Hunter (The Fractured Fairytale Series)

by J. A. Wynters

  “It’s a party baby, come join us,” Dexter slurs and winks at me.

  “I said get out.” I stand and march towards them holding the door and ushering them out.

  The girls giggle and turn away, and I hear their laughter as one of them mentions my sad little party for one. The heat burns my face again and I slam my door. Ensuring it’s locked, I jump on my bed and bury my face in the pillow wanting to be invisible again.

  I wake up feeling like I haven’t slept at all. The noise and music from Daryl’s drink buddies lasted till well into the early hours of the morning. I shower and dress, pull my hair up into a tight bun and slip my blazer on like it might protect me from Daryl’s lashing tongue. I wish he'd stop punishing me for things that aren’t my fault. Another fun day of being treated like shit ahead.

  I suck in a galvanising breath and walk out of my room. The house is quiet and as I walk through the corridor, I see evidence of the savagery I shielded myself from last night. Discarded clothes and bottles line the corridor, trodden cigarette buds and a looming red stain that’s going to cost a shit-tonne to get out of the polished, wooden floor.

  I walk by the room. The room I know Hunter is still likely to be sleeping in, wrapped around four women. My stomach twists, I shudder and quicken my steps. Downstairs the lounge area looks like a bomb site. Bodies strewn everywhere, slouched and draped over the furniture and the floor. More bottles, more clothing, more stains. Somewhere outside there is a giggle and a splash followed by a deep growl and a shriek. I guess not everyone is done having their fun.

  I shake my head and weave my way through the carnage and into the kitchen where I make myself a cup of coffee and snap open my laptop. I sip on my hot drink and find the number for the cleaning company I used the last time Daryl had one of his "chilled" nights. They are quick, efficient and most importantly discrete. The thought only makes me think of Hunter and that I’d have to run it all by him. Background checks and whatnot.

  I run a hand over my face and let it slide to my neck and shoulder where I squeeze the muscles, tension already gripping me.

  “Ugh,” I look up at the ceiling and let my neck roll from side to side. When I look down, Hunter is standing at the kitchen door with an amused smirk on his face. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugs and steps deeper into the kitchen where he goes to the coffee machine. He looks fresh like he’s had a full night’s sleep. Despite wearing yesterday’s clothes. His navy-blue t-shirt still looks crisp and his jeans cling to him perfectly. I pry my eyes away from his ass and stare back at my screen, the words turning to blurry black worms. I rub my eyes and take an irritated sip from my coffee. I gulp and for a split-second think that maybe he did just sleep all night, maybe those women didn’t interest him. Till he steps a little closer and I see the fading bite mark on his neck.

  I huff and he shoots me a look. “What? Didn't you have fun last night?”

  “Unlike some people, I don’t go sticking my cock in everything that moves.”

  “Wait? You have a cock?” he tilts his head as if looking for a bulge in my pants.

  “Don’t be daft.” I bristle as he chuckles.

  “Hey, it’s fine I don't judge.”

  “I don't have a cock.”

  “Well, prove it. Otherwise, I’ll never be sure”

  “Why? You didn't see enough last night?” I hate that I can't tamper the jealousy in my voice.

  “No. I didn’t see any cocks last night, just a bunch of beautiful women,” he throws me a smug smile. “Jealous?”

  Arrogant idiot. “Yeah, right.”

  “Sure? Cause I think I see your cock starting to twitch under your skirt there.”

  I look down like a complete idiot, and he bursts into full-blown laughter. I'm mortified.

  “Asshole.” I snap. He keeps laughing, ignoring my comment completely. I suck in a deep breath trying to push some of the embarrassment down. “I’ll have to get a cleaning crew in here today.”

  He wipes his eyes and shakes his head, settling down his laughter, “Just send an email to my office with all the details and we can run the checks on everyone.”

  “I know. I don’t need you telling me how to do my job.”

