by Shen, L. J.
“What are you asking?” My father’s right hand retorted. “Get to the point.”
“They would each like three million dollars over the course of the next three years, paid in unmarked Bitcoin, so they can trade and resell them as they see fit. As for me, I’d like a substantial number of shares in Royal Pipelines. I’ll buy them kosher, and you’ll slip the money back to me through the back door.”
“What do you consider substantial?”
“Fifteen percent is my starting point.”
“Is this a joke?”
“I’m afraid humor is not my strong suit.”
There was silence, and then some arguing. In the end, they didn’t reach an agreement, but it was easy to see the Eastern European dude had Syllie’s balls in a vise. I stopped listening when Syllie stomped his way back to the car and slammed his door.
I wanted to take this to Cillian and Da, to throw it in their faces and tell them I’d been right all along. In fact, I’d shoved my feet into my sneakers and dropped the USB with the recording in my front pocket, halfway through the door, when I remembered what Cillian had said.
It was my operation to handle.
It was my war to fight.
I’d started it, and I needed to finish—a hunter going for the kill.
Even though I knew Sylvester Lewis was up to something, I didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle yet. There was more to unveil. Worst of all, I knew Syllie to be a very resourceful man and was afraid he’d spin it somehow with his smooth tongue.
No. I was going to wait it out and deal with him myself.
I was going to earn my place at Royal Pipelines.
I was going to show Athair I was his.
The last thing I wanted to do after New York was go straight from the airport to the archery club.
My feet blistered from standing on heels all day, my skin was raw from the makeup they’d slapped on me—then rubbed off of my face—and my scalp burned from all the hairspray and tugging. I’d sat for three hours and answered questions that had nothing to do with archery, then ended up missing my training session in New York. Everything felt chaotic and pointless. Since when was being an athlete about the fame and not the actual sport?
But Junsu had insisted I meet him at the club. Things between us were so strained, I figured appeasing him was more important than catching up on sleep. Besides, a huge chunk of me didn’t want to face Hunter again. I’d received radio silence from him the last couple days.
I asked Dad, who picked me up from the airport, to take me straight to the club. He didn’t protest, though I could see the apostrophes between his eyebrows on our way there. I itched to reach and smooth them with my fingers.
“If you have something to say, you might as well do it,” I grumbled as we rounded the street to the club.
I knew he and Mom were worried about me. I’d never given them an answer about the summer semester. I just pretended we hadn’t had that conversation, shoved it into the jam-packed denial drawer in my head.
Fuck-buddy purgatory. Life purgatory. Same difference.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days.” Dad kept his eyes on the road, his jaw twitching.
Growing up, it had always surprised me how my dad, who seemed so formidable and terrifying to the rest of the world, gave me pretty much free reign when it came to my own life. When I asked him about it once, he said, “I cannot keep you from making mistakes, because then you’ll never learn from them. The world is tough, and cruel, and mostly unfair. It’s our job to find a way to navigate our way in it. The more I shield you, the less chance you’ll have of surviving.”
“That’s because I haven’t,” I admitted, fiddling with my seatbelt as we sliced past rows of red-bricked buildings, little cafes, and potted plants. The sky was wooly, heavy with gray clouds. Autumn had molded into winter. The seasons were changing, and with them, the circumstances of my life. “But I will. Now that Lana is here, all I need is to prove I deserve the Olympic spot. Then I can finally take my foot off the gas.”
“Like you did in the last decade?” he quipped, strangling the steering wheel.
“Whatever happened to letting me make my own mistakes so I can learn from them?”
“Whatever happened to learning from your mistakes? You’re killing yourself,” he countered. “And seeing you like this is killing your mother. I will not be a widower because you’ve a chip on your shoulder and something to prove. Clearly, the Fitzpatrick boy didn’t have the desired effect on you.”
Dumbstruck, I whirled toward him, struggling to keep my jaw from dropping.
“Excuse me?”
He rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up. “I thought an arranged relationship would work for you as it worked for your mother and me. I was wrong,” he grumbled, not a trace of apology in his voice.
“Hunter and I are not in a relationship,” I lied. Maybe. Who the hell knew what we were at this point?
Dad had kind of, sort of, okay—totally—kidnapped Mom and married her back in the day. They hadn’t expected to fall in love, but fall madly in love they did. Still, I struggled to understand what made him think this was the norm.
“It sure looked like it from where I was sitting at the Fitzpatrick dinner table.”
“Hunter’s celibate,” I bit out.
Dad side-eyed me, giving me the bored, shockingly condescending look he spared his enemies.
“Don’t lie to me, kid. I make a living off my bullshit radar, and your version of things stinks.”
“So you just handed me over to Fitzpatrick because you thought it’d loosen me up? Open my eyes to the wonders of the world?” I scoffed, aghast.
He threw the Maserati into park in front of the club, but didn’t kill the engine. I didn’t make a move. Junsu could wait. I was too busy digesting the fact that my dad had all but pimped me out in the name of bringing me out of my shell.
Dad ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, scowling at the center console.
“You needed a push in the right direction. Still do. It is fine not to be boy-crazy, but you can’t ignore the world forever. You’ve never had a crush. Beau wasn’t a crush. He was a fucking beard. You’ve never taken interest in doing anything, becoming something, pursuing a profession. You needed someone to introduce you to the world. Hunter was supposed to be the guy to do it.”
Hunter was the guy, I thought bitterly. Thanks to him, I had Ash, had learned how to push myself forward, to believe in myself, and stood up to Junsu. Because of him, I’d started dressing up and paying attention to what I looked like. Hunter had dragged me out of the house to restaurants and the theater and to meet his friends and family. He made me a part of something bigger than my teeny-tiny life. I couldn’t deny it. And Hunter, like my parents, hated my obsession with what I was doing—my tunnel-visioned quest to the Olympics.
“He is,” I croaked, staring at my hands in my lap now.
Dad looked up at me, surprised.
I cleared my throat. “He is that guy. He changed me, Dad. Maybe not as fast or as thoroughly as you and Mom had hoped, but he did. I’m not the same person I was when we moved in together.”
“Then why the fuck are you still like this?” He peered at me, puzzled. He was such a man.
“Like what?”
“Still…” He motioned in my general direction. “Consumed. Obsessed. You.”
“Because it’s not so black and white. And anyway, we’re not together-together.” I felt my cheeks heating. I couldn’t believe I was talking to my dad about this, of all people. It was like taking dating advice from Dracula. “He is not serious about me,” I admitted, my voice coming out softer than I intended.
“I wasn’t marriage material before your mother made me. Be patient.” He flashed me a rare smile, ruffling my hair. “Now get the fuck out, sweetheart. I have work.”
I chuckled, pushing the passenger door open and getting out with more energy than I’d had for the couple days I spent in New York.
<
br /> “Good luck, baby.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
Bill, the receptionist at the club, informed me that Junsu wanted to see me in his office, but he was running a little late.
“Emergency at home. He’ll be here soon. Just walk right in.” Bill mock-punched my shoulder hello.
I rolled my luggage around his counter. “Thanks. Mind if I leave this here?”
“Be my guest.” He shrugged, getting back to hunching over the desk in front of him, playing solitaire on his laptop.
Walking to Junsu’s office felt daunting, death-row like. I knew he was unhappy with me, and I knew we were growing apart. The familiar hallway felt narrower, the air stuffy. I realized Dad was right. It was time to stop resenting Hunter for his past and give him a fair chance. Maybe after I moved out we’d continue seeing each other. Maybe—just maybe—Hunter said all those things about our arrangement and how it was all temporary for the same reason I reminded myself that we had an expiration date: to keep himself from hurting.
To dare me to defy our six-month plan.
The truth was, for the past few months, there was nowhere I’d rather be than with Hunter Fitzpatrick. He was my home, the little corner in the universe that understood me.
