The Hunter’s Game: Blood for Blood: 01

by Fox, Logan

  “Privacy?” I snap, dragging that odd robe tighter around me.

  A whiff of something puffs up from the robe, and my mouth twists. That priest didn’t strike me as the kind of person that wears cologne, but what else could explain the scent of cloves and oranges I’m smelling? Some kind of herb, I’m sure. Rosemary?

  Fuck it, I have to get out of this thing.

  Hunter holds his hands to the side, looking down at himself and then up at me. His clothes are grubby from our dash through the forest, sure, but it’s not as if he’s naked.

  “You can’t wait?” I ask as I carry on up the stairs.

  “Clover—”

  “No!” I spin around on the landing, stabbing a finger that almost gets him in the eye.

  “No?” He frowns at me as a look of incredulity grows on his face.

  He’s two steps down, so I’m towering over him. Which I quite like, I’ll have to admit.

  “You don’t get to Clover me. If it wasn’t for you, then none of this would have happened.” I rear back a little, not finding the right words to express the last few days in anything that would make sense.

  I storm into his bedroom and rip open the closet door.

  Yup, just as I remembered.

  Hunter follows me into the room and then slows down.

  I point at the closet. “What the fuck is this?”

  He opens his mouth.

  I swear to God, if he’s about to say something sarcastic like it’s a closet, I’ll beat the shit out of him.

  Well, I’ll try. He’s pretty fucking strong for a geek.

  In a surprising show of self-preservation, Hunter instead closes his mouth. He walks up to me, so close and with such intent that I think he’s going to push me up against the wall and do nasty things to me while I pretend to protest.

  He doesn’t. He maintains the very frankest of eye contact as he reaches past me, pulls out a fresh outfit for himself, and goes into the en-suite bathroom.

  “Hunter!”

  The fuck he’s not going to explain this shit to me. If anything, I deserve—

  I rush after him and then skid to a halt. He has his shirt off already, and he’s busy kicking off his sneakers. He glances over his shoulder, but doesn’t catch my eye.

  “I had everything planned out,” he says quietly. His socks come off next—a feat accomplished solely with his toes, which is pretty fucking impressive—as he unbuttons his shorts.

  “Right down to my bra size?” I say through my teeth. “How long have you been watching me?”

  “Since you began the program.”

  “Really? Just six months?” My stomach twists at the thought and I’m not sure if it’s in a good way or not.

  Six fucking months.

  And here I thought I was just being paranoid as fuck when I felt eyes on me.

  Watching me while I ate.

  While I walked the halls.

  While I…

  “While I slept?”

  “Sometimes,” Hunter says, voice completely devoid of emotion. “But not always. I also need to sleep.”

  I swallow hard. Not just for his confession, but because he’s taking off his shorts. His ass isn’t as pale as I’d have figured. Makes me wonder if he goes outside in the nude sometimes. Maybe skinny dips in the forest…

  Seriously, Clover? Get your mind out the fucking gutter.

  I shift my weight and force my eyes up even though he’s not looking at me anymore. He turns on the shower’s faucet and doesn’t even bother testing the temperature before stepping inside.

  “So what…you saw me, thought I’d be perfect for your little experiment, and that was that?”

  “Trial,” he says, but absently.

  “Whatever! You experimented on me. You…You can’t just do that. You can’t spy on people and…” I wave a hand toward the unseen closet. “You can’t just lay out my entire future like I don’t have a fucking say in it.”

  “So, you want to be an addict for the rest of your life?” He grabs a bottle of something and begins lathering his skin.

  Holy fucking shit; he’s making it impossible for me to concentrate.

  “Yes. If I want.”

  I don’t, obviously.

  “Because it’s my choice, not yours.”

  “Then you should leave,” Hunter says, working that lather into his hair as if he’s been in the Amazon jungle for a week, not just a brief sprint through his back yard.

  Back yard.