  His smile diminishes a little, “I wasn’t—”

  He starts but I really don’t want to hear what he has to say. Irritation stings me like a needle. “They’ve worked with us before, and they should be fine to come in.”

  He clears his throat and his relaxed manner stiffens, “We’ll see about that.”

  “There shouldn’t be a problem.” I cross my hands over my chest.

  “There are procedures.”

  “I’ve already gone through them.”

  “Not with me.” He sets his coffee down and his face grows tense. I guess he doesn’t like to be told how to do his job either.

  “Fine.” I give him a look and go back to my laptop. A second later his phone pings and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen. “There. I want to schedule them in for two.”

  His eyes are still down on his phone. “Good luck with that.” He smirks at me, “I won’t have time to vet them all till then and I still have to get Rob to go through their files.”

  I inhale through clenched teeth and grab my phone, dialling his company’s number. A deep, male voice answers and introduces himself as Rob. “Hi Rob, this is Emily Shepard, Mr. Dark’s assistant.”

  “What the hell!”

  I ignore Hunter as I listen. Rob asks me how he can help; I feel Hunter’s eyes bore into the back of my neck. Heat spills into my back and I feel my cheeks burn. I push the words out, “I need a cleaning crew here at two this afternoon. I’ve emailed you the company portfolio, employee records, and previous security clearance. If you could please liaise with Hunter as soon as possible so that I can book them in, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Put the phone down.” Hunter hisses at me.

  Rob chuckles and then clears his throat when he hears Hunter in the background. He sounds amused when he assures me that he will. I thank him and hang up, then turn back to Hunter who is glaring at me. “There, now I’ve followed your procedures.”

  Before he has a chance to speak, his phone rings and I hear a deep male voice rumble on the other hand. His green eyes land on me, anger spilling from them. I grab my laptop and escape from the kitchen leaving him to deal with Rob.

  Hunter

  It’s well after one when the household begins to stir and people scrape themselves off the floor and disappear into the daylight like vampires. I spotted Daryl about an hour ago. He came for a coffee and left for a blow job, mumbling something about cleaning the old pipes before a workday. I can relate. Blow jobs make everything better. My cock twitches as it remembers last night, and a smile tries to creep on my face but it’s too tired.

  I’m fucking falling apart on the inside, exhaustion tugging at all my muscles and pulling on my bleary eyes. This is the kind of day where my coffee needs a coffee, and that’s not going to be anywhere near enough to keep me going.

  My back keeps searching for a wall to lean against, and I have to work hard to make myself look relaxed instead of asleep on my feet. I just need this day to be over and it hasn’t even really begun. The run-in with Emily this morning pissed me off. Who the hell does she think she is pulling that stunt with Rob? My eyes narrow and zero in on her as she marches towards me, Daryl following in her wake. Her eyes down like she’s afraid of her own shadow, but she didn’t seem afraid this morning. I push the thought away, straighten up and square my shoulders ready to get this day done.

  We get into the car and I struggle to keep my eyes open during the drive. We take a secondary route which takes longer and I keep pushing my nails into my palm to keep myself awake.

  We slink back into the studio and I find comfort against a wall and under the air con. Daryl looks like shit, drawn and haggard, but as soon as he takes that guitar in his hands all of that falls away.

  The man is a fucking magicia
n and it’s like drugs and alcohol are his magic potions. If I thought he sounded good yesterday I was delusional.

  He pulls out his guitar, worn and scarred by time, and in an instant, he’s lost in the old wood and her notes. His body seems possessed, his fingers strum the strings freely creating melodies, and when he sings his voice is velvet and delicious.

  The session feels endless like I have fallen in the middle of an ocean and I can’t pick a direction, so I just keep treading water. My tiredness makes me hang limp against the wall and my bleary eyes keep finding Emily. She’s trying to camouflage herself with the couch—they're the same shade of ash, like maybe they’re both burnt out.

  She’s stretched out, her shoes discarded, her legs crossed over at the ankles. She has long legs and my gaze travels the length of them. They are toned and tanned and sexy and I rip my eyes away convinced that I must be tired.

