by RC Boldt
“I’ve been biding my time, knowing I couldn’t afford to let my past or my emotions override what I need to do. That I need to methodically and carefully plan.” I hold her gaze. “Until this job fell into my lap.”
“And they asked you to find out who was responsible for the hits,” she supplies.
“Yeah.” I study her. “I really thought you were just another lion trying to roust the king and take over as leader.”
Her lips flatten into a grim expression. “No. I just want revenge on the assholes who stole everything from me.” Anger blazes in her eyes. “I want them to die just like my family did.”
“Then we’ll make sure that happens.”
46
Kate
Over a week and a half later
In the days following our talk, there’s been a shift in how Hunter acts around me. Sure, he still walks so stealthily that I often don’t realize he’s near until he suddenly materializes in front of me or is there when I turn around, but there’s been a noticeable change in the way he treats me.
I’ve caught him watching me while I do my usual sit-ups as I ignored his disgruntled glare and muttered complaints that I’m pushing my body too soon. I know he likely saw through the way I attempted to school my features and power through the slight protest my bruises and shoulder made.
It’s what I overheard this morning, during the god-awful four a.m. time he normally leaves to go running. Through the cracked bedroom door, his voice was muted as he spoke to Kujo.
“You’ll run with her at night, okay?” Kujo let out a little grunt, and I found myself wondering once again just how much that dog understands. He seems so intelligent, possessing more of a keen awareness than the average canine. “Good boy. ’Cause we gotta look out for our g—”
Hunter broke off abruptly, but it was too late. There’s nothing that could possibly erase it from my memory.
“’Cause we gotta look out for our girl.” My heart twisted while a torrent of yearning engulfed me, because it’s been forever since I was someone’s girl. Since another person sought to protect me.
My defenses have begun to crumble because of this man. I never thought I would feel this way again, that I could feel anything after I lost them. But Hunter is doing what I’d deemed impossible; he’s nourishing a part of me I thought was dead.
I ache to cling to this feeling with sudden desperation because deep within the recesses of my brain, within my soul, I recognize the uniqueness of this situation—of our worlds colliding.
A thread of hope unfurls inside me, and as tenuous as it feels, I can’t ignore it.
When night falls, and I prepare for my usual late-night run, Hunter’s eyes track my movements as I tug on the black baggy hooded sweatshirt.
“If you’re hell-bent on running”—he breaks off, a severe scowl marring his handsome features—“even though I still think you should take it easy, you need to take Kujo with you.”
“Fine.” That’s all I say because, honestly, a hidden part of me relishes in how he’s trying to protect me and still grant me what I want. That he understands I can’t just sit around, especially not with an attack on the Dixie Mafia on the horizon.
The discovery of Hunter’s protective streak has warmth blooming in my chest. After we revealed our horrors to one another, it unlocked a fierce longing that had been trapped inside me. I can’t deny the intense connection I feel with him—far more than anything I felt with Deacon.
Maybe the universe is finally telling me that this is okay, that I deserve to experience a deep connection with someone who’s endured horrors most others could never fathom.
Hunter rakes a hand over his shaved head, appearing agitated, like he’s worried something might happen to me. An overwhelming desire to soothe his concern bombards me, prompting me to say, “I’ll be fine.” My eyes drift down at Kujo, with his tail wagging excitedly, before returning to meet Hunter’s dark gaze. “He’ll take good care of me, I’m sure.”
His lips mash together as if it’s taking considerable strength to hold back whatever he wants to say. I’ve been dying for his touch, even something so minuscule as a brush of his fingertips against mine. But he hasn’t, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe he doesn’t see me in that way anymore. Perhaps now that he knows who I am and what I’ve been doing, the attraction’s no longer there.
At the thought of that being the case, a part of me wilts inside, but I stifle it.
“What?” The deep rumble of his voice has me stiffening, and I frown in question. His gaze is intense, scrutinizing as he studies me. “What was that look for?”