  That church wasn’t exactly in the middle of fucking nowhere, was it?

  Yes, fine, they had like a fence and stuff, but…

  I take a step back, absently gripping the robe tight against me. “Those freaks are on your land.”

  Hunter ducks his head and spits out a mouthful of water without replying. He turns to me, not seeming to care about the fact that the soap suds sliding down his body hardly provide any cover for his junk.

  “That’s quite a leap.”

  “Not even a little. Someone like you doesn’t just own an acre of land.” I sweep out a hand, almost losing grip of the robe. “You probably own this whole fucking mountain. Which means they’re on your property. And since no one does anything without your permission…”

  He watches me for the longest time, running his hands through his hair as if he can’t wash out the last bit of soap. Then he turns off the shower and steps out.

  Eyes, Clover. You just keep looking at his eyes. Son-of-a-bitch is doing this on purpose.

  “What does it mean?” I ask, forcing my voice to steady. “Blood for blood. Tell me what it means.”

  I don’t actually want to know, but I also don’t want him getting out of answering me.

  He grabs a towel, slings it around his waist. “I’ll call you a cab.”

  Without thinking, I snag his lower arm and tug him around to face me. “Who are they? What are they doing on your land? What the hell happened—?”

  He slams me into the bathroom wall, cutting off the question as he crushes me with his body and pins my hands on either side of me.

  “This isn’t your concern,” he says coldly, his eyes flickering over mine as if to impress the seriousness of the situation on me. “Shut your mouth, get dressed, and get the fuck out of here.”

  “You’re letting me go?” The words are out before I can think them through.

  The snarling anger on Hunter’s face disappears in an instant. He stares at me, lips parted, and then turns his head to bark out a laugh. When he looks back at me, bitter mirth twinkles in his eyes.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, pushing harder into me. “You ran from me. You accuse me of keeping you here without your consent. You all but beg me to let you go, and now…?”

  I tug. He seems to have forgotten how hard he’s gripping me but I won’t show weakness. I simply turn my attention away from where my wrist bones are grating against each other.

  “I want to know what’s going on.”

  He shakes his head hard enough to splatter water on my face. “You can’t have it both ways, Clover. You want to leave, so fucking leave.”

  Goddamn my curiosity! He knows all this shit that’s happened is eating me up.

  Hang on. This may be my paranoia speaking, but did he plan this too? Did he know I’d run into that strange church? Did he plan on the fact that I’d be so curious to find out what was going on that I’d stay…if only for closure?

  “What stops me going to the cops?”

  A risky move, sure, but I know he’s not going to kill me, else he’d have done it already. I mean, I’m not exactly the nicest person in the world and I’ve been grinding his balls non stop since I’ve arrived.

  Come to think of it, he’s actually been pretty fucking patient with me.

  That doesn’t count in his favor, of course. He still dragged me out here and set me free in his stupid maze like a rat on coke.

  Exactly like a lab rat high on coke.

  His eyes crinkle like he’s going to
laugh again, but instead he just shrugs a little and takes a small step back. “Go, Clover. Tell them what happened. Tell them what you saw.”

  He releases my hands and rakes his gaze down my body. With him stepping away, cold air slides over my skin. The robe has flared open and isn’t shielding me from his eyes anymore. I shift a little before I can stop myself.

  No biggie. He’s seen me naked. Twice. Three times.

  Fuck, plenty of times, possibly.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “In the shower?” I whisper.

  He blinks, frowns, and then closes his eyes as he lets out a sigh. “What purpose could me watching you in the shower possibly have served?”

  I cock an eyebrow, and my eyes dart down to his loin-cloth-cum-towel. “You tell me, Doctor Hill.”

  I was hoping for a laugh, something to diffuse the situation, but he rips his hands away from mine, opens his mouth, but leaves the bathroom without another word.

  I stay behind, rubbing fingers over my wrists where he bruised me.

