by Eden Summers
I smile. I almost laugh.
Soon, I’ll be free, and my family can rest in peace.
I rush on my toes to my wardrobe and inch the doors apart. I grab my handbag from the hook on the wall, place it on the floor, then kneel to open the plastic storage container stashed behind my coats.
I scrounge through the contents and pull out anything I might need.
GPS tracker—check.
Cable ties—check.
Silencer—check… Just in case.
I place them in my handbag and double-check my gun is there from yesterday.
Could I even pull the trigger at the funeral of a man I’ve murdered? No. I won’t inflict more pain on these people. But I will arrive prepared.
I grab my black corporate dress off a hanger, then rush back to the bed and pull underwear from my drawer, along with my phone. With my handbag in one hand and clothes in the other, I sneak to the bathroom and close myself inside.
I do an Internet search on the funeral. The church service is at ten. Shit. I only have an hour before it starts, which gives me roughly an additional hour to get to the cemetery, right?
You’d think I’d know more about funerals, having lost my entire family, but I wasn’t involved in planning that event. I’d been catatonic. All I remember is the walk down the aisle toward four matching coffins, each with a large adornment of lilies displayed on top.
My mother had never liked lilies.
Focus.
I dump my stuff on the floor, and have a record-breaking time trial in the shower. I spare five minutes on a rushed makeup attempt, two minutes for my hair, then I’m ready and pulling the bathroom door wide.
Hunter is seated in bed, his back against the headboard, his hands behind his head. I pause, gifting myself with the briefest visual indulgence. I fell asleep in those arms, against that Hulk-like chest, and I can’t deny I want to do it again.
“Good morning.” I grin, unable to hide my appreciation for last night’s orgasm extravaganza. Hunter has a way with me, one that rocks my womb and has probably destroyed me for any other man.
“Morning.” He takes me in with a visual sweep, over the stiff black dress that shadows every inch of my skin, from knees to collarbone to shoulder. It screams sophistication, but I can tell he sees the sex appeal. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.” I’m not a giddy person—at least, I wasn’t until he showed up in my life. Now, I’m not so sure. “You look well rested.”
“I am. For once.” He jerks his chin at me. “Come here.”
I struggle not to comply. My wants and needs wage war. “I can’t. I have to leave.”
His gentle appraisal transforms to tight scrutiny. “Where are you going?”
He flicks back the sheet, exposing his divine lower half before he slides from the mattress. He approaches, entirely naked, completely aroused, and I force myself to hold his gaze. “Where?” he repeats.
“A funeral.”
The hint of fear slides through his features, a brief snap of flaring eyes and parting lips before he masks his concern. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “For curiosity. For closure.”
“You’re talking about Dan Roberts, right?”
“Yeah…” I don’t appreciate how intuitive he is. “How do you know him?”
“I knew of him. Everyone does. He was the crooked son of a senator. He had links to drugs and solicitation, among other shady shit.” He stops in front of me, unabashed and unapologetic. “People who associate themselves with men like Dan are dangerous. They aren’t people you want to be around. Even at a funeral.”
“I don’t plan on handing out business cards or networking with those in mourning. I just need to go. For me.”
For my family.
He steps into me, draping his arm around my waist. “I don’t want you there.” He speaks against my lips, gifting me with light butterfly kisses until his words sink in.
I pull back and meet his gaze. There’s no remorse over his dictate, no shame visible in his features. Only determination.
“You’re overstepping,” I whisper.
This thing between us, whatever it is, doesn’t carry a noose. I’m not his woman to leash. I never will be.
“Then let me come with you. Let me drive you there. I don’t even have to get out of the car. I’ll just be close if you need me.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.” I need to lay low. Not draw any attention. Police will be there, looking for the murderer, and I don’t want to ping any radars.
“Let me put it this way, I’m going whether you like it or not.” He steps back and walks for his clothes piled beside the bed. “We can do it the easy way, in the same car. Together.” He snatches his jeans off the floor and tugs them on sans underwear. “Or you can be stubborn and get there on your own.”
I ignore how he has to fold his dick like a full-grown anaconda to shove it inside his pants. I ignore and ignore, because at a time like this I shouldn’t be thinking about him pretzel-ing his dick.
“Whatever you decide,” he growls, “you won’t be there alone.”
No. “I need to do this on my own.”
“And you will.” He pulls his shirt over his head and straightens the material with the repeated brush of a hand. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“Don’t push,” I plead. “This is for me, Hunter. It’s personal.”
He tugs on his boots, rough and full of aggression. “I said I’d wait in the damn car.”
I want to hate him. I probably would if the ride didn’t make the travel component of my plan ten times easier. I’ll have a base to spy from, unlike being left in the open if I catch a cab.
He strides for the door and pulls it wide. “You coming?”
I glare, not appreciating how he’s manipulated the moment to become the offended party. He’s the one stepping on my toes. Not the other way around.
“Yeah.” I sigh and grab my coat from the rack. “I’m coming.”
