Hunter

by Eden Summers

  “Fancy seeing you here.” She pats us both on the arm. “Small world, right?”

  Decker clears his throat and glances to me for guidance.

  I have nothing. No direction. No response. Only dread.

  “You all know each other.” Her statement is calm and collected, belying the furious warrior I see flash in her eyes.

  “Yes, sweetheart, we do.” Torian reaches out a hand. “I’m sorry, I haven’t had the pleasure of an introduction.”

  “I’m Steph.” She raises her hand for him to shake and uses the other to lower her glasses into place.

  “Steph,” he repeats, letting her name linger between us like a warning. “I’m Cole, but call me Torian. It’s lovely to meet you.” He grasps her hand and looks at me as he brings her knuckles to his lips. “How do you know Decker and my Hunter?”

  My Hunter.

  He’s digging my hole deeper, burying me.

  “Oh, we go way back.” She releases his hand and places it against her bag. “Don’t we, Hunter?”

  Torian glances between us, back and forth, putting puzzle pieces together.

  “Yeah, I guess we do,” I growl.

  “We met when he came into town to look after his sister and nephew.” She looks at me, and I can imagine those eyes glaring from behind her glasses.

  She’s pissed. Really pissed. And I could strangle her for it.

  “Your sister?” Torian raises a brow. “All this time and I didn’t know you had family in Portland.”

  She nods. “Oh, he definitely does. And he’s very protective. Big and macho and mean. But…” She raises a cautionary finger. “He’s not a violent man. Isn’t that right, princess?”

  Okay, now she’s being downright derisive.

  Torian breaks out in laughter, long and loud, not giving any respect to the people behind him who have just buried a loved one. “I like this woman. I really do.” His gaze snaps to me. “I understand now.”

  No, he doesn’t. He can’t. Not when I struggle to understand it myself.

  “Understand what?” She leans into me, shoulder to shoulder, all chummy and shit.

  Torian continues to chuckle, making me well aware I’ve played right into his hand. “Hunter has been distracted lately. Now I understand the cause. You should’ve told me it was your family.”

  “Yep. Nothing but family,” she drawls.

  I dig my fingers into my palm, forcing down my anger while I try to determine if she’s truly dim-witted or just has a death wish.

  “Well, I better not waste any more of your time.” She places her hand on my back, my gun. The touch is a message. A clear warning. “I’ll leave you boys to your conversation.”

  I nod, one quick jerk of fucked up acknowledgement.

  I want to grab her, keep her at my side, and never let her go. But she walks away, leaving me with a friend who looks as if he’s having a heart attack and a man I’m beginning to want to see six feet under.

  “She’s a spitfire,” Torian muses.

  “Stay away from her.” I keep my gaze trained on her until she stops at my car and opens the passenger door. “You’re not going to touch her.”

  A dark brow raises over the frame of his sunglasses. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. That’s so. As far as you’re concerned, she’s off-limits. I’m sorting this out.”

  His humor finally fades. “We had an agreement, Hunter. One you didn’t fulfil.”

  “I still have a few more hours.”

  He inclines his head. “You’re right.” He flicks out his arm to check his watch. “But let’s agree that once your time is up, she’ll no longer be yours. She’ll be mine.”

  I keep my mouth shut. I have to. I’m smart enough to know more threats won’t work, and I can’t find the composure to say anything else right now.

  “I’m off to see the senator.” Torian smirks in farewell. “We’ll speak later.”

  I remain silent as he walks toward Dan’s family, between the white outdoor chairs to the other side of the burial site.

  “You should have called me,” Decker mutters. “Now you’re fucked.”

  “Thanks for the insight, asshole.” I start walking backward, needing to get to Steph. “Why the fuck are you even here?”

  “If you checked your phone, you’d know. I called over fifteen times.”

  “I left it in the car while—”

  “—while you were fucking balls-deep in her snatch.”

  I clench my teeth, unable to deny the truth.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” He raises his voice with the building distance between us. “Jesus Christ, Hunt. Fucking call me.”