  There’s absolutely no reason for me to stay. And I will go to the cops—especially after he dared me like that.

  I snort to myself.

  I mean, does he honestly think I won’t—?

  I pause in the process of slipping off that horrid robe.

  He knows I’ll go to the cops, if only to spite him.

  Which means he knows nothing will come of it.

  Does he own this fucking town or something?

  Dr. Most-Eligible-Bachelor Hunter Hill, owner of Mallhaven.

  Okay, maybe not an owner, at least a majority fucking shareholder. He’s probably a pillar of the community. No one would believe he’s hosting a satanic church on his land.

  There’s a mirror inside the shower, and the steam from Hunter’s session has cleared out. I catch sight of my reflection as I step inside.

  The tiles are still wet and it reeks of Hunter. Crisp, pine-like freshness. Wood. A touch of something sweet.

  I haven’t noticed how much I’ve filled out these past six months. I never used to have such pronounced curves. But that’s not what’s making me stare aghast at my reflection.

  I’m covered in scratches and bruises.

  Streaks of dirt paint my arms and legs.

  My hair—although still pretty clean—is tangled and unkempt.

  No one in Mallhaven will listen to some out-of-towner talking shit about their Dr. Hill.

  I have to get cleaned up. Have to get my facts sorted out, then maybe…

  Maybe I could fuck off out of Mallhaven and never come back.

  That’s all I wanted, right? To be left alone.

  Independence.

  Except, Clover Vos was never really independent, was she? She may have been a strong, smart woman, but without a job, without a hope of ever getting a job, she quickly learned to depend on men to give her what she needed.

  Money.

  A place to stay.

  Some pseudo-excuse for love.

  But that was the old Clover. I’m reborn. Free of addiction. Except, what if I’m not? What if all that shit Hunter said is true? What if I can never—?

  I. Am. Free. Of. Addiction.

  I push back my shoulders and lift my chin, daring my reflection to defy me as I turn on the shower.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Hunter

  I should be calling Clover a cab. Instead, I’m staring into the forest beside my house. It looks like rain. Not unusual—Mallhaven likes its gloomy afternoons in summer as much as its snowy mornings in winter.

  Blood for blood.

  Sometimes, I wish I had it in me to believe in something spiritual, if only so I didn’t feel compelled to explain every second of every day with rationale.

  Everything that could have gone wrong with this trial went wrong. I had all the data I needed to make the correct decisions, and still I erred.

  Clover should never have gotten close to the Messianic Church of Solomon but she ended up right in the Father’s bloodstained hands. I expected her to be eager to be rid of her disease. Instead, she fights me every step of the way.

  Change is difficult, I understand. But no one can be ignorant enough to turn aside a cure for their ailment and yet it happens all the time.

  Bare feet slap on tiles behind me and I half-turn to face Clover as she walks into the kitchen.

  “I was just about to call a—” I begin, lifting my cellphone and unlocking the screen.

  “Whose story is it?”

  I face her and then lean back against the counter, phone in one hand and gripping the lip of the granite countertop with the other. I watch her for a few moments, willing her to take back the question, to move to a different line of enquiry…

  Any-fucking-thing but this.

  She’s wearing one of the dresses I picked out for her. Well, I say picked out, but it was nothing but an hour of autonomous online shopping based on her dimensions and whatever would be suitable for the climate here in Mallhaven over the next six months.

  See, Clover? I didn’t have your entire life planned out.

  Just the next six months.

  Here.

  With me.

  I know nothing about fashion, or dresses, but I have a feeling she specifically chose this dress. The pale fabric skims her breasts and hips in a very sensual way.

  Then again, maybe I didn’t just click ‘add to cart’ without a second thought.

  I can remember the picture they had for this dress. Some stick thin fashion model with more cheekbones than seemed natural had this hanging from gangly shoulders.

  But the fabric looked soft. Silky, even. There were no distracting slogans, or embellishments.

