Hunter

by Eden Summers

  I ignore the little girl staring up at me and return his grin. His intimidation techniques don’t work on me. They never have. Threats are only successful if you have something to lose, and Torian is well aware I’ve deliberately cut ties with anyone of value. “I told you I’d get in contact once the job was done.”

  “Why does it sound like you’re about to tell me something I don’t want to hear? Do you have what I need or not?”

  “I’m still working on it.”

  His smile increases. Ignorant women would fall to their knees for that playboy charm, but I know the meaning of his expression. I know, and I refuse to give a shit. He leans down, placing his niece on her feet. “Go play with your friends, Stella.”

  “Okay, Unkie Cole.” The girl skips away, her skirt swishing with every bounce.

  He watches her, always smiling, always smug. “How are you still working on it when Dan is dead?”

  “There was someone with him. A woman. I think she could be a lead to—”

  “I didn’t ask for a fucking lead. I asked for a name. One name. It wasn’t a hard task.”

  I clench my teeth and look away in an attempt to control my temper. I’m not a failure. I won’t accept being treated as one. “She beat him.” I lower my voice. “Aren’t you interested to find out why?”

  “I’m only interested in the name. Why would I care about the whore who was with him before he died?”

  “She’s no whore.”

  “That’s not what the detective tells me.”

  My pulse spikes, but I can understand where he’s coming from. I’d assumed the same thing to begin with. “With a body like hers, she’d be stupid to work in a neighborhood well beneath her physical appeal. There has to be more to it than that.”

  She doesn’t need to slum it for money. One look inside her apartment and I could tell she had cash. If she wanted to sell her body, she could easily do it with deep-pocketed men.

  “Why are you wasting my time with assumptions, Hunt? Admit you’ve failed, and we can deal with the consequences.”

  “It’s not an assumption, and I haven’t fucking failed. She tortured him. And she’s on the road tomorrow to meet someone in Seattle. I think she has contacts there.” I drag my gaze back to meet his unfaltering stare. “If she was trying to keep him quiet, don’t you want to know why? Don’t you want to know if there are more players in this?”

  Torian’s eyes narrow. His lips flatten. He stares at me for long moments, scrutinizing, obviously strategizing. “Why do you care?”

  “Money.” That is the only acceptable answer. For me and him. “I’ll get you more valuable information, and you can pay me for the extra work.”

  He laughs, long and hearty, as if I’m a fucking comedian. “Now that makes more sense. You’ve always been a money-hungry bastard.” He inches forward to place his hand on my shoulder and guide me toward the front door. “And I appreciate you thinking outside the box. But do I need to reiterate how tired I am of waiting for a resolution on this?”

  “It won’t be much longer.” I have no foundation for my promise. I’ll just have to make it work. I’ll have to move faster.

  “Maybe you need help.”

  “No.” I plant my feet and glare. “You gave this job to me, and I work alone.”

  “Really?” He taunts me with a smirk. “Does Decker know that?”

  Decker is different. He helps from the outside. I never rely on him; I only ever lean. “Speaking of,” I growl, “he’s off-limits. You call him again, and we’ll have a problem.”

  He laughs, but this time the facade cracks. The sound is sinister. Angered. “I wanted answers, and you wouldn’t return my calls.”

  “Well, you have your answers now, so back off.”

  He squeezes my shoulder, the touch another threat. “I have nothing but your assurances, which mean little to me. In fact, I think I need to insist on someone else assisting you. I’ll send Carlos to tag along.”

  I snap my gaze to those kids laughing and playing. I stare. I glare. I make sure they’re at the front of my mind so I don’t lose my shit. “You put a tail on me, and whoever it is will wind up face down in a dumpster.”

  A threat for a threat.

  Torian chuckles and releases his hold, raising his hands in an act of surrender no sane person would believe. “Okay. Okay. I get it. You’re invested in seeing this through. I can appreciate that.”

