by Eden Summers
“You can tell me now.” I walk across the porch, my uncovered feet tingling from the cold. “I’m ready to hear it.”
Decker mutters something under his breath. A curse, maybe. But Hunter remains still, his back to me.
“What is it?” I walk down the three steps to the lawn. “What do I need to know?”
“Nice outfit.” Decker clears his throat and stalks in my direction. “I’ll meet you both inside.”
“Why?” I ask. “Aren’t you a part of this, too?”
“Oh, no.” He raises his hands and shakes his head. “No, no, no. I follow orders. I don’t make the plans. This is all on him.”
I nod, trying to steel myself against the upcoming news. An ominous feeling creeps down my spine as he passes and goes inside.
Hunter doesn’t face me. He stares into the darkness, silent in contemplation, or maybe it’s annoyance over my interruption.
“Hunter?” I take one step, then another. “You can tell me now.”
Finally, he turns, his head lowered, his gaze meeting mine through thick, dark lashes. “Torian wasn’t in the bar with Brent.”
My heart drops, and I force myself to nod. “Okay… Who was?”
His attention flicks toward the house. Toward Decker.
I swallow, coming to the conclusion that a predator is behind me. Inside the house. I move away from the porch, coming closer to my protector, and glance over my shoulder. “He killed Brent?”
“No. He didn’t kill him.”
“Then who did? And why was he there?” My words are garbled in a tangled mess as fear and the need for retribution rush through me.
“He made sure everything ran smoothly.” Hunter straightens his shoulders as if preparing for an onslaught. “He controlled the situation for me from the inside.”
He looks at me as if waiting for my comprehension to dawn, but there’s no dawning here. I don’t understand. I don’t think I want to.
“I organized everything.” His lips are downcast, his eyes grim. Everything about him screams remorse, and yet nothing makes sense.
“You arranged for Brent to be killed?” My tone is strong, belying the fissure cracking right through the heart of me.
He stares for long moments that drag on for an eternity. “Sarah, he’s not dead.”
Not. Dead.
A spark of excited relief bursts to life inside my chest. He’s not dead. He…is not…dead.
I want to fall to my knees in thanks, but Hunter’s unshifting look of stony remorse fizzles my relief. “Is he hurt?”
I retreat a step, needing space to think, only to freeze at the sound of the porch door opening. Decker walks outside, a large bowl cradled in one arm. He leans against the banister, watching me as his hand dives into the bowl, retrieving a pile of popcorn.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Hunter hisses. “We’re not entertainment. Get the fuck inside.”
Decker smiles, all toothy and wide, then snaps the handful of popcorn into his mouth.
Concentrate. Think.
Hunter arranged for Decker to be inside the bar.
“Is he hurt?” I repeat, standing my ground and squaring my shoulders. “I heard the gunshot. You wanted him dead.”
“No. I wanted you scared. I wanted you vulnerable and in need of my help. When I told you I was messaging Decker, I did. I told him to fire a warning shot.”
I snap my lips closed to stop a gasp escaping.
He wanted me back in Portland. He wanted me here.
“Is. He. Hurt?” I enunciate each word through clenched teeth.
“No.” He shakes his head. “He’s fine.”
“A little pissed off that he got held at gunpoint,” Decker clarifies. “And that I shot a hole in his wall. But yeah, fine.”
“You’re not helping,” Hunter growls.
I blink slowly as rage and humiliation burn my eyes. “So much for no more lies.”
He snaps to attention and takes a step forward. “I haven’t lied since I promised you the truth. Since we arrived here.”
What a privilege that must be to a snake like him.
I stand immobile. Heart heavy. Soul weary.
“I won’t lie to you again, Sarah. Everything that has happened since we came here is real.”
He means the fucking and maybe the brief admission that he wants me. But who doesn’t want A-grade snatch?
Asshole.
My feelings had been more than that. So horribly, disturbingly immense.
“Say something,” he begs.