  There he goes again, trying to make my name sound like cunt. “I will. As soon as I’m done with her.”

  I turn and stride toward Steph when all I want to do is run to her.

  She’s seated in the passenger seat, watching, waiting. She has to know what’s coming isn’t going to be pretty. The next instalment of this shit show is going to be epic, and she has front-row seats.

  I reach the car, open the driver’s door, and sink behind the wheel.

  I don’t look at her. I don’t mention our fucked up situation. I don’t say a word—not about the men I’m sure she’s curious about, and not about the silenced gun she has in her hand, pointed in my direction.

  15

  Her

  I’m fucked.

  And not only am I fucked, I’m a goddamn idiot for thinking this Decker guy from the highway could be a cop when it now seems clear his intent was much more sinister.

  My hunter, Torian had said.

  He made it sound like a description, not a name, which made my blood run cold with possibilities. It hadn’t been a slip of the tongue. His focus had been trained on me, waiting for a reaction. And he’d gotten one—a heart-palpitating, soul-screaming one I hope I was able to hide.

  Hunter slides into the car, starts the engine, and doesn’t acknowledge the weapon in my hand as he veers onto the narrow road and drives from the cemetery.

  He’s not daunted by the threat. He’s probably used to it.

  The detachment only increases the chill sinking into my bones, freezing every inch of me. In a perfect world, this would be the part where he divulged all his lies and begged for my forgiveness. But my world isn’t perfect.

  There is no knight in shining armor here.

  I have to save myself.

  He drives through the busy streets and onto the highway with neither of us breaking the silence. The voices in my head are already too deafening.

  This is bad. This is so horribly, terribly bad, and I don’t know how to make it stop. How could I have missed so much? I’ve probably missed everything. All the signs. All the clues.

  He pulls onto an off-ramp, and I tap my heel against the floor, unable to hide my panic. The time for pretending I have this under control is gone. “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere we can talk.” He continues into a rural area, his eyes trained on the road.

  I glance around, to the diminishing houses and lack of cars. There are miles and miles of nothing but trees and long grass. Not one witness in sight. “Pull over.”

  “In a minute. It’s not much farther.”

  My hand trembles as I raise the gun and place the barrel against his temple. “Pull. Over.”

  His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I can’t tear my gaze away from the palpable fury evident in his tight jaw and the rapid pulse in his neck. I’d known he was dangerous, and still I’d ignored the threat. My intuition escaped me, and I was left vulnerable to his manipulative charms.

  Not anymore.

  I press the gun harder and brace for him to snap. I’ll pull the trigger if I have to. I have no choice. He’d said it himself—only dangerous people would be at Dan’s funeral.

  The car slows and veers onto the shoulder, the tires crunching under gravel. We stop. But it’s not just the forward momentum. I cease breathing. Thinking. There’s only white
noise and the monotonous reminder of my mistakes.

  “Get out.” I withdraw the gun and point it at his chest, bracing for any sudden movement.

  “You’re not going to shoot me.”

  I laugh, and my stomach drops at how wrong he is. I won’t stop fighting now. I won’t let my heart mess with my objectives.

  “Out,” I snarl.

  He glances at me, his eyes bleak with concern, one brow raised in condescension. A conflicting expression. Two warring emotions, despair, and disdain.

  I have to focus on truth and not let the lies sway me. This man holds no concern. Not for me. Not for my life. And certainly not for the vendetta I have to achieve.

  I divert the barrel to the right, one inch, maybe two, then squeeze the trigger.

  Noise explodes around me, the burst of audible violence filling the confined space even with the silencer firmly affixed to the barrel.

  Glass shatters his window and he jerks away, his eyes wide, wild, and threatening. The condescending brow disappears. His lips move, but I can’t hear him. I can’t hear anything apart from the deafening ring in my ears.

  “Out.” I hide my building hysteria behind a curl of my lip and open my door, the barrel now trained back on his chest.

