A Lovely Confession (Debt of Passion Duet Book 2)

by Coralee June

  Love me.

  Me too, I thought. It felt sick, and dirty, and wrong. I hated how easily I melted at his kindness. It gave me such whiplash. Not enough time had passed for my damage to air out. And yet I was thankful for the lessons Hunter had taught me. I was thankful for the journey. And most of all, I was thankful for the truth in the end. This moment felt a lot like closure, so why did it hurt so fucking much?

  “Thank you for being honest with me, Hunter. I wouldn’t have changed it either.” I wasn’t planning on admitting the last part of that, but I did it anyway. He was right. I never would have fallen for him had I known. But now the lines were blurred. The loyalties were skewed. Would I align myself with the ghost of my mother?

  Or would I forgive the living, breathing man that saved me?

  Hunter was right. Mom died long before she took her last breath. I just felt like I was supposed to feel a sense of loyalty to her. I was supposed to be outraged.

  But I wasn’t.

  I was just sad. So, so sad. Sad for the woman that died before she could heal, and sad for the relationship lost before it could start.

  He leaned forward, staring at my lips for a lingering moment as more cars passed on the highway. His truck shook from the force of another passing eighteen-wheeler, and I pressed closer. “You’re welcome, Pretty Debt,” he whispered.

  HUNTER

  Gracie Mansion mocked me. The yellow wooden house on the Upper East Side of Manhattan was surrounded by shrubs and thick trees that seemed immune to the incoming fall weather. Hardly any leaves had fallen, and the branches were covered in foliage. Mayor Bloomington’s home looked over the East River, but the open water had no covering, so a boat was too obvious for long-term watching. I ended up finding a vacant Airbnb close by. It didn’t have ideal views, but at least I could settle for a bit and observe the perimeter. When dealing with a high-profile kill, you had to be willing to get creative.

  Guards walked the front lawn with guns holstered to their waist. They looked like the men Gavriel employed and nothing like the clean-cut suits a proper mayor would hire. Tats covered their tanned arms, and I caught a few of them smoking joints along the side of the house. They looked dangerous, but they were relaxed. This could play in my favor. But what they lacked in organization and clout, they made up for in numbers. Twenty men were stationed on the lawn, and there was no telling how many were kept inside. Was Bloomington always this heavily guarded? Or was he anticipating retaliation from Gavriel? Something told me the answer was a little bit of both.

  I couldn’t get close enough to do a proper stakeout, and my eyes were blurred from the exhaustion and staring into my binoculars for the last two hours. I watched for patterns. When shift change was. Who was coming and going. If there were any known criminals sneaking in through the back door.

  It was like a miniature White House, hidden away from the center of the city, with enough security to protect the President. As a man familiar with death, I knew that this ancient home reeked of it. I read once that Alexander Hamilton was brought here to die after a duel. My exhaustion imagined ghosts fluttering across the lawn.

  I struggled to keep awake. My mind was muddled with thoughts of Roe and stretched thin by our drive here. We made it in three days, switching off every six hours for the last day and a half so we could get here faster. I was thankful we could divide the ride. I wasn’t sure how many more secluded nights in small motel rooms I could handle. It had been a long while since I had to go ghost, and I’d almost forgotten how exhausting it was. Adding Roe to the mix just made me confused, depressed, and sexually frustrated. I needed a good shower and a hot fuck. Not necessarily in that order. And then I needed to hold her. I needed to pulse forgiveness through her veins.

  After rubbing my eyes, I continued to watch from my perch. Mayor Bloomington ran a tight ship, but with a little patience, I caught some important details. I saw Lorelei Brand, his rumored mistress, seamlessly stroll through the front door without care. She wore an easily detectable, bright red dress with her tits practically hanging out. No paparazzi sitting by the lawn dared take a picture, though their relationship was a well-known scandal in the city. My guess was, everyone feared the bastard and didn’t want to put gossip about his sex life on a headline, because he had a habit of making people disappear.

