Guts & Glory: Hunter (In the Shadows Security Book 3)

by Jeanne St. James

  “Great. Some stranger comes into town, stalks me and you guys make friends with him.”

  “No one’s making friends with anyone.”

  “Good. You should do your job and arrest him.”

  Adam brushed a hand over his closely cut hair. “If anyone’s going to be arrested, it’s you.”

  “I can’t be arrested,” Frankie whispered. “Leo...”

  “Right. But it’s not up to us. It’s up to,” Adam lifted a hand and waved it in Matt and the stranger’s direction, “him. You gave him that power the second you took your bat to his SUV.”

  “Shit.”

  “If you were worried about him, you should’ve called us.”

  “But if Taz sent him, it might’ve been over before you arrived.”

  Adam’s chest expanded and contracted as he stared at her. “I understand your concern, Frankie, but this could’ve ended worse than it did. He could’ve put a bullet in you and claimed self-defense the second you raised that bat. You used a deadly weapon.”

  Her and her damn temper. She needed to think before she acted. That’s what got her into this whole mess with Taz in the first place.

  “Adam,” Frankie began.

  Adam once again lifted his hand to stop her. “Stay here. I’ll go talk to Matt and find out what’s going on.” He pinned his eyes on Frankie. “You do not move from this spot until I tell you otherwise.”

  “But—”

  “Frankie!”

  “Fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her bare stomach.

  She watched Adam join the other two, then the stranger’s eyes landed on her.

  No, more like her tits. Asshole.

  She slid her hand up her stomach and gave him the bird by pressing her middle finger against the bottom curve of her breast. He was sure not to miss it there.

  He grinned so large she could see the brightness of his teeth from where she was standing before he turned his attention back to the Brysons.

  Suddenly all six eyeballs were pointed in her direction. Shit.

  Matt shook hands with the stranger. Again.

  Then so did Adam.

  Traitors!

  She was a tax-paying resident of Manning Grove, they were supposed to be protecting her. Not having a beer and nachos with someone dangerous.

  She saw Adam’s mouth moving and the stranger shake his head.

  Oh, good. Maybe he decided not to press charges against her.

  Though, she couldn’t be so lucky.

  Then Matt got into his patrol car and drove away. Just like that!

  Adam headed back in her direction, the stranger casually following him, the man’s stride long, his broad shoulders relaxed and his narrow hips loose. Like he hadn’t a care in the damn world.

  When they got closer, Adam said, “Gonna get rolling, Frankie. He’s not pressing charges. Yet. But that doesn’t mean he won’t. You need to keep your temper on a leash and cooperate with him.”

  “Why? Is he law enforcement?”

  “No. But you owe him for the damage you’ve done and he’s going to work out a payment plan with you.”

  Payment plan? She couldn’t even afford a payment plan. She had a difficult enough time keeping food on the table and the lights on.

  Unfortunately, Adam wasn’t done. “Make sure you cooperate with him. Don’t cut him, don’t club him, and, for fuck’s sake, don’t knee him in the nuts. His generosity is the only thing standing between you and a jail cell. Understood?”

  Generosity. Frankie’s pressed her lips together. Hard.

  Adam pointed a finger at her. “Don’t make me come back out here today,” was his final shot before climbing into his cruiser and pulling away.

  And then there were two.

  “You never answered my questions,” she said, watching the patrol car turn the corner and disappear.

  “The ones you were screaming like a mujer loca?”

  She swung her narrowed eyes back onto him and studied him more closely. “¿Sabes español?”

  “Only enough to get by. But I also know a crazy woman when I see one.”

  “It’s not crazy if you’re protecting yourself.”

  “I wasn’t a threat.”

  “So you say.”

  “Now that you’re not wielding a bat, I’m willing to answer those questions. But not out here since we have to do a bit of negotiating.”

  “For what?”

  “For what the officer said. Damage to my vehicle.”

  Frankie glanced past him to his Range Rover parked on the street. Shattered glass surrounded it, dents decorated the doors, hood and front fenders. She winced at seeing all the damage she caused, now that fear and anger weren’t pumping blood to every inch of her body.

  “They also want you to clean up the mess,” she heard, and Frankie turned her attention back to him.

  “I’ll go get a broom and trash can.”

  As she went to turn, he grabbed her arm. “No. You will take me inside and we can talk first. Then, you can get a broom and whatever else you’ll need, and I’ll supervise.”

  She stared at his long fingers wrapped around her forearm and tugged hard. He released her. “You could help.”

  “I would if I helped make the mess.”

  Frankie let her gaze roam the man from the top of his head to bottom of his boots. His dark hair was super short along the sides and a little longer on the top, a few grays decorated his temples. He didn’t look old enough for that, maybe his late thirties or early forties at the most, but some men grayed early. He’d probably take the gray over a bald spot.

  He had a small hoop earring in his left ear and a dark beard covered his lower face. It wasn’t bushy or out of control and he didn’t let it climb up his cheeks too high. She wondered about his ethnic background since his skin was the color of light caramel and he knew a little bit of Spanish. Not that that meant anything. A lot of people were bilingual.