  His jaw ticks, all that rough stubble shifting while wisps of hair frame his eyes in an untamed mess.

  He’s still gorgeous. Brilliantly so. But I see through it now. I’m beginning to understand my self-sabotage and how far I’ve fallen.

  He turns to get out, and I take the opportunity to pull the gun from the back of his jeans and throw it at my feet. He doesn’t flinch, just slides from the seat, and closes the door behind him.

  I follow on my side, round the hood, and fight the need to massage my aching temples.

  He shoves a finger in his ear, wiggles it, then does the same to the other. “You’re fucking crazy, do you know that?”

  “Thanks for noticing.” But he’s wrong. I no longer feel crazy with my energetic lust for revenge. I’m hollow. The emptiness is irreparable.

  “Oh, I fucking noticed, all right. And no doubt I’ll have the friendly reminder for the rest of my life in the form of damaged goddamn hearing.” He stretches his jaw, working it from side to side. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  I want to laugh, to ridicule the concept that anything at all will happen between us ever again. Not sex. Not betrayal. Not backstabbing. But he’ll learn that soon enough.

  “Who are you?” I demand.

  He straightens, growing taller as his lips press tight and his chin lifts. He tries to stare me down, and I don’t understand how he can look at me like that. Without remorse or regret.

  My throat constricts, growing tighter and tighter. Maybe his silence is a sign of guilt. But it’s not enough. I need more. I need something. He played me. Humiliated me. Betrayed me. All the while seducing me with his strength and confidence.

  “Start talking.” I almost scream the words, and still he doesn’t answer. “Otherwise, we do this the hard way.” I lower the barrel, aim at his feet, and squeeze.

  Bang.

  He doesn’t shift as dirt dances at his toes. Not a jump or a flinch. He’s not scared of me. Not scared of guns or bullets or death.

  “Goddamn it. Tell me who you are.” I raise the gun and storm toward him, aiming at his chest.

  Still, he doesn’t cringe, or cower, or recoil. He doesn’t do anything. Not a damn thing, and it’s killing me. Voices scream in my head, demanding answers, demanding punishment. I need him to react to what he’s done. I need an acknowledgement of the devastation eating me from the inside out.

  “Tell. Me—”

  He lunges, grabs the silencer, and yanks down with a hard twist. I had a split second to pull the trigger, but I didn’t.

  I fucking didn’t.

  I squeal as my hand follows the movement, bending awkwardly. My fingers lose grip, and the weapon is wrenched from my hand. From powerful to powerless in the space of a heartbeat. In the blink of those menacing hazel eyes.

  I retreat with quick backward steps that could easily turn into a sprint if I think he’s going to shoot. I wait for him to turn the tables, to place me in his sights. Instead, he flicks on the safety and slides the gun down his leg, assisting it as it falls to the ground before he kicks it away.

  We remain frozen in a stony standoff, matching each other glare for glare.

  “You first,” he mutters.

  “No way in hell.”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, you’re stubborn about your stupid secrets.”

  “I can deal with being stubborn.” What I can’t deal with is being fooled by another man who only wants to hurt me. “You know, earlier, when I first saw the recognition between you and that guy I met yesterday, I thought you might be a cop.” I swallow to ease my emotion-filled throat. “I thought maybe you’d been watching, waiting to arrest me, but you’re not a cop, are you?”

  He laughs, flashing his too perfect teeth and too perfect smile. “You’re looking on the wrong side of the law, princess.”

  My throat threatens to close. Swallowing is no longer an option. “Okay…” I can figure this out. “Obviously, you know Dan Roberts. So, I assume you’re a criminal. Maybe a lowlife dealer.”

  Or a pimp? A thief?

  “I’m worse than that.” His eyes harden, and I believe him.

  He walks toward me, and I sidestep, making sure not to place additional space between me and the gun.

  “A member of the mafia?” I ask.

  He plants his feet and glares. “I’m the guy who finished the job you started.”

  I keep moving, walking in a circle as his explanation runs through my head. Over and over. He’s deliberately playing more mind games, dragging this out to lengthen the torture.