  So did I.

  Seeing Lorelei made me realize that Bloomington was bold as hell. My preliminary research on the car ride here told me that during the election season, he sold himself as a bona fide family man. His wife and teenage twin daughters followed him on the campaign trail, boasting of ethics and values important for the city. His wife was a pretty woman. He had to either be pussy-whipped or egotistical to think the city wouldn’t care about who he sneaks into his bedroom which was funded by taxpayers. Either he was good at controlling the narrative surrounding him or he was lucky to have enough influence and power to not care. Either way, it wasn’t good for me.

  I watched as more people filtered through. He must’ve been planning to host an event, because gardeners, caterers, florists, cleaners, and other random people started showing up in the afternoon. They loaded tables and chairs into the weathered yellow mansion. A gardener started wrapping the trees with twinkle lights.

  A quick scan of the local news told me that the mayor would be celebrating his birthday tonight. Everyone was invited. Even President Gump would be making an appearance, which was bad news for me. There would be too much security here. Secret service. NYPD. There was no way in hell I’d be able to sneak in undetected and kill him. It was all too public.

  But also, this reaffirmed my belief that Mack wasn’t being held at the Gracie Mansion. Bloomington wouldn’t want to risk someone finding him—that is if there was someone left to be found.

  I put my binoculars away and climbed off the ledge where I was sitting. I refused to think that Mack was dead. My fucked up brain was fixated on the idea that I could make everything better with Roe if I just saved him. This was my path to redemption. I craved Roe’s forgiveness like I craved her touch. I had to do this. For her. For Mack. And for me.

  I checked my burner phone. Roe was at a motel outside of the city, waiting for me. I convinced her to stay behind and rest, but she was probably doing pushups and other shit to break a sweat and pass the time.

  Roe: Are you done yet?

  Hunter: Headed back now.

  I was thankful that she didn’t insist on coming. The long drive from Joshua Tree to here was mostly spent in silence. But what little talking we did was centered around my routine as a killer. I told her how I had to understand my target and watch their patterns. I told her about high-profile cases and the level of security I’d need to get around in order to make this happen. I shouldn’t be proud of the fact that I was a good killer, but her faith in me to save Mack made me a bit proud. It was strange to speak so openly about my job. I was worried the flippant way I spoke of death would be triggering for her so close to the revelation about her mother. But she took in the information like a sponge. She didn’t speak with judgment, mostly just surprise.

  It was dangerous to tell her about my kills. Every word that spilled from my mouth could lock me away or land me at the bottom of the lake. But now that the truth was wholly out, I couldn’t stop it. I wanted her to know everything about me. I wanted someone to know everything about me.

  Roe: Hurry back

  I focused back on my task. Where would Bloomington keep Mack?

  I started researching the properties he owned, but all of them were too public. It was almost ridiculous how easy it was to find. Lorelei’s smug face hit me like a ton of bricks. Maybe his mistress was helping him? I quickly looked her up and surprisingly found nothing about her. She had no school records but used to work as a waitress at a seedy bar in Harlem. There were no photos of her with Bloomington, either. A few gossip blogs mentioned her by name, but even those were watered down with ridiculous speculation that would be difficult to prove. It took some digging, but I foun
d records of a house she bought in Muttontown. Paid with fucking cash—Bloomington’s cash, no doubt. It looked like she stayed there regularly.

  I mulled over the secluded house. Google Maps showed me that the lot was huge with shaded trees. It was a historic home, something the wealthy loved to buy and fix up so they could brag about the original wood, just to paint over it. A quick search of county records gave me blueprints with detailed information about a large basement—a large basement that would be perfect for housing and torturing someone.

  Gavriel would probably be pissed if I spent my time looking for Mack, but I didn’t really have a choice. The birthday bash tonight was a real bitch on my plans. I had to be a ghost, and that was impossible to do with Bloomington sitting under a gigantic spotlight. I needed more time.