  He wore a black T-shirt that clung to his torso and didn’t hide any curve or plane of his chest, abs or arms. This man had no beer belly. The muscles of his arms and neck were defined. He worked out, no doubt.

  There was a lump under his tee about midway down his chest. A necklace of some sort.

  He was taller than her, but not freakishly tall. Maybe six foot. And his legs were encased in a pair of black cargo pants, his feet in heavy black boots, a plain black leather belt encircled his waist.

  The man apparently liked black, since his Range Rover was the same color.

  He was well put together and, unlike Taz Bussard, he didn’t have a lot of ink she could see. Only a part of one piece peeked out from the sleeve of his left arm. From what she could tell, it looked like a black tribal tattoo.

  He didn’t look like a typical biker since he didn’t wear a cut, both arms weren’t solid tats, and he drove an expensive SUV.

  But looks could be deceiving.

  She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  He wanted to come into her house, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to let him in.

  In fact, no, she was sure she didn’t him want him in her house.

  “See your wheels spinning and I’m figuring you’re a hard-headed woman. But you’ve got two choices. Jail and restitution, or me.” He glanced at her house. “And if you can’t afford to paint that house, you can’t afford the body work on my Rover.”

  Damn. That was a low blow.

  “And now I see you gearing up to snap my head off. Let me give you a little advice, loquilla... Don’t. My patience is already thin and getting thinner the longer I stand out here in this goddamn heat looking at my vehicle.”

  Loquilla.

  He was calling her crazy without being obviously offensive. He knew enough Spanish to know that much. It was safe and to anyone listening, it would almost sound as if it was an endearment.

  At this point, it wasn’t. He didn’t know her. She didn’t know him.

  They were just two strangers staring at each other in her
driveway.

  “My name is Frankie.”

  “Heard it. And we’re going to talk about that, too.”

  Frankie blinked. She hadn’t been with a man in close to four years. Now she remembered why.

  They were bossy as fuck.

  Her temper was beginning to rise again, and she swallowed the words she wanted to shoot in his direction like bullets from a machine gun. But between what Adam said and the Range Rover sitting on the street behind him, it reminded her that she needed to keep that in check.

  Easier said than done.

  She could admit that holding her tongue was one of her weaknesses.

  Another one, apparently, was bad boys with tattoos.

  Which was why she was back home in Manning Grove living in her childhood home.

  The last bad boy with tattoos had changed the course of her life. So instead of moving forward like she originally planned, she ended up moving backward. Or, at least, that was what it felt like.

  She had come home to lick her wounds, recover and basically hide in plain sight since bad boys with tattoos were usually not the brightest.

  But that assumption might not be true about the one standing in front of her. He seemed to be more of a dangerous man than a bad boy and he didn’t appear to be dumb.

  But again, looks could be deceiving.

  “I just want to get a couple things straight,” she began.

  “Shoot.”

  “You expect me to let a man, who I don’t even know, into my house.”

  “Sums it up nicely.”

  “A man that I don’t even know his name.”

  “Hunter.”

  “Hunter,” she repeated. “That doesn’t really fit you.”

  “It does. More than you know. But I could say the same for the name Frankie.”

  “It’s short for Frances.”

  “I don’t think it’s any shorter than the name Frances.”

  “Let’s pretend it is.”

  His lips remained neutral, but the lines at the corners of his light brown eyes deepened.

  “The next thing I need to know before I let a stranger walk into my home is, why you were sitting out here watching me?”

  “This is shit we need to discuss inside.”

  “Why inside?”

  “Because, one, I’m sweating my fucking balls off and, two, there are eyes on us.” He tilted his head just slightly enough that she caught it and she glanced in that direction.

  Yep. Some of her neighbors were conveniently finding things to do outside. “My neighbors are probably just concerned about a stranger on their street. Someone who doesn’t belong here.” She hissed the last part.

  “I wasn’t just sitting there to take in the scenery, as nice as it is. I’m here for a reason.”

  “And that reason is me.”

  “Yes, loquilla, it is.”

  “I’m not so sure I’m happy about you calling me that.”

  “Probably about as happy as I am about my fucking Rover.”

  Well, there was that.

  “Now, we done here?” he asked, his tone a bit impatient.

  Yes, they were. “I’m done. You can go on your way at any time.”

  “You know that wasn’t what I meant.” He jerked his chin toward Mr. Duffy, who was outside watering the flowers on his porch. Flowers that were plastic. “Your neighbors not only have eyes, but ears. Big ones. Unless you want them to know the reason I’m here, I suggest you quit stalling and we go inside.”

  Ice slithered through Frankie’s veins. “I’m not liking the sound of this reason.”

  “Like it or not, I need information from you. And now that you owe me, that’s going to be part of my payment.”

  “Part,” Frankie murmured. “What’s the other part?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that, either. “How about if you give me your mailing address and I’ll send you a check every month until I pay off the damage.”

  “How about no.”

  “Adam said you were going to work out a payment plan with me.”

  “That’s correct. But it isn’t going to be five dollars a month for eternity.”

