by Bella J.
He turned away and tossed his keys on the table next to the door. “Nothing.”
“That big shiner around your eye disagrees.”
Hunter looked at what once was a bottle of whiskey that now laid splattered on the floor. “Did you drink the entire fucking bottle?”
“It was half a bottle, smart-ass.” She shrugged. “Besides, I was bored.” She pulled at the cuff. “And restrained.”
There was a sound of cracking glass as Hunter made his way toward her. “It’s seven in the fucking morning and you’re completely shit-faced.”
“I am not shit-faced.” She held up a finger toward him. “But I do have to pee.”
He stared at her in what Scarlet could only assume was his I’m-so-not-amused face.
“I leave you alone for a few hours and this is what I get.” He leaned over her and she breathed in his wild spice scent mixed with sweat and pure raw male. In this position, she was able to take a peek down his shirt, and saw a lot of ink tattooed on almost every part of his skin.
Her skin tingled and her breath hitched when she felt his hand brush against her arm. There was a click, and the cuff loosened around her wrist. Her arm was so stiff from being in that one position for so long, she had to slowly bring it down before rubbing her wrist.
Hunter stood up, his green eyes still glaring down at her. “Go pee.”
His gaze slipped from her face, slowly moving down her neck, pausing for two seconds at her breasts still covered with nothing but her bra. She noticed his chest rise and fall with every deep breath he took. There was no denying that Hunter was one huge, solid man built out of nothing but cold, hard steel, muscle, and attitude. She would have been blind not to notice.
But while he stood there staring at her, taking in every inch of her body, it seemed like there was something different, something darker lurking behind his eyes. Like an animal slowly pacing up and down behind the gates of his cage, wanting, needing, waiting to get out. And just thinking about that animal finally being let out of his cage caused a subtle, slow burn to start up inside her. The way he kept those brilliant, mesmerizing green eyes on her felt like he was caressing her with his gaze, touching her body with his mind.
Yeah, she’d probably had way too much alcohol.
The second his gaze landed on her hip, staring at the button of her pants, he looked up. “And take a shower while you’re in there. You stink.”
And that was the second time Hunter Keaton had managed to completely shatter the atmosphere around them, causing the crackle of electricity to cease instantly.
He turned around and headed to the kitchen.
“Fucking asshole,” she whispered.
“I heard that.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“I already did that today.” He turned around and shot her a smug grin. “Twice.”
“What?” She glanced at him, dumbfounded. “It’s not even eight in the morning yet.”
“I’m not easily sated.”
All she could do was shake her head, and clench her thighs before getting up from the couch…and then almost losing her balance.
“Is Jack kicking your ass over there, Lucy?” Hunter held up his cup of coffee, that smug smile still plastered on his face.
Scarlet grabbed hold of the armrest of the couch and steadied herself. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
With carefully planned steps, Scarlet managed to get to the bathroom. While she was sitting down cuffed to the couch, she didn’t realize how drunk she really was. Now that she was finally allowed to stand up, she was fully aware that drinking all that whiskey might not have been her best idea ever.
After closing the door behind her, she leaned against it. She was tired, her body ached, and she needed some fucking sleep.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall of the bathroom. God, she looked like Medusa had taken a dump on her face. Her mascara was no longer on her lashes, but on her cheeks. And her sleek hair was now one giant ball of tangled mess. No wonder he was staring at her. He wasn’t fucking her with his eyes, he was mentally giving her a damn makeover.
With a deep breath and a heavy feeling inside her chest, Scarlet wondered if she would ever get the answer to the single most important question she’d had for a very long time.
Why me?
Chapter 11
Hunter flung open the cabinet and grabbed some painkillers.
He’d pushed himself a little too hard this time. Usually, he was able to pace himself, to know when he’d had enough. But with everything that went down the last twelve hours, he had too much rage and anger inside him to try to control it. He needed more than he usually did—which was why he was currently washing two painkillers down with tequila.
For some reason, the memories were hitting him right in the balls. It was like his past had decided to torture him good, to give him a not so gentle reminder why he was so fucked up.
He closed his eyes, leaned forward, and clutched the kitchen counter, his knuckles turning white. All he saw was her face, her eyes, her smile, and it was killing him.
Seven years. It had been seven damn years and he still remembered her face like he had seen her two minutes ago. Full, rosy lips that had him constantly wishing he could kiss them forever. Long blonde hair that looked like it had been touched by God himself. And then her eyes—bright blue eyes that seemed like they had the soul of an angel burning behind them. There was no way Hunter could feel anything but love and contentment whenever he looked into her eyes. But those eyes were gone. Their light, their radiance didn’t exist anymore—and neither did Hunter’s soul.
His phone beeped and he saw it was a message from Adam.
Open your door, fuck-face.
Adam knew never to pitch up at his apartment without sending a heads-up first. That was just the way Hunter rolled. He didn’t like surprises.
Just as he was about to text Adam to tell him not to come over, there was a knock on the door.
Dammit.
Hunter quickly glanced from the bathroom where Scarlet had been for the last half hour to the front door. Fuck. There was no way in hell he would be able to get Adam to leave without evoking a string of questions which Hunter just didn’t have the energy to answer now, or ever.