I knocked on Junsu’s door before remembering Bill had said he wasn’t there. Pushing the door open, I took a step in.
Froze.
Sucked in a breath.
My lungs collapsed first, then my smile. One brick at a time. My system shut down, my throat dried up, and my heart…
It skipped a beat…no, two, three beats before it started hammering in my chest violently, desperate to burst out and flap helplessly on the floor, like a fish out of water.
“Jesus Christ!” My throat burned with the scream.
Hunter was sitting in Junsu’s chair, naked. Lana was on top of him, straddling his narrow waist. She was wearing his dress shirt and seemingly nothing underneath. She had her back to me, but there was no mistaking the lush, brunette hair extensions. Her arms were wrapped around his neck possessively, her face buried in his chest.
I wanted to throw up.
Lana spun her head in my direction, her lips curling into a vicious smile that cut through me like a blade. Seeing her up close like this after so much time felt like coming face to face with Echinda—half-woman, half-snake, all poison.
“Oops, was this one yours?” she purred, running a manicured, nude-colored nail across his fine jaw. Hunter swatted her touch away, sobering.
I took a step back. Tentatively.
“Fuck.” He darted up. “Sailor, wait!”
Fuck indeed.
He had his pants on—thank God for small miracles. Lana dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, and he stepped around her like she was dirt on his way to me. I turned around and ran. Not walked—ran. I knew if he got to me, he’d see everything on my face, the ugly, pathetic truth of my feelings for him. The only thing I had left was my pride. He was not getting it.
My heart, maybe, but not my pride.
Hunter chased me, his footsteps ringing off the walls of the hallway. I thought about what they’d done, putting the story behind the horrific scene together. She had his shirt on, which meant she had to have been naked with him at some point. They’d had sex—filthy, intimate, rough sex. When he knew how much I hated her. Bad blood ran between Lana and me like a river, and Hunter had bathed in it. He’d handed her my ass. He’d betrayed me.
“Stop! Just let me explain.” Hunter was at my heels as I burst through the glass door of the club, realizing I didn’t have my car. Frantically, I looked left and right, noticing there were a lot of cars I didn’t recognize in the usually empty parking lot.
Bill got up from his station and ran to the door, but I shook my head. “I can handle this, Bill.”
I didn’t have time to call an Uber. I had to escape by foot, at least until I got rid of Hunter.
“Sailor.” Hunter spun me by my injured shoulder. His touch felt like fire. It burned through me, and I nearly yelped. He was still shirtless.
“Don’t touch me!” I clawed at his skin desperately, managing to leave bloody scratches on his forearm.
He ignored them. “It’s not what it looks like.” He raised his hands in defense.
I heard commotion around us, but nothing registered other than the white-hot anger coursing through my body.
“You’d say that, wouldn’t you, considering I hold your future in my hands.” I started taking the stairs down, but Hunter yanked me back up, bringing me to his chest and enveloping me in a fierce hug. I tried to kick his nuts. He grabbed my knee, pushing it aside, knotting my leg around him. He cupped my face, shielding me from sight, and whispered into my ear, “Don’t look up, baby.”
I looked up disobediently, feeling an ugly, taunting smile mar my face. I wanted to hurt him back. What I saw was close to a dozen photographers—paparazzi, no doubt—taking photos of us. The flashes felt like lashes, each catcall and muffled laugh a beating to my soul.
Click. Click. Click.
Me, heartbroken and distraught.
Click. Click. Click.
Him, half-naked and guilty.
I nearly collapsed with the adrenaline buzzing through me, but Hunter dragged me back into the club and shut the door. The photographers followed him to the threshold, but didn’t get inside.
“Let go of me,” I roared as Hunter hoisted me up by my midriff, my back pressed against his hard chest, and pulled me to the back hallway, kicking and screaming, where they couldn’t see us. I wondered where Lana was, how much pleasure she took from this.
Infinite amounts.