  “It wouldn’t be five...” It might be ten. Shit. She dropped her head for a moment and stared at the grass-stained tips of her formerly white Keds.

  A long finger tucked under her chin and lifted her face. His expression was serious, and, surprisingly, his eyes held sincerity. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need some of your time.”

  I’m not going to hurt you.

  I’d never hurt you.

  Why did you make me hurt you?

  She closed her eyes to shut out those words. And when she opened them, this Hunter wore a look of concern.

  “I saw your hospital record from when you were admitted to the ER almost four years ago.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, to deny everything he read, but instead sucked in a sharp breath.

  How did he get a hold of that?

  “Who are you?” she whispered, fear crawling over her skin and sinking into her bones.

  The fear wasn’t just for herself.

  She jerked her chin from his touch and stepped back quickly. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Hunter because that’s what I do best.”

  She shook her head at his words. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll explain it to you. Inside.”

  If this man could get to her records, so could anyone else. Her heart was thumping so hard that her pulse was pounding in her ears.

  But she wasn’t using that name anymore. She wasn’t that person anymore.

  She had come back to where she grew up and legally changed her name. Taz had never cared enough to know her real last name or about her childhood or family. He never asked details about her at all. He’d only been interested in one thing.

  Because of that, she thought she would be safe here. In a sleepy town in northern Pennsylvania. Hours and hours from where she met Brandon Bussard.

  Brandon.

  Bile worked its way up her throat forcing her to swallow it back down.

  She was sure Brandon’s mother had high hopes for her son when she picked that name. But Brandon decided to dash them all when he lived as the Tasmanian Devil instead.

  If a name fit anyone perfectly, it was Taz’s.

  Chapter Five

  Hunter sat at the tiny wooden kitchen table that should have been chopped up and thrown into a bonfire a couple of decades ago. The top was scarred and had nicks taken out of it. It even wobbled a bit.

  A swirl of steam rose from the coffee sitting in front of him. The chipped mug stated, “The Pennsylvania Grand Canyon, a GORGEous hike,” on the side. He assumed the play on words might be some sort of local joke.

  Unfortunately, his sense of humor had fled as he stared at the woman across the tiny table from him, sipping on a diet pop.

  She was trying to hide the shake of her hands, but he caught it. And that tremor, even though it was slight, pissed him the fuck off.

  This woman was a firecracker.

  And someone had tried to snip her fuse.

  Not someone.

  Taz.

  She had pulled a shirt on over her bathing suit top, so that at least helped keep him from being too distracted by her physical attributes. While it covered her generous cleavage, it did nothing to hide her luscious womanly curves. He tried to focus on other things instead...

  The house, like the kitchen table, was small. Really small. It was maybe a two bedroom with dormers on the second floor and a stairway cutting up the center from the front door. Those steps divided the house in half, making it feel even more claustrophobic. He didn’t like tight spaces, so he didn’t like this house already and he’d only seen a very small portion of it.

  She had brought him through the back door which led directly into the kitchen, not wanting him to go further. And when she said he needed to stay in the kitchen, the back
of his neck prickled.

  She was hiding something.

  He couldn’t blame her for it. She was right. He was a stranger.

  And he couldn’t imagine she was very trusting with men. Which was a good reason why his Rover was now fucked up.

  One minute she was letting her fury fly and the next she was showing fear.

  He could understand that, too.

  There had been times in his life where he’d been pissed about the situations he’d been forced into, but also scared he’d have to kiss his own ass goodbye. The range of emotions a human could experience in a split moment could be astounding.

  Even so, she had nothing to fear from him. Only, she didn’t know that.

  He lifted his coffee and studied her over the lip of the mug.

  Sucely Hernandez aka Frankie Reyes was half-Guatemalan. From what little he pieced together, he knew her mother came to the States to give her unborn daughter a better life and things just went to shit from there.

  Life didn’t get better for her mother Camila, they got worse.

  But she did her best to save her child, who became a citizen the instant she was born on American soil. Since Frankie was currently sitting in a kitchen in Manning Grove, she apparently remained behind when Camila was deported.

  Who raised Camila’s daughter, Hunter didn’t know. The details were sketchy and when he was searching for Frankie, he wasn’t looking into her background, he only needed to know where she lived.

  He had been only interested in Taz, not her.

  But now he was curious about the dark-eyed, dark-haired beauty who stared back at him. He wanted to know how and why she didn’t go back to Guatemala with her mother, and why her path had crossed with one Brandon Bussard.

  She in no way reminded him of a woman who would be hanging out with bikers. Especially outlaw bikers, the one-percenters.

  But he’d been wrong about shit before.

  Once.

  A long time ago.

  “How did you see my medical records?” she asked. She dropped her gaze to the table and drew her finger back and forth over one of the long, deep scratches.

  He couldn’t tell her how, because how he accessed them was illegal. Both Hunter and Walker were good at hacking into websites, even ones with firewalls. They had learned that skill during their time in the military and had trained the others. Though Steel, Brick, Mercy and Ryder had no interest in the computer side of shit.