That’s a tough request, seeing as I’m tongue-tied with humiliation.
I owe him nothing. Not my anger. Not even my words. But I can give him one. “Goodbye.”
I start for the house. I’ll get changed, stuff a pair of clean underwear in my pocket, then run.
That’s all I do now. Run. Flee.
Every step I’ve made since Hunter entered my life has been wrought with failure and disappointment. And yet I stupidly felt my emptiness lessen.
I take the three stairs onto the porch one at a time, calm and civil, while I scowl at Decker, who continues to eat popcorn like he’s watching an Academy Award performance. I walk inside without a word, head straight for my doppelgänger bedroom, and change into a fresh pair of jeans from the clothes Hunter has stacked in the wardrobe.
I grab a few pairs of underwear from my bedside drawers, shoving them in my pockets, and lift my mattress to retrieve an old switchblade stored in a hole between the springs.
“You can’t leave.”
I straighten at the sound of his voice and lower the mattress back in place.
“You don’t have any money on you. You don’t have a phone.”
I turn with a derisive smile and face him standing in the doorway. “No, and I don’t even have my dignity, because you stole that from me, too. But I’ll make it work.”
He winces. “Let me explain.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I shove the blade into my pocket beside the already tightly compacted underwear. “All I want is for you to let me walk out of here without another confrontation.”
“I can’t do that.” The words are murmured softly, in the deepest, richest tone.
I stride toward him—I’ll stride straight through him if I have to—and he widens his stance, his shoulders broad, his arms hanging limp. He covers my escape.
“I’m not doing this with you again,” I mutter. “Move.”
He doesn’t.
I continue forward and try to shove my way through. He stands like stone, his beseeching eyes tearing me apart.
“Move.”
“Ask me why.”
I close my eyes briefly, warding off the insincere heartbreak in his tone. “I don’t need to.”
I push at his arm, and he responds by getting right in my face. “Yes, you do. You need to know why I did it.”
I pull away, thankful he allows the retreat. “I already know why. You love to play games. You love tormenting me. It’s who you are. It’s what you do.”
He cringes.
“See?” I throw my arms wide and give a bitter laugh. “I’m right.”
“Yeah. You are.” He nods. “I loved playing our games.”
My heart squeezes at the admission. I don’t want to be right. No matter how obvious the answer, I wish and wish to be wrong.
“I lost you for five days. One minute, I knew where you were; the next you were gone.” He leans in, but not toward my face. He moves to the side, his breath tickling my neck. “That first night, not knowing where you were…Fucking. Killed. Me.”
He enunciates those last words into my ear with such vehement passion my chest tightens. Sternum. Ribs. Lungs.
“I was scared.” He moves closer. So close I can feel the heat emanating from his bare chest. “I thought you were hurt. Or that Torian changed his mind about the deal we made.”
“What deal?” I pull away to meet his gaze.
“I practically sold my soul for your safety.”
Lies. Lies. Lies.
I shake my head in disbelief.
“It’s true.” He looks me in the eye, undaunted by my skepticism. “There’s trust between me and Torian, no matter how temperamental. So, I vouched for you, putting everything on the line to convince him I believed you when you said you knew nothing. But I wasn’t entirely sure he would leave you alone. Then you disappeared, and I thought he was responsible. My panic only increased the longer you were gone. I was mindless, Sarah. You’ve got no idea how crazy I was searching for you.”
“So you fooled me into thinking my one and only friend was murdered?”
He clenches his jaw, raises his chin. “Would you have come home with me for any other reason?”
I open my mouth, poised to respond.
“Think about it,” he demands. “There’s no way you would’ve gotten in my car if I’d asked. There’s no way you would’ve let me fuck you, or stay in your bed. You wouldn’t have crawled into my arms or spoken to me the way you have tonight.”
My throat tightens at the reminder of how much I’ve given him. “That’s a lot of effort to get laid, buddy.”