  I debated sending the elusive Bullets leader a message, but I knew the rules. Above all else, keep his name out of my dealings. He didn’t mind micromanaging the deaths of those he deemed unimportant, but Bloomington was too well known to be caught with your dick in your hands. I looked at my burner phone and quickly typed a message to Roe while trying not to think of how fucking risky it was to have her in the know. It was weird doing this with someone. It was weird having someone I could report to. The entire situation was definitely fucked up, but I really liked having her to talk to. It made me feel human. It made me feel sick.

  Hunter: I think I found Mack

  I waited for her response, hating the ancient technology of the burner phone in my hands, because I couldn’t see if she was typing or not.

  Roe: Is he alive?

  I chewed on my lip. The truth was a dangerous fucker, but I knew I needed to be cautious about getting her hopes up.

  Hunter: If he’s alive, he’s in Muttontown.

  Roe: And if he isn’t?

  I couldn’t come up with a good response. There wasn’t anything I could do if he wasn’t. I was already planning on bringing Bloomington down, and if I could bring back the dead, I would have done that ages ago. Instead of answering her, I slipped the phone in my pocket and gathered my duffel bag full of supplies. I’d have to go tonight. Most of his guards would be at the party. It was my only chance. Now, I just had to convince Roe to stay home. I’d tie her down in the bathroom if I had to.

  ROE

  Hunter was gone for eight hours. I tried my best to understand his process as an assassin, but it made me anxious when he was gone. When he’d come back to the motel, every bone in my body ached to hug him for some ridiculous reason. I knew I had two choices today. One, I could cry and workout and burn through my energy with tears and regret. I could hate Hunter today. I could think of ways to get back at him. Or two, I could push it aside. I could wrap up what happened and put it in a nice little box in the back of my head. I could pretend it didn’t happen and use my time to support the man that would save the only father figure I’d ever had.

  I chose the second option.

  “You found Mack?” I asked quickly while pulling myself up off the carpeted floor and walking toward him. Hunter set his duffel bag down on the bed and pulled the black shirt he was wearing off before tossing it on the floor.

  “I think so,” he replied while popping his neck.

  “What does that mean?” I asked. Hunter made his way to the bathroom and pushed his black sweats over his thighs, revealing his tight, toned ass underneath. After turning on the hot water, he got into the motel’s shower, then sighed in relief. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m just tired. Long trip. Long day. I was on the balcony for hours trying to come up with a plan.” A plan. Right. I ran over to my iPad and brought it into the steamy bathroom. Condensation started to fill the mirror up with fog. I sat on the toilet and scrolled through the information while trying not to watch the outline of Hunter’s form washing his long, muscular body.

  “I did some research on Gracie Mansion today,” I said while scrolling through the websites I’d bookmarked. “Did you know it has tunnels underneath it? They lead to the East River. People used to smuggle goods, and it was used as a quick escape route for—”

  “Where did you find this information?” Hunter asked before shutting off the water. I set my iPad down and quickly grabbed him a towel. I somehow managed to hand it to him without gawking before answering him.

  “It was on a couple of sites,” I answered excitedly. Maybe Hunter could sneak in through the tunnels. He wrapped the cotton towel around his waist and passed me to stand at the bathroom sink.

  “I’m assuming you want me to sneak in through these tunnels?”

  “It could work,” I replied, hopeful I had actually contributed something.

  “You want me to sneak in through the novelty tourist trap tunnels that every history buff with half a brain knows about?” Hunter asked sarcastically while placing his flat palm against the glass to wipe away the moisture.

  I completely deflated. He was absolutely right. “I just figured—”

  “You’re not the assassin here,” Hunter interrupted. “I am.”

  “I know that. I just feel helpless sitting here. I tried to find out information on Bloomington. I looked at his social media and looked at all the people he spends his time with. I just want to contribute something.”