We travel in silence. Hunter broods, while I plot.
I don’t want anyone else affected by my actions. No one but Jacob. Which means I can’t make a scene.
I need to focus on finding his car. That way, I can track him to his house, where the possibilities will be endless. I’ll have more time to scheme. I’ll have innumerable opportunities to make this perfect. And revenge will be so much sweeter if I don’t rush.
I’ll get my chance to make him suffer. To make him pay for stealing my family from me. For hurting them. Torturing them with flames and agony.
I dig my fingernails into my palm to distract myself.
I can’t go back there. Not today.
Guilt tries to haunt me with each approaching mile toward Dan’s final resting place. But I don’t let that penetrate either.
It’s time to step up to the plate with my A-game.
We approach the open black gates of the cemetery ahead of time, and I point to the side of the road. “Can you pull over here, please?”
“Outside?”
“Yeah. Just for now.”
He veers to the curb and turns off the car, the silence growing thicker. He taps the steering wheel, winds down his window, and turns the radio on, then off again.
“Have you got something you want to say?” I ask.
He puts his arm out the window and drums his fingers against the door. “You know you can talk to me, right?” he mutters.
I sit forward in my seat as the hearse comes into view at the end of the road. “About what?”
“About anything.”
Dan passes in front of us, the black coffin in full view. I swallow, my heart trembling. This is the first funeral I’ve been to since my family died. And the first where I’ve been the cause of the festivities.
I scan the passengers in the vehicle procession, searching for a familiar face.
“Did you hear me?” Hunter growls.
“Yeah. I heard you. But you’re pushing too hard, too fast.” In oth
er words, I’m falling, too far, too soon. “You need to back off.”
His response comes in the form of a white-knuckled grip around the steering wheel.
“Look… I don’t do this.” I wave a hand between us. “Ever. Not relationships. Not sleepovers. I’m used to being alone.”
His jaw ticks. “I’m not familiar with fairytales either, princess. I’m trying my best here.”
My lips curve at the description—a fairytale. If only. “Give me time, okay?”
He scoffs. “Yeah. All we need is time.” He starts the push-button ignition and puts the car in drive. “Do you want me to follow?”
“Yeah… Thanks.”
We pull in behind the last car and weave along the narrow, curving road through the cemetery. My pulse increases the farther we go, until we stop behind a mass of parked cars.
Mourners walk across the grass, the crowd milling around a grave in the distance. I can’t distinguish faces from here. There are too many.
“I’m going to make my way to the burial site.”
Hunter glares through the windshield as I open my door and slide out. He’s angry with me, and I understand the frustration. But I can’t let it get between me and Jacob.
“Wait,” he grates. “Are you sure you’re happy to go on your own?”
I should crack a joke. I want to. I’ve done everything on my own for so long that his question is comical. “I’m good.” If only his concern didn’t leave me thirsty for more. “Thanks for caring.”
His nostrils flare, those fingers still gripping tight. I shake off the excess guilt, tug my handbag higher along my shoulder, and pull my sunglasses down to partially cover my face. “I’ll be back soon.”
I close the door and keep my head tipped toward the ground. I don’t raise my gaze until I’ve inched my way into the outer ring of the intimate crowd.
Large framed pictures of a dead man are placed on the other side of Dan’s coffin, which is poised above the hole in the ground. They stare, smiling, mocking, unsettling me. Two rows of seated guests whimper softly, the senator seated on the end, his head high, his face impassive.
The reality of my crime hits me, the blow landing heavy against my chest. I created this pain. I’m the cause of the heartache experienced by each and every one of these guests.
I let out a long breath and close my eyes. I’ll pay for my sins soon enough. I know I will. Until then, I can only hope to drag another deserving criminal down with me.
I dance my gaze over the mourners as the priest begins the burial service. I pass over the sniffling women who dab their eyes and the array of men who barely show an ounce of emotion.
Kind words are spoken about an honorless man, lies are shared, and here I stand, searching for hope with none in sight.
I can’t see Jacob. Not even anyone vaguely familiar to the teenager who has since grown into the man in the picture with Dan. I lean to the left to see hidden faces, then again to the right.
He’s not here.
But he has to be. I can feel him through the building tension in my bones, my stomach, my heart. This moment is going to be the culmination of everything I’ve worked for. The years of searching and plotting. The nights of tears and torment.
He has to be here.
He has to be.
I inch forward to gain a better view of the people closest to me and scan the outer row of mourners. I swoop my gaze in a swaying arc, back and forth, until my attention latches onto a familiar profile to my left.
My heart stops.
I freeze.
But it’s not Jacob. It’s the Good Samaritan from yesterday. The one who helped me on the highway. His head is bowed, not in grief, but in conversation. He’s talking to a GQ model-type on the far side of him, their lips moving in lazy chatter.
I pretend to focus straight ahead and watch from my peripheral vision.
The crowd becomes restless. The sobs and sniffles grow. Then I hear the mechanical whir of the coffin being lowered, and people break into category-three mourning.