  Either that, or I’m truly not as smart as I once thought.

  “Think about it, Steph,” he taunts. “What were you doing the night I met you?”

  No. I frown and shake my head. I’m not going to allow that train of thought to make sense. I can’t.

  “Come on now, princess,” he murmurs. “You can say it.”

  I don’t want to.

  He steps forward, once, twice. A slow, sure stride that intensifies my panic.

  “You killed him,” I whisper.

  I don’t know if it’s a question or a statement. It should be an adamant declaration. X marks this map like a neon sign in the dead of night. But I need it to be a question. And I desperately want the answer to be ‘no.’

  There’s a slight pulse in his throat. The briefest glimpse of a hard swallow.

  “Oh, my God.” He did kill Dan.

  I stand before him, legs numb, chest heavy, heartbroken. Relief doesn’t flood me. I don’t feel vindicated. Instead, bile churns in a mass production in my stomach because the harsh man I’ve fallen for isn’t harsh at all. He is horrific.

  “Why?” I’m still shaking, but now it’s not just my head. It’s my hands, my arms, my foundations.

  I inch closer to the gun. It’s right there, three feet to my left.

  His gaze drops to the weapon, then returns to my face. “Don’t do it.”

  I need to. I have to. He isn’t going to let me walk. Obviously, I am stupid, but not that stupid.

  He’s poised to strike, every muscled inch of him taut and ready.

  I lunge to the side, my hands sliding through dirt, my fingers grating over gravel. He dives after me, grips my ankle, and pulls. I scream as he drags me backward, then to my feet, and into his arms.

  I’m plastered to him. Back to chest. Ass to crotch.

  “I told you not to do that,” he growls.

  I kick. I scream. I thrash.

  His hold tightens and he rushes forward, eating up the space to the car to press me into the cold metal. He smothers me, choking my strength under the heavy weight of memories.

  He made me feel safe. He made me feel wanted. He made me feel. That is the worst part of all.
>
  “Why?” I demand. “Why did you kill him?”

  His breath brushes my neck. He’s so close, he’s under my skin. “Dan had a habit of finding useful information. But instead of handing it over to my contractor, he kept blackmailing for bigger sums of money. The guy was in a perfect position, hearing whispers from the police through his father. He could’ve gone far. Instead he got greedy.”

  “And greed deserves death?” I snarl.

  “Greed, and assault, and rape, among other things.” The growled words vibrate through my ribs. “I don’t feel guilty in the slightest, princess. So don’t try that shit on me.”

  “And what about framing me? Do you feel guilty about that?”

  He stills. “I didn’t frame you. I’ve done this enough times to know how to cover my ass. Nobody else has to take the fall.”

  Again, it isn’t what I want to hear. I picture dead bodies at his feet. Innocent faces. Vacant eyes.

  He steps back and I remain still, clinging to the car like it holds the answers to my problems. And maybe it does. The ignition fob is in the center console. Starting the engine and getting out of here is a button-click away.

  “Look at me,” he demands.

  No. Not going to happen. I refuse to look into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer and feel attraction. And that’s exactly what would happen if I met his gaze. I wouldn’t be able to help it. I wouldn’t be able to stop it.

  “Steph, I need you to listen.”

  “I’m listening.”

  He sighs. “I didn’t get the information I needed from Dan. I followed you instead, and by the time I went back to the hotel, he was already too fucked up to talk.”

  “What does that mean?” I stare out at the vacant fields, the miles of space between me and safety.

  “I heard you interrogate him. I just didn’t get specifics. I now need the information he gave you. And I need to know why you wanted it.”

  “I didn’t get any information.” Nothing his merry murderous crew would find useful, anyway.

  “Don’t lie to me.” He grabs my elbow and tugs, making me face him. “He had the details on an informant, and I heard you asking him for a fucking name.”

  He presses into me, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. His hands land on either side of my head, a threatening stance, if only those eyes weren’t slaying me.