Panic leeches through me. “What look?” I ask cautiously.
“You looked disappointed about something.”
Shit. I avert my eyes, glancing at the time on my watch. “I need to get going—”
“Tell me.” It’s a demand, and not unusual coming from this man, but the way his voice turns husky, with what almost sounds like an odd combination of eagerness and worry, has me muttering, The hell with it.
I attempt a noncommittal tone and hope like hell I succeed. “I was just…thinking about you not being interested in me anymore. Now that everything’s”—I gesture vaguely between us—“out.”
Silence hangs between us, and it’s so damn awkward and thick that I nearly choke on it. Turning abruptly, I rush out with, “See you in a bit.”
Forcing myself to stride in calm, even steps to the door, I scold myself for my stupidity. For making things awkward. He’s been staying here, so intent on ensuring I’m healing properly, but I’m sure he’ll have his stuff packed and ready to go once I return with Kujo.
Goddamn, the idea of being in this house without the two of them has my stomach lurching. Because whether I want to admit it or not, I’ll miss them.
I’ll miss Hunter’s grunts of disapproval when I go through my usual calisthenics when he gives me a scolding glare about my night owl tendencies. How he makes my instant oatmeal with the exact amount of water I prefer and how he insists on reapplying KT Tape to my bruises, which has, much to my surprise, helped a great deal.
I’ll miss the way he’s so careful in sharing the only bed in the house with me, not wanting to accidentally nudge me in a way that might cause me discomfort. Or that he somehow detected that a few strips of the red bell peppers he normally slices for a snack had gone missing two days in a row after I had snagged them for myself, so now he slices two whole peppers and places them in one bowl, and we both pretend not to notice when I steal a few.
Mostly, it’s when I’m caught in the throes of a nightmare, sweat chilling my body as I’m forced to witness Willow’s body lying in a pool of blood, that he draws me close and wraps me in the warmth of his arms. I’ll miss him holding me tight with the steady thump of his beating heart beneath my cheek.
I wonder if he simply feels protective of me. Perhaps, in a roundabout way, he’s trying to take care of me, vowing to keep me safe because he wasn’t able to save his fiancée.
As soon as my hand touches the doorknob, I hear him mutter an expletive under his breath before his guttural voice says, “Stop.”
Freezing with the cool metal of the doorknob beneath my palm, I don’t dare turn while he stalks toward me with near soundless steps. Even when I feel the heat radiating from his body behind me, I remain silent, waiting.
“You think I’m not interested in you?” Voice a scratchy rasp, his words sound like they’re being ripped from his throat without his permission. “That I haven’t been fucking dying to touch you?”
His arm bands around my waist, bringing my back flush against his front, and ohhh. It’s safe to say a certain part of him definitely wants me. The steely length beneath his pants incites a fierce ache between my thighs. He brings his mouth to my ear, grazing the sensitive flesh, and his hot breath elicits goose bumps.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” His lips dust along my skin with each word. “I need you to heal.” He releases his hold on me and backs aw
ay. “Go run. Be safe.”
Sucking in a much-needed breath, I tug open the door and pull it shut behind Kujo and me. It’s a struggle to force myself to get some miles in and use the run as much-needed time for introspection and brainstorming.
Because nearly every molecule of my body is urging me to rush back and hurl myself at Hunter.
47
Hunter
“Absolutely not!” My words are forced from between clenched teeth.
Kate fixes me with a dark glare that would have the average man quaking in his boots. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”
I bite back the cluster of expletives hovering on the tip of my tongue and pinch the bridge of my nose. Fuck. This is exactly why I work alone. Why I do everything alone.
“Same. Here.” Her words are clipped and cold, alerting me to the fact that I voiced my thoughts.
“You’re not completely healed yet, goddammit!” I wave a hand, gesturing to encompass her body. “Your shoulder still needs probably another week yet.” As I step closer, our eyes clash. “And don’t tell me your ribs are fine.” Agitated as hell, I scrub a hand over my shaved head.