Almost one hundred percent sure that Scarlet was probably passed out on the bathroom floor, he stomped over to the front door and flung it open, only to be met by a grinning like an idiot Adam Masters. “Hello, Goldilocks.”
Unamused, Hunter glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s not even eight in the morning, Adam. What do you want?”
“What the fuck happened to your face?” Adam leaned forward to inspect the newly acquired shiner around Hunter’s eye. “Did you piss off your mother again?”
“No.”
“Did you try to fondle the eighty-two-year-old on the first floor again?”
“Fuck you.”
Adam lifted a hand and tapped against the bruised side of Hunter’s face. “So feisty. Ever consider anger management?” He brushed passed Hunter and into the apartment, uninvited.
Hunter slammed the door shut.
“Adam, whatever it is, I don’t have time right now.”
“Oh, come on. You have nothing but time.” Adam walked past the kitchen counter and picked up the bottle of tequila. “You don’t think it’s a bit early for the hard stuff?”
“Do you?”
Adam smiled his huge polished-teeth smile. “Hell no.” He opened the bottle and took a big gulp, letting out a moan of appreciation as he swallowed. “God, I love Mexico.”
“Adam. What the fuck are you doing here?” Hunter grabbed the bottle of tequila and placed it back on the counter.
“Can’t a guy just have some coffee with one of his best pals?”
“Nice try.” Hunter leaned against the counter. “What are you doing here?”
Adam pulled his hand through his ink-black hair, his blue eyes suddenly looking everywhere but a
t Hunter.
Hunter groaned. “Ah fuck, Adam. Not again.”
“What?” Adam shrugged.
“You got caught, didn’t you?”
Adam looked at the roof like he saw something very interesting up there. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Adam, how many times do I have to tell you? Chicago is full of single women you can fuck. Why the hell do you need to always stick your dick in a vagina that does not belong to you?”
“First of all,” Adam held up his finger, “yes, Chicago is full of single women, but I’ve fucked over half of them already, and you know I don’t like eating at the same restaurant more than, let’s say, a few times.” He held up a second finger. “Secondly, just because a woman has a ring on her finger does not mean her pussy belongs to her husband.”
Hunter blinked. “Ah yes, it kinda does.”
Adam walked to the fridge and grabbed himself a bottle of water. “This is the twenty-first century, my friend. Pussy belongs to whoever the fuck is inside it at that point in time.” He shot Hunter one of his trademark grins—a grin Hunter had wished he could punch off Adam’s face on numerous occasions.
“Adam Masters, I am not getting you pictures of a married woman fucking another man just so that you can drop it in her mailbox for her husband to find and get the trail off your guilty ass. Not again.”
Hunter walked to the other side of the apartment, and Adam followed.
“That’s not what I need you to do this time.”
Hunter spun around. “Then what?”
“Well, I need pictures, but this time it’s not pictures of the wife. I need pictures of a guy.”
“You fucked a guy?”
“Oh my God, no. Are you insane? I love pussy too much, remember? I need pictures of a guy who caught me fucking another guy’s wife.”
Hunter was confused. “Run that by me again.”
A sly smile crept up on Adam’s face. “I fucked a woman in the pool while her husband was upstairs jerking off around the blackjack table with a few friends from the golf club. One of the friends came down and caught us.”
Hunter just continued to stare at Adam, unmoved. “You need help.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking you. Duh.”
“Seriously. Those freaky blue eyes and ever-ready cock of yours are going to land you in a whole lot of shit someday. Shit I won’t be able to get you out of.”
Adam placed his hands on Hunter’s shoulders. “And until that day comes, I know I can rely on you, can’t I, big bud?”
Hunter closed his eyes. The ibuprofen and tequila did nothing for the Adam induced migraine he just developed.
“Fine. But this is it, Adam. I am not helping you out of another mess again.” He brushed past his friend. “It’s like aiding and abetting your cock.”
Adam turned around and lifted his brows. “And a-bedding my cock will get every damn day.”
Hunter just shook his head and walked to his front door while going through his contacts on his phone. “Please leave before I change my mind.”
Just then, the bathroom door opened, and both Adam and Hunter jerked their heads in the direction. Scarlet came walking out with nothing but a black towel wrapped around her wet body, the steam escaping from the bathroom behind her making it look like a scene out of a porn movie. It was like it all happened in slow motion as she flicked her wet hair behind her shoulders, walking over to his closet while water still slid down the insides of her legs, making all sorts of dirty thoughts flow through Hunter’s head. It was like his mind was telling him that there was only one place those long, curvy legs belonged, and that was around his goddamn neck.
“Hot diggity-dog.”
Hunter jerked his head toward Adam and saw his friend practically eye fucking Scarlet from across the room. From out of nowhere, Hunter got the insane urge to pop Adam’s eyeballs like zits and then shove them up his ass.
“Yo, asshole, watch the Disney channel much?”
“Hunter, you sly man whore, you. You didn’t tell me you have company. And why does her face look like yours?” He turned to Hunter’s bruised face, and then back to Scarlet. “Oh, I get it. Things got a bit heated in a sexy, violent kind of way, did it?”