  “Thanks,” I snarl.

  We have worked together for years. We have been through more than most family members endure. But I have no doubt this man would cut ties in the blink of an eye. He also knows I’ll do the same if pushed.

  “I’ll call you when I’m done.” I stride ahead, a cautious throb tickling the back of my neck. I need to be finished with this job. I need to be done with it. With her.

  “Hunt,” Torian calls over the sound of celebrating children.

  I stall, the cautious throb now taking over my limbs as I turn. “Yeah?”

  “You’ve got forty-eight hours.”

  10

  Her

  I take Brent’s car and head out of Portland before day breaks.

  It’s an easy drive tainted by the itch of paranoia. I stalk my rear-view mirror and pull over numerous times to make sure I’m not surrounded by the same cars. I also drive below the speed limit in an attempt to stay off the radar of any highway patrols.

  Once I reach the outskirts of Seattle, I start to relax, and autopilot kicks in. I don’t think about where I’m going until I’m in a familiar neighborhood, passing memories with each block.

  Nostalgia tickles my senses as I slow through my old stomping ground. My elementary school looks the same, the brick building barely having aged over time. There’s the track field I ran on. The mall I used to hang out at with my friends. My kindergarten teacher’s house.

  They all seem the same, and for a moment I feel the same, too.

  The past engulfs me, returning me to another life where I was a different person. Back to the days when my only concerns were good grades and which party I would go to on the weekend.

  I continue through traffic lights and streets, not stopping until I’m staring up at the thick metal gates which block my view from the prestigious property my family used to own.

  It isn’t the same vertical wrought-iron design my father installed. They’ve been replaced with horizontal ivory slats that attempt to cut me off from my childhood, but I still remember.

  I can’t forget how my sister told me to climb the property wall if I ever wanted to sneak out at night. I remember the smell of wisteria that lingered in the breeze every spring. I remember how my brother would run down the hall early each morning, waking me up with his enthusiasm to start the day.

  I remember it all as if it were yesterday, even when it sometimes feels like a conjured fantasy. I want to get out and touch those walls that once encased a wealth of happiness, to peek into a yard which created laughter. But I can’t.

  I need to be careful. I won’t risk being seen by people from my past. Not when they could drag my focus away from my goals with greater efficiency than Hunter already has.

  I’ve started craving comfort again. Even the slightest human interaction. After a few brief encounters with a man I barely know, I’ve become foolishly charmed by the possibility of more.

  Disconnecting from extended family has always been my hardest task. I’ve broken ties with anyone who previously took care of me. The aunts and uncles. The cousins and friends.

  Leaving them behind was necessary for focus. I couldn’t second-guess my end-game or the steps it would take to get there. I've become strong and determined with the sterility. I have no distractions.

  The only things that matter are my parents and siblings, and the building fire they created inside me. They stoked the flames of retribution. That is why I am here. I need them to remind me of the promise I made ten years ago.

  Them and only them.

  I start the engine and c
ontinue along the road, passing the place where I fell off my bike and broke my arm, and the corner where I had my first kiss. After a quick detour for cheap takeout, I drive to the next suburb, toward the people I cherish most and love even more.

  As I approach, remorse mixes with the digesting hamburger and fries now seated in my stomach. I’ve neglected my family for too long, and there’s no excuse.

  I approach another set of gates, these not quite as ostentatious as the last. They don’t fit my mother’s demand for flamboyance, or my father’s appreciation for security. But the rich grass is immaculate, and I know Mom would love the scent of approaching rain in the air.

  I pull over and climb out to face the devastating reunion. I keep my head low and try to ignore the uncomfortable scratching sensation at the back of my neck as I pass the first row of graves, then another, and another. I stop when I reach the seventh, and that hamburger threatens to make a comeback at the sight of the four identically shaped headstones standing before me, each with different text.

  Stanley Carmichael. Emma Carmichael. Stephanie Carmichael. Thomas Carmichael.

