Hunter (The Fractured Fairytale Series)

by J. A. Wynters

“Of course.”

  Her eyes widened a little as if I caught her by surprise, and I like that she sees this part of me; I’m more than what she assumes. Than what everyone assumes. She shifts in her seat and schools her face. “What do you like reading?”

  “Lots of different things, philosophy, history, the classics. I like to strengthen my mind through knowledge.”

  “And what about your heart?”

  “It’s a vital organ with four chambers whose sole purpose is to pump blood through the body.”

  She doesn't answer for a while then turns back to the window as I search for a parking spot. “Being in love is the best and worst feeling all smashed together. It bubbles around like some kind of mad experiment gone right or wrong. If it endures, it tastes sweet. But if it ends, it leaves a sour aftertaste.”

  “It always ends.” I find a spot and swing my arm behind her headrest as I begin reverse parking.

  “It doesn’t.”

  “It ended for Daryl.”

  “But that's just the thing, it hasn’t.”

  I park, turn off the engine and turn to Emily, “She’s left him for someone else.”

  “Yes.” She draws in a long breath as if she’s feeling the pain of Izabel’s absence as her own. “‘Twisted Heartstrings’ was the last song he wrote before he named his guitar and hasn’t touched it since. He wrote it for Izabel. A true love song. It’s a declaration that his love for her is real and enduring. It’s a promise that she’s worth waiting for. He will wait until the end of time and find his orbit once again.”

  “It sounds doomed.”

  “Even doomed love is worth feeling.”

  “Why? It breaks you.”

  She doesn't answer, just shakes her head as If I’m missing something vital, then opens her door and steps outside. I follow her to the elevator that takes us into the terminal building.

  Her flat sensible shoes don't make a sound as she weaves through the terminal and makes her way to a side door. It’s white like the wall and almost invisible.

  She knocks. The door opens and a man in a navy-blue cardigan opens the door. He’s no more than forty and his stomach hangs over his too-tight pants. A light smear of something that could have been mayonnaise clings to the edge of his beard. Emily greets him and his gaze tracks her body. When he sees nothing other than a rectangular shape he zeros in on her face.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I'm here to pick up a package.” She schools her face and shoves the paperwork towards the man who takes it from her. The papers ruffle in his hand as he reads through the pile, then ushers us inside and into his cramped office. Much like its owner, it seems to be bursting through the seams. The desk is crammed with files and discarded candy wrappers, an overflowing bin and the smell of onions covered up by artificial floral scents. The place is sad, decrepit and makes me wonder if that’s what giving up on life looks like.

  “Sit, please.” He gestures to two chairs at the edge of his desk, “I'll just go to the back and retrieve it for you.”

  Emily doesn’t move. She remains just inside the door and folds her arms in front of her chest.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugs and lumbers down the narrow corridor.

  We wait in a long silence. Emily keeps checking her nails and fidgeting. I make her uncomfortable.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” I break our silence and her eyes find mine.

  “Which one?”

  “About doomed love, what's the point?”

  She draws in a long breath and her hazel eyes study mine like she’s searching for something, “Have you ever been in love Hunter?”

  The question takes me by surprise, so I give her my typical go-to answer. “Of course not, love is just a transient feeling of happiness, it's not something that lingers. It’s a made-up thing girls tell you to try and keep you around.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “Sure,” I say and watch as her mouth twitches a little, her pretty lips pointing downwards. I seem to keep having that effect on her.

  “Well then, you won’t understand anyway.” Her eyes drop from mine and she studies her fingers again.

  I’m about to ask her to explain it anyway when the man plods back through the corridor, empty-handed. His red face is covered in a sheen of sweat and the mayonnaise has vanished from his beard. He comes to a stop in front of us and pants slightly. “This may take longer than I thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we’ve misplaced the item.”

  “Misplaced?” The colour drains from her face but her back remains straight and her features sharp.

  “It will just take a little longer to locate than I thought is all.” He gets defensive, his eyes flash from Emily to me.

  “How much longer?” I ask and get a quick sharp look from Emily.

  “Can’t be sure, just take a seat.” He points to the chairs again. I wait for Emily; she remains in place and the man shrugs.

  “Suit yourself, just thought you should know.” He turns away and leaves us rooted to the spot. As if on cue, Emily’s phone rings, Daryl's name flashes across the screen. She silences the phone and tucks it into her pocket.

  “You ok?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She’s defensive and irritated. I put my hands up in surrender and her eyes fall away again. The silence presses against us making the smell of onions rise to the surface.

  “You’ve really never been in love?” Her voice sounds too loud in the empty room.

  “No.” I shrug.

  “But you’ve been with women?”

  “I have been with a lot of women, yes, but haven't dated them if that’s what you’re asking.” I bite down the smirk that wants to curl on my lips, somehow it doesn't feel appropriate.

  “But why?”

  “Why? I don't know. First, there was my sister and then the job—late nights and long hours, weeks away from home—I guess I’m just not dating material.”

  “So, you just fuck random women?”

  I shrug. I'm pretty sure she already knows the answer to that.

  “Like we did?”

  Oh. I rub my hands over my face and try to find her eyes. “No, not like we did. That was a first for me.”

