hard to work for, and maybe we started on the wrong foot, but it’s been a long day, come in, have a drink with us. We’ll sort the rest out in the morning yeah?”

  “Mr. Dark—”

  “Come,” he puts his hand on my back and tries to move me. I relent and step towards the house just as I hear a third car pulling in.

  The promised “chilled” explodes into a full-blown party in less than an hour. I’m not even sure where half of these people came from or who they are, but I’m technically off the clock so I allow myself to relax. A little. I know I’ll be hearing all about this in the morning. Not to mention the angry and jealous glares from the boys standing around and working their shift, is making me feel just a little guilty. But only a little.

  If Wolf was here he’d tear me a new one and give me his speech about keeping business and pleasure separate, except that he is the master of fucking up that cocktail. Or at least he used to be.

  Dark is surrounded by beautiful women who throw themselves at him like glitter. The thing about glitter? It goes everywhere and sticks to everything. Even to me, it seems, as he sends a few my way. Maybe it's his way of apologising. I decide not to think about it too long or too hard as four women clad in tiny bikinis wrap themselves around me and drag me towards the house.

  These poor, misguided groupies obviously came here looking for something, and I wasn’t about to disappoint them—after all, I ‘m the guy that’s always happy being that something. As we make our way to a spare room they giggle and hop around all giddy, and my cock is ready to suck all that energy out of each and every one of them.

  But just as we cross to the room, I spot Emily. Her eyes are on me, her mouth stretched in a thin line, and her hands are wrung together in front of her. I flash her a smile. She shakes her head and walks away.

  “Whatever,” I whisper to myself.

  The door closes, shutting her judgement outside. I launch myself on my awaiting harem. These girls obviously need something right now, and I’m about to give it to them.

  Fuck, I love my job. Sometimes.

  7

  Emily

  I don’t know why I am disappointed to see him close that door; I knew what he was the second I saw him. So what if he looked at me twice and said thank you, and made a swarm of butterflies take flight in my belly? I shake my head and keep staring at the door like I really expect him to change his mind and not fuck those four women. I grit my teeth at the image of a naked Hunter Evans and my stomach somersaults.

  I tear my gaze from the door and march down the hallway. Fuck this! Some of us still have work to do. That’s not entirely true, not at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, but seeing as I’m not going to put on a bikini and let any of those assholes touch me, I guess now is as good a time as any. Not like I’ll be getting any sleep anyway. The last time Daryl invited one of his mates for a “drink,” they went on a six-day bender and his security guy called me from a takeaway joint in Texas saying Daryl had woken up and needed arrangements to get home.

  I wish I had left after that, really I should have left way before that. I don't know why I’ve hung around these last two years. I’ve already made all the contacts I would ever need, and if I’m honest with myself, I don't even need the paycheque. If I think about it too much I might end up admitting that maybe I’m a little afraid to be out there on my own, or maybe I just like to keep sticking it to daddy dearest no matter the personal cost.

  I scoff and peel away the oversized, ugly, grey blazer. I hate these suits more than I hate soggy sandwiches, they itch and are way too big. But fuck it, I don’t want to be one of those girls. I don’t want to be another stereotype that relied on her looks or gave a few blowjobs and made it big.

  I wanted to learn, I wanted to hold myself in my own right. I wanted to meet the right people and do the right thing, work on my craft and land that record deal that would snowball my career and put my name on everyone’s lips. I wanted to be the envy of every girl and the wet dream of any man old enough to jerk off all over himself. But after all this time, all I’ve accomplished is making myself invisible.

  It was always part of the plan to keep myself hidden in plain sight. Daryl knew who I was when he offered me the job, and I think he gets a sick sense of joy when he lashes out at me. I know he’s only angry at them—but this was meant to be a steppingstone, not a beat down.

  Everyone sees me as Daryl’s girl. “Love.” Fuck, I hate it when he calls me that. When he snaps his fingers or stands there scratching his balls. I shudder to think it’s probably because of the layers of STI’s he’s picked up over the years.

  I sit on my bed, open my laptop and look at tomorrow’s schedule and laugh. As if we’ll actually be leaving at nine to go to the studio. I don’t even know why he has me doing these things. I answer a few emails and read through the contract the lawyer sent over. Another stadium event scheduled for next year, he will no doubt book o
ut.

  My heart leaps when I spot an email from Hunter and settles when I realise it’s from his company. It’s a standardised, non-personal compliance document and non-disclosure agreements, which should have been done a week ago. The thought of him in that other room makes my stomach roll.

  The music thumps through my door like it wants to burst inside and I snap the laptop shut trying to remember the last time I had fun but nothing seems to come up. Not since Uni and that was…. Too long ago. I sigh and think about all those people on the other side of the door. Those famous rockers other people would pay good money to hang out with just sitting a few hundred meters away, laughing and drinking and smoking and kissing and fucking all those half-naked girls. Hunter’s face flashes behind my eyes and I snap them open.

  I don’t want to think about him. About his broad shoulders and muscular arms, about his angled jaw and the small dimple he gets when he smiles. I don’t want to think about how he might look now—sweaty and panting, with his neck corded and his blonde hair falling over his green eyes. But I do. I think about him in that room with those women. My thighs clench and my nipples harden, and I suck in a long breath.

  I shouldn’t wonder, but my hand slinks down on its own, not caring about my brain. My fingers feather over my underwear, feeling the heat and wanting more than just a brief touch. I press them to the fabric, my breath stutters and my door bursts open. The muted music exploding inside as two mostly naked girls and a drunk Dexter Stone fall into my room.

  I snatch my hand away, “Get out!” I scream and feel the heat as it floods my cheeks and stings the tip of my ears.