  I raise my chin, paste on a smile, and pretend I’ve got this.

  “Hey, Mom. Dad.” I scan the cemetery to make sure I don’t have an audience to my one-sided conversation. Apart from a gray-haired woman yards and yards away, I’m alone. Like usual. I should be used to that by now.

  “Sis. Baby Tom.” My younger brother hated that nickname. He didn’t like being seen as little or small. I’d only taunt him because it gave us the opportunity to tussle.

  God, I miss tussling with him.

  I kneel before them, my heart so heavy each beat feels certain to be my last. This is where I belong. Well, not exactly here. A few feet to the left, in the reserved space beside my brother. “I fucked up.”

  I swallow as a whisper of a chastisement brushes my mind. I hear their words, their voices, or maybe it’s the approach of psychosis. I guess I’ll find out sooner or later.

  “I messed up bigtime.” I stretch out along the grass and turn onto my back. I lie between them, my mom to my left, my dad to my right, as I blink up at the heavy clouds and let the chill of the ground seep through my coat. “I killed someone in my search to find Jacob.”

  Silence presses down on me, blanketing me in loneliness. It becomes hard to think. To breathe. To live. “I took his life, and now I know it’s a race against time before karma catches up with me.”

  More whispered words fill my mind. Words of comfort and support. I have to believe it’s them. I need to convince myself they’re here, listening.

  “The funeral is tomorrow.” Dan will be laid to rest. His family will crumple, his friends will sob, and I have to accept the guilt.

  My heart freezes beneath tightening ribs. I glance over my shoulder to my family, who have been reduced to stones amongst lush grass, and swallow through overwhelming dread. “I’ve become Jacob. I’ve done exactly what he did. And I don’t know how to forgive myself.”

  Silence.

  There are no comforting messages this time. I can’t hear them. I can’t feel them.

  The bitter cold of loneliness digs deeper, and I curl into the fetal position, letting the frigidity take over. My stomach tumbles. Roll after roll of building self-loathing.

  This is what I need to focus. I can’t forget what I’m fighting for, what my goal is.

  I close my eyes and focus on the image of Jacob in my mind. Young, blond, athletic.

  I’d give anything to make him suffer. To restrain him the same way he did my family, and set his house on fire. I’d watch those flames melt his skin, and I wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse. I’d hear his screams, and I would smile. And he would scream. I know he would, just like I know my family did as they burned to death.

  Bile launches up my throat.

  I can’t go back there. Not that far. It’s too hard to leave.

  I squeeze my lids tight and focus on relaxing. I have to calm myself. Think positive thoughts. I picture each muscle, one at a time, willing them to loosen. Toes. Calves. Thighs.

  This is why I rarely return to Seattle. It took all my energy to commit to the future and not dwell in the torment of my past. Years dragged before I could break the habit of spending days in bed, cuddling my pillow as I sobbed with the need to wake up from this nightmare.

  Relax. Hips. Stomach. Chest.

  But I’d been so naive with Jacob. Entirely innocent. We’d been together for months. The perfect power couple—the jock and the loved socialite. I’d selfishly enjoyed the additional attention, not only from a dedicated boyfriend, but from my classmates who all decided they wanted to be me.

  They didn’t notice the changes in him like I did. They didn’t see how his devotion turned into obsession. They didn’t acknowledge his growing aggression.

  Then again, even I found it hard to come to terms with him being capable of his horrific end game. And the actions of his wealthy parents who helped him escape police custody. I’m one-hundred percent certain his entire extended family assisted in the efforts to hide him from his punishment for all these years. That’s why I won’t feel shame or guilt at wanting him dead. He deserves it, and his family deserves to mourn the loss.

  Fuck, woman, concentrate. Arms. Face. Mind.

  My head becomes heavy, tempting me with sleep. Or maybe dragging me into approaching nightmares.