The Samaritan and the hottie straighten, doing a half-hearted job of paying attention. They’re definitely not close to the deceased. So, why are they here? Business, maybe? Are these the type of men Hunter warned me about?
I inch back. One step… Pause… Two.
The Samaritan’s gaze lazily swings in my direction, then makes a direct hit.
I stiffen, and so does he. His lips part and his eyes widen, and I’m okay with the shock, because I feel it, too. But then he glances away, the action quick and panicked.
Why is he panicked?
A sudden case of vertigo hits, my world tilting. Is he a cop? A detective?
I rush to scour the mourning faces again, this time with more scrutiny. Am I being watched?
I place a protective palm over my handbag.
Oh, fuckity fuck. I’m in big trouble. Even bigger trouble than normal, seeing as though I have a handbag filled with premeditated craziness.
I glance over my shoulder to Hunter. He’s getting out of the car, his gaze still on me as he shuts the door.
He knows. He can tell something is wrong. I’m not being paranoid anymore.
I take another step back, and the suspicious stranger turns away from me, as if trying to hide. Or at least pretending I don’t exist.
It’s too damn late for that, buddy.
I know he’s up to something. I just don’t know what that something is.
Mourners murmur amongst themselves, while others hug or stroll to their car.
I’m trapped in indecision, ready to run, but prepared to fight. I can’t go down without Jacob. If this is the end of my freedom, then I need him to be right here with me.
I chance another glance at Hunter and find him striding toward me, shoulders back, chin high. He looks ready for battle, and that’s exactly what I need. I want him to know how petrified I am. That I need him. That I’m ready for him to save me, today and from now on.
He slows as he approaches, his face set in stone, but when he reaches my side, he bends down and scoops something off the ground. “Excuse me, ma’am, I think you dropped something.”
I frown as he straightens. There’s no familiarity in the way he speaks to me. Surely, he can’t still be holding a grudge from our earlier conversation.
He reaches out a closed hand, and instinctively I offer him my palm.
He places the clicker to his car in my hand and clasps his fingers over mine as he whispers, “Pretend you don’t know me and get out of here. I’ll find you later.”
All I can do is blink, my heart hammering, my mind racing.
“Go.” His touch falls and he walks away, toward the Samaritan.
I stand in stunned silence, growing colder and colder with each of his departing steps. I’m caught between the need to run and the need to understand. The desire to chase after him and the fear making me want to flee.
He keeps walking straight toward those men, and I can’t look away. Not when he stops beside them. Not when he inclines his head in greeting.
And definitely not when one of them addresses him by name.
14
Him
Her hand has the slightest tremble as I tell her to leave. I put that tremble there. I’m the cause of the slightly parted lips and the wide eyes I’m sure she’s hiding behind those dark sunglasses.
I can feel Torian watching us. Watching every single thing I do.
I never should’ve brought her here. I should’ve faked a car breakdown or gotten us lost along the way. The only reason I didn’t was because I needed to know who she was looking for. That one clue could’ve saved me. Saved her.
At least that was what I thought, until I found Decker and Torian standing less than a few feet away from her.
I walk toward them, trying to act casual when my insides are wound tight.
“Hunter,” Torian greets. “Fancy seeing you here. Did you know the deceased?”
I ignore his poor excuse for a joke a
nd turn my attention to Decker. “I guess the attendance today is a surprise for all.”
His jaw tightens. He knows he’s fucked up, but there’s anger in that expression, too.
“Have you checked your messages lately?” he grates.
No. My phone has been in the car glove compartment since we returned from Seattle. “You know I rarely have my cell on me.”
“That’s true.” Torian nods, unconcerned by the underlying tension in our conversation. “But it’s a weak excuse for poor communication. I’m still waiting on an update on what happened yesterday.”
I itch to glance over my shoulder and check to make sure Steph has gone. I know better, though. I can feel her attention burning the back of my neck. The good news is that Torian hasn’t latched onto her. Carlos mustn’t have taken any photos, and no photos means no familiarity or cause for concern. Yet.
She’s in the clear. As long as I can figure out a way to keep her safe, while also extracting the information I need.
Once we get out of here, I will sit her down and have the tough conversation. I’ll explain what’s going on, and we’ll clean this mess.
“I assumed you already had an update from Carlos.” I flash Torian a cocky smirk. “How is your little bitch boy doing this morning?”
His left eye twitches the slightest bit. “I’ll let you know once I hear from him.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “You do that.”
Decker clears his throat. “Can you two measure your dicks somewhere else? This isn’t the time or place.”
“You’re right.” Torian watches as mourners move around us, walking to their vehicles, while a small group remain around the burial site. “We will discuss this later. I should go and give my condolences to the senator.”
Relief expands in my chest as I wait for him to leave. Then something nudges my arm and the reprieve turns into panic as Steph steps into my periphery—the beautiful blonde hair, the smooth creamy skin.
She stops between me and Decker, and the guy stiffens. I can’t help doing the same as she raises her sunglasses and gives a friendly smile.