When she returned from her run looking flushed and beautiful, I’d wrestled against the urge to press her back against that damn door and taste her lips. My dick went from zero to one hundred in three seconds flat at the idea.
Then she opened her mouth and told me her plans for the hit, and my cock had nearly shriveled at the thought of her putting herself in danger once again.
“I’m fine.” Her voice holds a hard edge.
“The hell you are!” Anger floods me like a torrential downpour. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Her face turns stormy, voice enraged as it increases several decibels. “That’s the fucking point! Once this is done, that’s it! I’m done for. There’s no point in anything else. It’s not like I can start a new life—like I even want to!
“My family’s dead, Hunter! I have nothing left!” Her voice breaks, and I watch as she seems to wither before my eyes. “What’s the point of living without them?” She stares down at her hands. “Without holding my daughter’s hand ever again. Or hugging her tight.”
When she raises her eyes to mine, they’re glassy as tears threaten to spill over. “I’ll never get to hear her tell me she loves me.”
I cup her face gently, willing her to listen to me. “They’re dead, Kate, but you’re not. Don’t you get it? You can still move on after this.”
Light brown eyes, free of the disguise of her colored contacts at my earlier request, search mine. “With who?”
Every molecule of my being begs me to say, With me. But I don’t. I can’t because I’m too entrenched in this life.
But she’s not. She still has a chance to start fresh after this.
I rest my forehead to hers and close my eyes, fighting against the rush of emotion and the way I’m hyperaware of everything about her. How much I’m dying to kiss her again. That my lips crave to trace that tattoo running along the side of her neck and shoulder.
That I simply crave her.
“You need to heal first.” My hoarse whisper is more of a plea than a command, which is a first for me.
Her stubbornness never ends, rivaling my own. “I’m healed enough.”
Slowly, I raise my head and lean back, waiting for those brown eyes to lift to mine. “Then prove it.”
I don’t give her any warning when I strike with an uppercut, but she deflects it and turns, driving her elbow toward the center of my chest. We spar and grapple, but I’m still careful not to hit her healing shoulder.
She’s a goddamn sight to see right now, her ponytail flinging with each movement, her sleek body encased in running pants that are shapeless but can’t disguise that ass I’m aching to get my hands on once again. Her simple sports bra beneath a sweatshirt pisses me off because they cover what I want to see more of.
I advance, and she’s quick, but not as fast as she needs to be. Especially if she plans to take out the motherfucking Dixie Mafia boss and second-in-command.
When I surprise her by pinning her against the wall, I gentle my touch. “You give up?” Our faces are barely an inch apart. Judging by the way her chest heaves and her lack of wincing or pain lacing her features, I take it as a good sign that her ribs really are better.
She glares stubbornly at me. “No.”
Pressing closer, I dip my head to dust my lips across the smooth skin of her cheek, reveling in her sharp intake of breath. “Sure about that?”
I have no fucking right to do this. We haven’t actually talked about what happened at my place, but it’s never strayed from the forefront of my mind. All I know is, touching her in even the most minimal way has me feeling how I imagine a junkie feels when they take a hit.
I’ve held her hand, smoothed back her hair, and changed the bandage on her shoulder, but nothing more. She’s been recovering, and I’m not about to force myself on her.
My dick hardens so much I fear it’ll soon show the imprint of my zipper. She widens her stance, spreading her legs, encouraging me to press against her. Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of my pants, and she tugs me even closer.
She turns her head, her lips grazing my jawline. “Touch me, Hunter.” When she tacks on a whispered, “Please,” I can’t restrain a groan. Kate nips at my jaw, and my hips reflexively rock against her.
“I’ve been wishing you’d touch me.” Her voice sounds small, and I fucking hate the hesitance in it as if she’s not sure if I want to.