  Daryl screeches through the microphone and demands food. Emily shoots up and slips her feet into her stupid comfortable shoes then comes toward the door. My stomach grumbles and coffee would be a lifesaver. I need to recharge; I feel like my brain is on five percent battery.

  She walks by me without a glance, and I run my hand over my stubbled chin. What’s her problem? She got her cleaning crew, didn’t she? Rob sent the email through and I got a notification that they arrived at five. I roll my eyes at no one and inhale a lungful of cigarette smoke as Daryl walks into the room and lands on the couch. Fucking Daryl.

  Twenty minutes later the boys let me know Emily is back and I swing the door open for her, my body craving sustenance. She walks by me like I’m a fucking ghost and hands everyone else their coffees and Korean takeaways which smells fucking delicious and wreaks havoc on my insides. I suddenly long for the cigarette smoke. At least that didn’t make me want to eat.

  I excuse myself and change over with one of the boys while I go grab something from the employee kitchen. A weak-ass tea and white bread with some jam. I rip through my sandwich and gulp the gooey bread as it breaks down in my mouth. Maybe her cock is taped up too tight. The next few hours feel like a lifetime and when we finally climb back in the car I know I won’t be getting enough sleep tonight.

  Tom pulls away into the dark streets streaked by flashing lights and colour. The humming of the engine and endless dark road threatens to lull me to sleep.

  “Hunter.” Daryl’s voice tears me from my lethargy.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Did you like today’s session?”

  “I did, very much.” I’m not just feeding his ego. It’s the truth.

  He sighs and nods and somehow that sigh carries a harsh, heavy weight that I do not understand.

  Emily

  The house is quiet when we arrive. I know it won’t last as Daryl is already on the phone with a “mate,” and I’ve been informed that Dexter Stone will be arriving momentarily. I delight in watching Hunter’s face contort in frustration and enjoy it even more when I see the door shut behind him.

  The leftover beef Bulgogi is just the right combination of sweet and sour and goes down a treat. I can’t help the smile that settles itself on my face every time I think of Hunter’s face dropping as I walked right by him with the food earlier. It's definitely making the food taste better.

  I was right the first time. He is a meathead with a bad attitude and attempting to be nice was a mistake I will not be repeating again. Condescending idiot. Walking around the house uninvited, in his tight jeans and bite marks all over his neck looking fresh as a fucking daisy, with his stupid sexy forearm muscles and refusing to give me my cleaning crew.

  Hunter Evans is a typical bouncer, with his mind only on looking pretty and sleeping with random tarts.

  8

  Hunter

  I pull up to the house, to find only one car in the driveway—Daryl’s. As I make my way inside, the place looks like it did the first day we arrived, immaculate. I smell coffee and bacon. The aroma filters through me and seeps into every pore. I walk through the pristine house towards the kitchen where I find Emily and freeze.

  She’s leaning over the counter, a cup of hot coffee in one hand and a plate of crispy bacon in the other. One of the thin straps of the tiny white singlet she’s wearing, falls over a naked shoulder. The singlet shows off her curvy waist and a sliver of skin. I swallow hard as my graze tracks downwards. A silk black thong clings to her perfectly round ass and shows off her long, bare legs.

  “I made this for you, just the way you like it.” She purrs and sucks on her lower lip.

  My eyes snap open and it takes me a few seconds to realise I'm in my bed...alone.

  “What the fuck was that?” I rub the sleep from my eyes just to have an image of Emily in that singlet floating in the darkness. My body feels hard and tight.

  My alarm goes off and I punch it off, maybe a little harder than I intended. I roll out of bed, my throbbing cock hard and painful as I make my way to the shower. Two problems I can solve in one place.

  I stand under the hot stream and let the water pelt my skin and wash away my annoyance.