  One of her eyebrows arch up and she’s asking me for more. I search my brain for the right words not knowing if I could articulate the answer she wants.

  “It’s not usually like that or that fast.” There. Saved it, and hopefully regained part of my dignity.

  “Right.” Her lips pinch and I know I didn't give her the answer she was looking for. “Is it because I piss you off?”

  Shit. I forgot that I told her that. “No. Maybe.” I sigh feeling like I’ve just twisted myself into a too-tight knot and there’s no undoing what I did. “Something was different with you.”

  “Different how?” She doesn't relent and I know I have to give her something or she’ll keep questioning me. Maybe she does deserve the truth or some version of it.

  “I just lost control. It’s not something that has never happened to me before. With women. Ever.”

  Her face twists and I know she's considering my words. I’m not sure if they hurt her. They weren’t meant to. I just can’t tell her that my anger flared into passion, that she pisses me off for all the wrong reasons, because maybe I do like being around her. Maybe I think she’s kind and funny and interesting. She makes my temper rise over stupid shit, and I can’t explain why. I can’t explain why I lost it when I saw her with Wolf, even though I knew he'd never touch her. There’s so much about the way she makes me feel when I’m around that I can’t explain. But the worst thing of all, is that I can’t explain why I fucking like it and how much I fucking liked being inside her.

  “Look, I’m sorry…” I start but she cuts me off.

  “What did I do?”

  “What?”

  “That day, what did I do?”

  I rub my hands together feeling the
room shrink around me, and as I formulate a reply, the man returns once again. I notice he’s still empty-handed, but I don't care. He’s bought me the time I need to divert our conversation. He comes to face Emily, his brow peppered in sweat.

  “Where is my guitar?” She asks, and the man looks from her to me to the paperwork and back again, like maybe he thinks one of us has the answers.

  “I’m sorry, we just can’t locate it.” One of the sweat beads on his brow gives up and starts a long slick descend along his cheek. He wipes it away and his sleeve comes back wet. He tucks it behind his back as I hold back a grimace.

  “Go look again.”

  “We’ve already looked.”

  “So look again.” She says, her jaw tightens and she glares at the man. He takes a step backwards. For a tiny pixy, she can be scary. I keep my features neutral, holding back a smile.

  The many layers of Emily. I’m enjoying watching them peel away in front of me. The thought makes my cock jerk in my pants and I realise those are not the only layers of Emily I like to see coming off. I bat the thoughts away and tune back into their staring match deciding to join in. I take a tiny step forward and give him a meaningful look. He understands it perfectly. His shoulders drop and his eyes fall to the ground.

  “I’ll take another look.” He says, his voice drenched in defeat, before he turns away and leaves for a third time.

  “You and Red have a lot in common,” I say. A diversion tactic, but also the truth. “She’s fiery and resilient, just like you.”

  “Did she piss you off too?”

  Oh shit. So much for diversions. “All the time, although she’s the one that’s not talking to me right now.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I think we have time.” She looks around the deserted office and dim corridor before her gaze swings back to me.

  I sigh. Resigned. “I stood in the way of something she wanted.” I give her the short version.

  Her brows draw together, “Why?”

  I grip the back of my neck and search the ceiling. Why? Such a loaded question. “Because I thought I was doing what was best for her.”

  “You were protecting her?”

  “I thought I was. Turns out I was wrong,” I say on a sigh, and her face changes like she sees something that wasn't there before.

  “You? Wrong? What a shock,” she scoffs at me.

  “Careful,” I warn her.

  “You don't give much away, do you? What else are you hiding behind that beautiful face of yours?”

  My eyebrows shoot up and my lips quirk on a slight smile, “You think I have a beautiful face?”

  Her eyes bulge and pink rushes to her cheeks like she’s realised that she’s let her thoughts slide out. “I mean, I just wonder what you’re really like, on the inside, everything you keep inside yourself. You’re not….” She shakes her head and bites her lower lip; her shoulders sink and she’s never looked fucking sexier.

  A million responses start to form inside my mind when once again we are interrupted. Emily ignores Daryl's call again as the man shuffles back into the room. His cardigan is gone and his face is flushed.

  He looks sheepish as he turns to Emily, “I'm sorry miss, we can’t locate your item.”

  “I’d like to speak to a supervisor.” Her shoulders square as she turns a shade of grey.

  The man clears his throat. “He’s out.”

  “And when will he be back?”

  “I’m not sure, but—”

  “Who can I speak to?” her voice rises in pitch.

  The man shuffles under her glare. “Look, we have your details. We will keep looking, and I’ll call you as soon as we locate it.”

  “I’m not leaving here without it.” She folds her arms across her chest and roots herself into the spot.

  The man studies her, seemingly lost.

  “Emily.” She swirls to look at me and it looks like she's about to strike out like a coiled angry viper. “Let’s go get something to eat, we can come back in an hour?”

  Her nostrils flare as she draws in a few breaths then finally tips her head. The man looks relieved. I don't know why. I haven’t finished dealing with him yet. He just doesn’t know it. He puts his keycard to the door; it beeps and he pushes it open. We exit the small room and I inhale deeply. The smell of humanity, perfume and coffee is almost refreshing.