“You’ve been healing.” I speak against her skin, planting light kisses along the side of her neck. When I tug aside the collar of her sweatshirt to dart my tongue out to taste the edge of her tattoo, her fingers tighten their grip on my waistband, and she arches into my touch.
She hisses, “Don’t hold back,” before nipping at my jaw.
“I don’t want to hurt—” She catches me off guard, pushing against me to switch our positions, and presses my back against the wall. Her mouth fuses to mine, and a groan rumbles from deep within me at the contact. I’m a starving man, devouring her, unable to get enough.
This isn’t just a kiss. It’s the dangerous kind that ruins a person. One that devastates. One that has my heart clanging around in the center of my chest, like it’s desperate to get my attention and tell me something.
Kate presses her body to mine as if she can’t get close enough, and the contact sends a shudder rippling through me. I palm the back of her head and settle my other hand over her ass, urging her to rock against me.
Grabbing a fistful of my shirt, she roughly untucks it, then dives beneath the fabric and skims my abs with her palms. My stomach muscles contract at her touch, and when she abruptly breaks the kiss and backs away, I’d be lying through my goddamn teeth if I said I didn’t lean toward her, chasing what my body wants with every last breath.
Her eyes glow with heat as they trail down my body, lingering at my crotch, where I’m rocking a massive hard-on.
She backs away toward her bedroom, eyes never leaving mine. A faint blush blooms along her cheekbones as if she’s wrestling with nervousness.
Throat growing painfully tight, my brain tells me to memorize this moment. To ingrain the image of the time a woman with countless battle scars, both visible and invisible, opened up to someone like me.
A man who’s nothing more than a killer.
My voice is raspy when I command, “Go shower.” Holding her gaze, I add softly, “I’ll be waiting for you.”
48
Kate
Hunter holds on to far more self-control than I ever could.
Freshly showered with the towel wrapped around me and my damp, combed hair spilling down my back, I stop at the bedroom doorway to study Hunter. He’s seated at the table, concentrating on the laptop in front of him with earbuds in place as he monitors whatever chatter the voice-activated bugs I planted might have detected. Plagued with deep creases between his brows, he
peers at the laptop screen.
Padding over to the dresser, I grasp the handle of the top drawer and slide it open to retrieve a pair of underwear. Before I can pluck a pair of panties, Hunter suddenly emerges in the bedroom doorway.
I barely resist the urge to fidget as his eyes rake down my face. His gaze lingers briefly on my healing shoulder, then sweeps over my tattoo before he steps toward me. Each subsequent stride sends a shot of adrenaline rocketing through me, and my breath lodges in my chest in anticipation.
Reaching past me, he pushes the drawer closed before dropping his hands to my waist. He guides me backward, but when the back of my knees hit the bed, I freeze, suddenly plagued with uncertainty.
It might be stupid, but this is vastly different than before. Now, he knows who I am. He knows what made me this way. That I’m no longer just a random woman he met in a bar—one who doesn’t have a past riddled with death and deceit.
Not only that, but I see him differently now, too. He’s no longer such an intensely dangerous, intriguing stranger. Like me, he’s experienced the life-altering pain that loss and betrayal so barbarously delivered.
Hunter cradles my jaw, the pads of his calloused fingers grazing my skin in a way that sends delicious shivers skittering through me. Eyes flashing with something I can’t quite decipher, his gaze holds me captive as he lowers his mouth to capture mine. The kiss is both devastatingly hot and tender, further ensnaring me in a tenuous web of desire, and I clutch at his shirt, fisting the material as I arch into him.
I dart my tongue against his lips, begging for him to deepen the kiss, and he acquiesces. As our tongues meet, a bolt of lust ricochets through my body, triggering a surge of wetness between my thighs. With a frenzy of need, I tug at his shirt, shoving it up to get my hands on his bare skin. He shifts, breaking the kiss to reach back and grip the back of his collar, hastily ripping it over his head.