  It’s been an exhausting week and never have I wanted a job to end as much as this one. My body hurts. I’m tired of Daryl’s impromptu drinking sessions that go on for hours or days and leave me drained and irritable. I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy the occasional girl he throws my way and the use of his lavish spare room, but I’m wrecked.

  Then there’s Emily, I can't figure her out, and now I can't get that image of her out of my head.

  Fuck it, the sooner this day starts the sooner it finishes.

  I turn off the water and towel off wondering what bullshit I’ll have thrown at me today.

  An eerie feeling of DeJaVu ripples through me as I pull up to the house just before eight. I’m instantly annoyed and relieved to see a bunch of cars in the driveway. Daryl and his fucking parties. I guess I should be used to it by now, but his nonchalant attitude grates me the wrong way. My phone has a hundred different notifications that accumulated overnight, emails about people coming and going. I don’t bother going through them, if anything major happened someone would have come knocking on my door.

  I draw in a steeling breath preparing myself for another day of waiting and getting fucked around. This is bullshit. Wolf should be doing this, not me—another week till that overgrown asshat is back.

  I step into the disaster zone, which is the house, just as two tanned, giggling brunettes in bikinis push by me. I smile at them and they look me up and down before disappearing down the driveway and into a waiting taxi outside the main gate. I hope they’ll be back later.

  I step into the kitchen and stall for a second as I spot Emily. She’s in another one of her boring suits, perched on her stool, a coffee cup in her hand, and her eyes glued to her screen. No bacon in sight. I shake my head, dislodging remnants of my dream and step across the threshold.

  Her head turns and she smiles at me. That’s suspicious.

  “Good morning.” She chirps.

  “Good morning?” I have to say that I’m a little confused by her warmth after a week of hard glares and cold shoulder tactics.

  She swivels her body around and her crossed legs straighten in front of her, I clear my throat and find her eyes.

  “So,” she starts and I know my day is about to get ruined, “Daryl would like to change the schedule for tonight - just a little dinner and maybe a show.”

  “No,” I state bluntly, and her smile fades a little. I’ve noticed I have that effect on her.

  “Why?” she replies.

  Why? For a hundred different fucking reasons. Because she wants to play games because she wants to shove the fact I’m the hired help in my face because she haunts me in my dreams and because there is no fucking bacon. Suddenly getting under her skin feels like the most important task of my day. I settle on, “It’s not enough notice, I don’t have the details—”

  “I emailed everything to you an hour ago.”

  I grind my teeth. “I h
aven’t had time to go through my emails yet.”

  “Well, maybe you should start work a little earlier.”

  My fists ball at my sides, “I need to sleep sometimes.”

  “You’d sleep more if you stopped shagging every girl here and did your job properly.” At that, I tear the distance between us in two strides and loom over her, backing her up against the wall with my hands caging her there. My chest rises and falls with my sharp intake of breath.

  “What I do outside of my work hours is none of your business, I do my job just fine,” I grit out through a clenched jaw. “And the answer to your request is still no.”

  She hits my chest with her fists and tries to push me away. I laugh. When she lifts her hands a second time, I think she might slap me. On instinct I grab her wrists and pin them over her head, forcing her body up, pulling at her shoulders so that she has to stand on her tiptoes.

  Her eyes round and widen as she glares up at me and she bites on her lower lip—heat simmers between us.

  I stare into her eyes, and for the first time, I notice how their centre is like deep caramel that spreads out into honey hues and breaks against the outer edge of dark roasted coffee beans. She hides so much behind those beautiful eyes.

  I’m suddenly very aware of her body against mine, her hot breath fanning my chest, her heated eyes glaring into mine. Without thinking, my hand slithers down and beneath her shirt where my finger brushes her delicate skin just below the belly button. She gasps at the intrusion, and I tear my hand away. What the fuck am I doing? She blinks and all the warmth in her eyes disappears.

  “Okay,” she breathes out and pulls at her hands. I release her wrists and she pushes my chest forcefully; I don’t move but smirk at her effort. She huffs out an irritated sound before she ducks under my arm and storms out of the kitchen.