  Seeing this dress on Clover, it looks as if it was tailored for her. It sets off her hair in a blaze of red and the cream fabric melds seamlessly with her skin. Her eyes are a darker shade of gray; almost the color of the clouds gathering in the sky outside.

  Clover shrugs. Light glides over the fabric and I have an overwhelming urge to touch it, despite the fact that I would never consider myself a tactile person.

  “You said it’s not your story to tell. So, whose is it?” She dares me to answer, but my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth instead. “The priest? Who?”

  Reluctantly, I speak. “Kane. Kane Price. You don’t—”

  She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “You got his number?” She lifts her chin. “Call him.”

  I squeeze the bridge of my nose, inhaling what is meant to be a soothing breath. I’m suddenly in desperate need of a joint, and I never smoke during the day. “It’s not that—”

  “Tell him I want to know.” She takes a step closer as I look up at her with exasperation. That fabric flows over her thighs like pouring cream.

  “I told you, you can’t have it both ways.”

  She stops. Considers me. And then puts her head to the side. “You own this town, don’t you?”

  I frown, open my mouth, and then let out a laugh instead. I push past her to go to the couch, my fingertips thrilling as they brush over the smooth fabric draping her waist. “I don’t own Mallhaven.”

  “So what then? You’re the mayor or something?”

  I throw her an incredulous look over my shoulder, but this just seems to convince her even more. She stalks up to me, hands in fists at her side. “You don’t care if I go to the cops, ‘cos they won’t do anything, will they? You own them. You own this town. They’ll take one look at me and throw me in the fucking loony bin.”

  I’m busy rolling a joint. That was my mistake. Obviously, she wants my attention on her.

  She’s always been an attention seeker, Clover Vos. Even during withdrawal, she’d become so melodramatic that I’d order Michael to lock her in her room until she came to her senses.

  Sometimes it would work. Sometimes I would have to send someone in to sedate her.

  And then I realized she was getting off on the buzz of whatever sedative I gave her.

  Playing me like a
pawn.

  Clover grabs my wrist and tugs it hard enough to jar the half-rolled joint from my palm.

  I rush to my feet, but she’s already put herself out of reach by taking two quick steps back.

  A fast learner, Clover. But I’ve had a long time to study her where she’s only known me for a few days.

  “I have a seat on the town council.” I step forward, moving slowly so I don’t scare her off.

  Her eyes flash wide before she narrows them suspiciously at me. “That’s it?”

  “I donate millions to the town each quarter.”

  “For what?”

  Another step. She’s so caught up in what I’m saying, she doesn’t seem to notice I’m drawing near.

  “Whatever they need it for. The hospital. The school.” I give her a self-deprecating shrug. “Arts and recreation.”

  “A satanic church?”

  I look away as I laugh.

  When I lurch forward, I’m too close for her to escape. I grab the front of her dress in a fist and haul her against me.

  “So, you’ve decided to stay?”

  She wriggles against me, her mouth squirming as if she can’t quite decide what she wants to say to me. She eventually lets out a frustrated, “I want to know what the fuck you’re involved in.”

  “I’m not involved in anything.” The words come out through my teeth, but that’s purely because of how pissed off this woman makes me. I don’t consider myself short-tempered to any extent, but Clover has a way of rubbing me the wrong way.

  And the right way.

  With her this close, all I’m thinking is how good it feels when our naked bodies slide against each other.

  Which is probably exactly how she played out this encounter in her mind.

  Which is why she chose this dress.

  Which is why she’s not pulling away but instead arching ever so slightly into me.

  I inhale her scent, and it fills me with an agonizing flicker of electric fire.

  My fingers slide over her satiny dress, describing each of her curves with a slow, steady hand. Her eyes flutter, but don’t close. Her lips tighten, and then part. Her spine curls so her stomach and breasts are flush against me.

  She must feel my hard on, but doesn’t react.

  Not yet, anyway.