“Please leave,” Hunter said, deadpan, yet Adam still didn’t take his eyes off Scarlet as she took a shirt out of Hunter’s closet and pulled it over her head.
Wanting to grab Adam by the shoulders and toss him out the door, Hunter walked up to him, but Adam moved forward and rushed toward Scarlet.
“Hi.” He held out his hand. “I’m Adam Masters, the best friend. You are?”
Scarlet looked Adam up and down—slowly. “It’s Sunday.”
Adam smiled. “Hi, Sunday. What an unusual yet gorgeous name.”
Hunter snorted, and Scarlet glanced in his direction before returning her attention back to Adam. “No, I mean today is Sunday.”
“Oh.” Adam looked confused—and Hunter was loving it.
Scarlet narrowed her eyes. “Do you work on Sundays?”
“No. Why?”
She leaned forward. “Then why the hell are you wearing a suit on a Sunday?”
Hunter burst out laughing, and by the look on Adam’s face, he realized that the joke was on him. Scarlet smiled while Adam stood there, not knowing what the fuck to say.
“Well,” Adam placed his hands in his pants pockets, “a man should always look his best, no matter what day of the week.”
Scarlet gave a step forward and started to wind his tie up around her fist. “From my experience, there’s only one way a man can always look his best.” She pressed against him and pushed herself up on her toes, bringing her face close to his. “Naked and between my legs.”
Hunter was so lost in her voice and the seduction that swirled around her like a hurricane that for the second time since Adam and Scarlet had been in the same room, Hunter wanted to plant his fist in Adam’s face.
Adam’s gaze remained locked on hers. “You’re a tease.”
“And you smell like apple condoms.”
She stepped back with a wry smile on her face before loosening the towel from around her body and pulling it off from underneath the shirt she had on. Just the thought that Scarlet was completely naked under his shirt gave Hunter a hard-on that would drill straight through the fucking Great Wall of China.
Adam winked at her. “I don’t use condoms, sweetheart.”
“Oh, that’s nice. So you’re a walking STD, then?”
Scarlet moved past him toward the kitchen, and Hunter just stood there laughing as he took in the stunned look on Adam’s face.
Adam turned to him. “I don’t like her.”
“Yeah, man. It seems like not a lot of people do.”
Scarlet shot Hunter a warning glare, but he just kept on laughing.
Adam buttoned up his suit jacket. “I’ll leave you two evenly disturbed people to get back to dry humping.” He walked to the front door and turned to Hunter. “I’ll call you later in regards to that little favor.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Scarlet said as she closed the fridge, standing with a glass of OJ in her hands. “Did you come for a blowjob? Did my presence interrupt your early Sunday morning rendezvous?”
Hunter knew by now not to take a single word this woman said seriously. Adam, on the other hand, looked like he was having a cursing fest inside his tiny little mind while glancing from Scarlet to Hunter.
“I hope you have a leash for this one, man. I’m out.”
As Adam closed the door, there were a few seconds of silence before both Hunter and Scarlet burst out laughing.
“I like your friend,” she said before taking a sip of her OJ and walking into the living room.
Hunter stared after her. “That’s the way you treat someone you just met and like?”
She placed her glass on the table and walked toward the blue boxing bag hanging by the open area behind the couch.
“You should see me when I meet
someone I don’t like.” She threw a hard punch against the bag, sending it swinging in the other direction.
Hunter walked closer. “That’s some arm you’ve got there.”
She threw another punch…and another. By her form, the way she moved when she punched the bag, it was obvious that she had experience.
He sat on the back of the couch and crossed his arms as he continued to watch her. She was good. She was damn good. Not to mention she looked sexy as hell throwing all those punches and jumping around, taking aim at the bag wearing nothing but one of his shirts.
With every punch it seemed like she got stronger, more determined—like she was seeing the bag as an actual target. The concentration on her face was—from a fighter’s point of view—amazing. She never took her eyes off the bag or broke her concentration even once.
When she suddenly lifted her leg and kicked the bag hard, Hunter froze, staring at her all open mouthed. This woman had skill, serious ass kicking talent. Of course, he’d noticed that outside the club already when she dropped one of the guys to the ground. And then there was the whole head-butting Hunter in the face and trying to replace his kidneys with his balls thing. But this, seeing the tactic she was using with the bag, he knew she had training. Someone didn’t get to be this good out of pure talent alone.
More punching, more kicking, and her eyes started to become wild and cold as sweat started to slowly run down her face. It seemed like she was lost, lost in whatever nightmare she was fighting against—the bag being the nightmare.
“Scar?”
She just kept on punching, hammering and kicking the bag, not slowing down at all.
“Scarlet?”
He stood up straight and slowly walked toward her, but she never took her eyes off the bag. Patches of sweat started to appear on the shirt she was wearing. She was pushing her body to the limit. Every muscle in her arms was wound tight. The muscles in her calves and upper thighs were clearly cut and shaped, and the way her skin glistened from the sweat had him biting his bottom lip as he wondered what it would feel like to be buried between those strong, beautiful thighs.