  Hunter grabbed some shaving cream from the toiletry kit we’d picked up at a gas station in Virginia. After lathering it up in his hands, I watched as he meticulously applied the cream to his sharp jaw, which was covered in scruff. He rinsed his hands off, then grabbed a razor before leaning over the sink for a better angle. The towel looked like it was about to slip. All thoughts of the mission at hand fled my mind as I stared at the gorgeous man shaving his face. What was it about men shaving that was so fucking hot?

  “You came here thinking we would be sidekicks. You practically blackmailed me into bringing you.”

  “After you threatened me away,” I grumbled.

  “The point is, this isn’t you. You don’t know how to read a situation the way I can. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. My mind hasn’t miraculously changed just because we drove across the country together. You’re not coming with me.”

  I knew in my boiling blood that Hunter was absolutely right. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t a murderer. An executioner. I couldn’t analyze every aspect of a scene within seconds. It took a certain skill set to do what Hunter does. “So what can I do?” I asked as Hunter finished shaving and wiped his face clean.

  As he turned to face me, I stared at his stacked body and tried to remember that we were nothing. We had to be fucking nothing. “You can stay here. You can stay safe. You can be ready for when Mack comes back. He’s probably going to need medical attention.”

  “Right,” I said while making a mental note of all the supplies I would need. I didn’t know how intense his injuries were, but this was something I could focus on. This was something I could do. “Got it,” I replied.

  Hunter pursed his lips as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he simply nodded and spun around and strutted out of the bathroom, the towel firmly in his grip. I followed after him, clutching my iPad with a vice-like hold because the sight of Hunter had me feeling so hot and confused and disgusted with myself that I couldn’t trust my fingers not to reach out and touch him.

  And it wasn’t just his cut abs and piercing blue eyes. Hunter Hammond was a beautiful human. There was no denying it. No, it was the way he handled the situation. He was so fucking sure of himself and had every step laid out. This was his domain, and even if many heads rolled in his kingdom, it was still sexy to watch him wield such surefire power.

  “What else can I do?” I asked while looking up nearby pharmacies. I could walk a block and have a first aid kit ready and waiting.

  “You can pack your bag. You can be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. I’m not sure what tonight will bring, but if I don’t come back, you have to promise me you’ll get the hell out of here.”

  That request made me pause. I looked up from the iPad just
as Hunter pulled his boxers up over his thighs. I caught a flash of his junk and had to swallow my tongue. “I’m not making that promise,” I replied as he put on his jeans. The tight denim taunted me.

  Hunter ran a hand through his hair. “Yes. You are. I can’t guarantee I’ll get Mack back. Hell, I can’t even promise you that I’ll make it back.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked. My feet moved of their own volition. I shuffled closer to him, my lips parted in a half-hearted combination of awe and concern.

  “There’s a reason Gavriel wants me involved. I’m expendable.”

  Expendable? Hunter was far from fucking expendable. Even if I was struggling with what he’d done, that didn’t mean he was expendable. I said things in the height of my hurt, but Hunter was meant to be in my life for a long fucking time. “But you’re not going after Bloomington tonight,” I stammered. “You said Mack was being held somewhere else.”

  “Yeah. Somewhere that could very well have thirty guards waiting for me.” Hunter must have seen the fear on my face, because he let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not trying to scare you, Roe. I’m just trying to prepare you for the reality of the situation. Mack might already be dead. I might die too.”

  “You’re the best of the best,” I insisted. “That’s what Gavriel said.”

  Hunter smiled and glided closer to me. “Your faith in me is really fucking nice. But I just want you prepared to run, okay?”

  That wasn’t good enough for me. I rested my hands on the waistband of his jeans and lifted up on my toes to brush my nose along his. “I don’t like this. It’s like I have to choose between leaving Mack there or risking you.”

  “I didn’t realize you cared,” Hunter replied, prodding for the confession he knew was already there. “Besides, you’re not making this decision. I am. Gavriel is. He wants Mack saved and Bloomington six feet under.”