  Emily doesn’t stand around, she trudges through the terminal looking for a place to wait when a skeletal man with sharp, serpentine features jumps up from a seat, a camera in his hand. “Emilia?” He calls out.

  Emily looks startled as she looks directly at the man who snaps a picture of her. She surges ahead as the man begins to run after us, I block his way while his camera keeps snapping constantly. What the fuck?

  Emily spots the business lounge and rushes towards it, she produces a card of some kind and we’re let in, leaving the man behind us. I can still hear him calling for Emilia.

  The lounge is too bright with floor to ceiling windows, and everything is covered in white. It’s blinding and uncomfortable. Classical music plays in the background mingling with the low hum of murmured conversations.

  I scan the room and find an empty table in the back. It’s shaded and out of the way, I point it out to Emily, she’s spotted it too and already weaving her way towards it.

  She falls into one of the chairs and leans back, her jaw tight, her hands clutched in little fists which rest on her thigh. I slide in next to her and wait.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. The paparazzi know me as Daryl's PA and he saw you. He must have thought Daryl was here…”

  “He called you Emilia.”

  “It's easy to confuse my name, I’m a nobody.”

  “You’re not.” Her eyes find mine and hold them.

  Her phone rings again, breaking the moment and she ignores it, then drags a hand over her face. When she looks up, whatever I saw in her eyes a second ago is gone, “Can you get me a drink?”

  Emily

  He looks a little surprised but covers it up well, then gets up and goes to order the vodka mixer I asked for. So what if it’s not even noon? I need some liquid courage if I'm going to tell Daryl Izabel is missing. I know what that guitar means to him, losing her would be like losing Izabel all over again. I lace and unlace my hands, that bloody paparazzi out there has me a little rattled. The last thing I need is to get recognised.

  I glare at my phone. Five missed calls. I’ve never ignored him. Not once since I started working for him. Not at two am when he needed a lift home from some party and didn't even know where he was, not during my birthday dinner when he needed me to buy that mustang he had an eye on, not even when I was at my best friend’s wedding and he called midway through the ceremony to ask me if I’d remembered to make sure I asked the hotel staff to only have the blue smarties in his room. I shake my head and sigh just as a glass lands in my periphery.

  Hunter slides into the seat next to mine and I snatch a look at his perfect face - he has a face to fall in love with. I know I should be worried about Daryl and Izabel but all I can think about is him with all the other women he spoke about and it feels like a knife twists inside me. Why do they get to have more of him and I get to taste his anger?

  I piss him off. But I don't want to.

  “Thank you.” I grab my drink and sip. The alcohol burns its way down my throat and warms my insides.

  He watches me intently and his stare slides under my skin till every inch of me feels like I’m on fire. It hurts. I shuffle in my seat wanting him to stop, needing space because I know every second I spend with Hunter is a second too long, a second that will end up burning me alive. I’m already in free-fall, and I want his arms to catch me. But I know all that waits at the bottom of the abyss is darkness and pain as I shatter.

  I down my drink wanting to douse the fire that burns inside me. Dull the pain of want and desire. “Get me another one.”

&
nbsp; He quirks an eyebrow but says nothing as he gets up towards the bar. I shouldn't admire his broad sloping shoulders and strong back and the way his ass looks in his jeans as he walks through the place like he fucking owns it. I like the way men look at him, with slight trepidation, like they know their place around him, while I hate the way the women look at him like they want to be owned by him. I shove the thought away.

  My second drink goes down just as quickly as the first.

  “Another please.”

  “Maybe you should slow down?”

  “Maybe you should just do your fucking job.”

  “Fetching your drinks isn’t in my job description,” he leans in so close that his breath fans my mouth as his eyes hold mine, “I’m not your fucking errand boy.”

  He’s pissed off—again—and a quake rumbles inside me. He’s so close I can smell his shampoo and his body wash, spicy and fresh with a hint of sweat. “Fine then.”

  I get up and push by him and get myself a double. I slide back into the seat opposite him and smirk at him as I down my drink.

  “We’re leaving.” He stands as soon as my glass is empty.

  “No, we're not. I’m still waiting for them to call me back and I’m not leaving this place without Izabel.”

  Hunter leans over me, his broad body towering over me, his face almost menacing as it lands an inch from mine, setting my heart on a rampage, “You are going to stand up and walk with me to the car, or I’m going to pick you up, throw you over my shoulder, and march out of here with you kicking and screaming.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Try me.” He growls in my face and somewhere inside me I feel a deep tremor as I picture his strong arms snake around me and throw me over his shoulder. I swallow the lump in my throat.

  “Fine!” I stand up and feel the alcohol sink to my feet then shoot through my body, warming me up. Or maybe it’s the intensity of his glare as he stares into my eyes. The green in his darken like a forest in a thunderstorm.

  I shake my head, breaking eye contact. Maybe I did drink too much too quickly. I don't want to go out through the front door again, what if the photographer is still out there? He recognised me, despite everything. He’s going to sell whatever picture he manages to snap and my face will be splattered across every tabloid in the country tomorrow morning. I sigh.