His eyes narrow to harsh slits. “I can get laid any time, any place. This isn’t about sex. This is about you and me. It’s about not being able to fucking walk away.” He sucks in a breath and lets it out in a heave. “You can’t deny feeling the same. I know you do.”
“What I feel is anger,” I snarl. “I feel disgusted and played. I feel like every word that comes out of your mouth is nothing but a lie.” I square my shoulders and get in his face, almost nose to nose. “I feel like you’ve won this battle, but never again. I’m done. For good.”
I glare at him for long seconds, then stride around him, making it to the door.
“We’re not done,” he growls. “We’re not finished here.”
“Yes, we are.” I continue into the hall, hating the distance I’m putting between us, but needing it, too.
“Sarah,” he calls after me. “You can’t leave.”
I briefly close my eyes, pained by the way he says my name. Loving and loathing in immeasurable quantities.
“Sarah,” he yells, his footsteps following me.
I stride through the living room, toward Decker, who now stands between me and the porch door.
“I know how to find Jacob.”
Hunter’s statement stops me in my tracks. I meet Decker’s gaze, and there’s no longer any humor in his features. His face is emotionless. Solemn. A picture-perfect portrait of the truth.
This isn’t a lie.
No. I can’t be fooled again. I can’t let myself believe that the man who torments me knows where to find the man who ruined me.
“Stop it,” I whisper.
“Believe me.” His footfalls move closer. “I know where he is.”
It shouldn’t matter. It can’t matter. Staying here is a bad decision, no matter the reason. I will my feet to move and hold my head high as I continue to the door.
“We can help you take him down,” Decker adds. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To get him back for—”
“Shut up,” I scream. “Just shut the hell up, and quit playing me. I can’t take this anymore.”
I focus on the freedom waiting for me on the other side of the wall of glass. There is a peaceful truth that comes with solitude. A clarity of vision unmarred by the opinions of others.
Yes, it’s lonely. But there is harmony in that, too.
I lived in that existence for a long time, going through the motions of life yet not really living. Not really feeling in my self-imposed isolation. Then Hunter showed up, obliterating my truth. He destroyed the peace. He blurred the bigger picture.
And I can’t deny I liked it.
He creeps into the reflection in the glass, approaching from over my right shoulder to meet my gaze. “He works for Torian. He’s a small-time dealer in Newport who comes back to Portland every few weeks to check in.”
He’s tempting me with the one thing I want, manipulating me because I’ve let him know all the right buttons to push. I close my eyes and simply listen. Not to Hunter. Not to Decker. I tune in to my intuition, hoping against all hope that it steers me in the right direction.
After all his lies, I can’t stomach the thought of trusting him. And then I think about him kissing me. I remember his notes. I hear his emotional admissions—I had to see you… You’ve got me… I sold my soul for your safety.
There has to be truth in those moments. At least the slightest glimmer.
“I know you think I’ve been fucking with you,” he murmurs. “But trust me, you’ve done shit to me, too.”
I open my eyes and glare at him through the reflection. “I haven’t done anything to you. Not one damn thing.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve fucked with me since the first time I saw you with Roberts. You messed with my head. You made me lose sight of everything.” He gives a sad smile. “All I see is you, Sarah.”
“Stop it.” I shove my hand through my loose hair, pulling tight. I need the pressure to stop building in my skull. I need relief. I need… Fuck. I don’t know what I need anymore.
“Let me help you with Jacob.” He takes a step closer.
“Don’t.” I scoot away and turn to face him. “If you move another step I’ll…” What? Scratch his eyes out? Beat him? Cuss him to death? Maybe I could do all of the above.
“I followed you from the hotel room with Dan because I wanted to know who you were. I wanted to know why someone like you would be with a lowlife piece of shit.”
“Bullshit,” I spit. “You needed to find out what he told me.”
“That was part of it, yes. But it didn’t stop there. It never stops with you.”