  I never would’ve thought one simple, careless deception could cause such devastation. That a few simple words could be the difference between life and death.

  I can’t go to the party with you, Jacob. I have plans with my family.

  I can taste the lie in my mouth, can feel it curl and twist around my tongue. I want to break up with him. I just don’t know how. So, instead of going to that party, I walk to my best friend’s house in the hope we can figure it out together.

  I ignore his ten phone calls. I pretend he doesn’t exist. But he ensures I’ll never forget him.

  The sound of wailing sirens follows me on the stroll home. Smoke billows in the distance. By the time I reach the bottom of my street I’m running, sprinting toward the bent and battered gates at the front of my property.

  I search the yard, looking past fire engines and firemen in an attempt to find my parents and siblings. It’s Friday night. My father always leaves work early. Stephanie is grounded for sneaking out to see her boyfriend. And my mom and Thomas are inseparable.

  They’re all home. But there’s nothing to worry about because we have smoke alarms. Dad pays the alarm company to check them every spring. They would’ve gotten out. I’ll find them around here somewhere. Maybe even in the back yard.

  They’ve already located four bodies restrained in one of the downstairs rooms.

  My heart lurches at the murmured words. I don’t even know who they come from. The statement is just there, ringing in my ears, tearing at my soul.

  No. I run for the front door, heat licking my skin, only to be dragged back. I scream. I sob. I crumple.

  Don’t be in there. Please, God, don’t let them be in there.

  I’m hauled onto the grass where some nameless, faceless woman yaps at me until I’m catatonic. It will be okay. You’re not alone. Do you want me to call a friend? A relative? Are you cold? Hungry?

  I remain still. Frozen in stone. I can already feel it—the isolating detachment, the brutal desolation.

  I watch, in a daze as men rush around me, attempting to put out a blaze that burns my world to the ground. The fire crackles. Windows shatter. The sight before me doesn’t make sense, not even the sense of overwhelming loss.

  It’s going to be okay, princess.

  The familiar tone eats up my sorrow, and I snap my gaze to the left to find Hunter seated beside me. He’s dressed in fireman’s clothes. His face is smudged with soot. His skin is beaded with sweat.

  Relief overwhelms me. There’s no rhyme or reason. Not when hell has erupted around me.

  What are you doing here?

>   I frown as he gives me that look of his. The one built of power, intent, and determination. I feel strengthened from the sight of him, from his mere presence. All I want to do is sit on his lap and curl into his arms like a child. To be protected and cared for. But I’ll never be foolish enough to act on my desires. I’m already weak enough. The only way to grow strong is to detach myself from anything of value.

  No car, no house, and definitely no loved ones.

  Hunter, why are you here?

  I repeat myself, over and over, as he sits there in silence. There’s no more burning building. No dying family. The flames dwindle. The devastation evaporates. Everything fades. There’s only him. Only me. Only faith and building assurance.

  He leans close, his knee brushing mine. He reaches out a hand, his fingertips skimming my cheek. The zing that always accompanies his touch pummels my insides. I can breathe again. I can smile.

  Tell me, I whisper. Tell me why you’re here.

  He smiles, sad but sure, those hazel eyes filling with promise and conviction.

  I’m here because that’s where you need me to be.

  11

  Him

  I crouch behind the headstone four rows back and listen to her mumble in her sleep. She’s been lying on those graves for more than an hour, dead to the world. No pun intended.

  My phone vibrates from the grass beside my thigh, the screen alighting with a notification from the walkie-talkie app. I shove my wireless earpiece back into place and click the button to make Decker’s responses play automatically on arrival.

  “Hunt, now I understand why you’re so into her. She’s morbid as fuck.”

  Prick.

  From first thing this morning, this so-called friend has been a pain in my ass. He’s commented on her tight jeans and the coat that apparently starves his view of her tits. He’s criticized her driving, her mental stability, and her judgment for sleeping with me.