Hunter pinned me to the wall, breathing in my face. His breath smelled like a woman, of a cloying, sweet perfume and hints of watermelon lip gloss. His lips had some glitter residue. My body shook with so much anger, betrayal, and despair, the first thing I did when he released me was slap his cheek with all the force I still had in me. His face flew in the other direction, and he closed his eyes, drawing a calming breath, his nostrils flaring.
“Aingeal dian.”
“Call me that name one more time, and I’ll gouge your eye out with one of my arrows.”
“We’ve been set up. Somebody called the photographers. Somebody wanted them to see me like this. You like that.”
“And of course, you, forever the easy prey where a pretty woman is concerned, rose to the occasion of being seduced,” I exclaimed theatrically, my uncontrolled rage turning into bitter sarcasm. “Poor Hunter Fitzpatrick. So close to his family’s fortune, yet so, so far.”
“I didn’t…” he started, but I pushed him away. He couldn’t deny what I’d just seen with my own eyes.
“Save me the excuses and leave.”
Junsu came running through the corridor, thunder in his eyes.
“Get away from her!” he barked like a rabid dog, shaking his fist in the air. He possessed a vitality I hadn’t seen in him for months. “I kick your ass!”
Hunter lifted his hands, looking between the two of us, his deep breaths contracting his abs into a tight six pack.
“Sailor,” Hunter murmured under his breath. “I have some things I need to tell you, and we need to have this conversation alone.”
“This is the last time I’m going to repeat myself.” I lifted my finger to Hunter. “We’re done forever. Don’t talk to me. Don’t approach me. I’ll talk to your dad about the fine print regarding our…arrangement.” I kept it vague, as if I hadn’t told Junsu all the details. “I’ll send my dad and Sam to pick up my stuff from the apartment.”
With that, I bolted back toward the door, pushing through it with the speed of a bullet. Some of the photographers were still loitering around, smoking and looking at their phones. As soon as I burst out, they picked their cameras up and started chasing me.
I caught sight of Lana standing in the corner of the parking lot, fully dressed in a chic off-shoulder pink sweater, skinny jeans, and riding boots, giving an interv
iew to a sports reporter, addressing the rumors about her and her new beau, Hunter Fitzpatrick.
“It’s still the early days.” She laughed throatily, making a show of flipping her hair. “And as you can see, unfortunately, there’s a lot of interest from unwanted female admirers.”
The reporters burst out laughing, nodding enthusiastically.
Me. I was the admirer. The stalker. The weird idiot who had a public meltdown when she found them. The need to throttle Lana made my fingertips burn.
All because of one mistake. One accident. One tragedy that had linked Lana and me together forever.
I knew Hunter was being escorted out of the club by security under Junsu’s supervision, and that my trainer would understand why I couldn’t stay, so I started running. I put one foot in front of the other until I hit a good pace. My mother was a runner. I’d inherited my lithe, athletic legs from her. Running relatively long distances, even without practice, wasn’t a problem.
It was when the wind hit my face that I realized I was crying. The heat of my tears against my ice-cold cheeks made my face feel numb. My tears flew behind me as I sliced through the air, running faster, toward downtown. I’d make a phone call after I dodged the photographers. First, I had to lose them.
It was only when I was fifteen blocks from the club that I dared peek over my shoulder. The paparazzi were nowhere in sight. They’d already gotten what they were looking for—a scandal they could spin a million different ways and juicy photos that’d get tongues wagging.
I stopped at a traffic light, pressing my hands to my knees, panting. As soon as I regulated my breath, I took my phone out. Ten missed calls from Junsu. Twelve from Mom. Two from Dad. Four between Sam, Emmabelle, and Persy. Thirty-one from Hunter. My battery was dying.
I hit the dial button and called Mom back.
“Hey, Mom, can you pick me up?” I tried to keep my voice as casual as I could, even though I knew she knew something was up. She wouldn’t call me so many times for nothing. Some of the pictures must have had already hit the websites as the news broke.