Oh, God. I’m succumbing. I want his lies. I crave the manipulation. Because even though his attention is fake, I keep convincing myself it’s real. From the first night I met him, I saw things in this man that were never there—attraction, passion, protection.
None of it existed, yet the fiction weaves around me like tendrils of the finest silk, delicate and comforting in my denial.
“I needed to know more. Not just about Dan, about you.” He remains a few feet away, somber with his deceptive conviction. “It got worse after we kissed. And then again when we fucked. Nothing made sense except my craving for more. It hasn’t changed. Even when Torian was breathing down my neck. Even when you had a gun to my chest. And God knows it only got worse when Carlos ran you off the—”
“I need you to stop.” My voice cracks and I give up the show of strength. “Please… Just stop.”
“I can’t. I’ve tried. When it comes to you, I don’t have any control. I just want you, Sarah. That’s all I know anymore.”
I suck in a breath and glance to Decker, expecting a smirk or a grin at the very least. I get neither. His lips are tight, his brow furrowed. He’s uncomfortable.
Well, goddamnit, so am I.
“I played you.” Hunter moves toward me, stopping within reach. “And I get that you don’t trust me. But I trust you.”
He reaches out, and I stiffen as he grabs me by my jeans pocket and retrieves my knife. I watch in disbelief as he flicks it open and holds out the hilt for me to take.
“Do what you like,” he offers. “Carve your name across my chest. Retaliate however you want.”
“Jesus Christ,” Decker mutters.
“I mean it.” Hunter places the knife in my palm and wraps his hand around mine, raising the blade so the tip almost touches the skin across his ribs. “Do what you need to. Make this right.”
My eyes are wide, my lips parted. He clutches my hand tight around the grip, and for the moment, I don’t want to let go. I want to hurt him. I need to make him suffer.
I take a menacing step forward, and the tip of the blade pierces his skin.
I watch intently as his eyes flare, his jaw tenses, his chin lifts. I derive the slightest taste of justice from his pain, but the
remorse hits me tenfold.
“Go on,” he implores, his determination unwavering. “Do it.”
I clench my fingers tighter, my throat closing. I increase the pressure, hoping for satisfaction to hit me by the bucket-load. But those hazel eyes… God, those eyes. They do things to me that the most malicious actions can’t achieve. They strip my defenses. They strum my soul.
He sucks in a breath, and his grip loosens on my hand.
I glance down to find blood trailing over his stomach in a tiny rivulet to sink into the material of his black jeans.
“Get away from me.” I scoot back out of his reach, and the knife falls from my fingers to clatter to the tiled floor.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Forgiveness doesn’t come that easily. You have too much bullshit to make up for. No stab wound can amount to that.”
“Then tell me how to fix this,” he growls.
“How should I know?” I snap. “Haven’t you heard the saying? You don’t break a plate and expect an apology to make it better. You can glue it back together, but it’s still not the same. The damage is already done.”
“That’s some philosophical genius, right there,” Decker mumbles.
I ignore him, but Hunter’s eyes flare with fury. “Fine. I’ll give you space for now.”
He turns to the kitchen and walks away, leaving me cold with the receding attention. Maybe I should’ve stabbed him after all.
Decker raises a brow as his gaze drops to Hunter’s stomach. “You two are motherfucking crazy. I feel like I’ve just witnessed a satanic mating ritual.”
“Nobody asked you to be here.” Hunter rounds the island counter, grabs the scotch, and drinks from the bottle.
Blood seeps from the small cut against his ribs. He’s never been more vicious with his harsh glare and flaring nostrils. He’s never been more masculine. More fascinating. Alluring.
I march toward him, his eyes narrowing on me as I approach, and snatch the bottle from his hand. If I can’t escape this torment, then I sure as hell won’t let him do it via the reprieve of intoxication.
The asshole can suffer.
“Thanks.” I turn away and storm to my new bedroom.
The last thing I hear as I close myself inside is Decker’s laughter and his snickered, “You’ve got your hands full with that one.”