Hunting Her Box Set

I throw the can toward the door and scowl at her, impatient.

“Please.” She chews on her lower lip. There’s no seduction in the expression. Only feigned desperation. Pretend fear. “I was six when I was first sexually assaulted by someone I trusted.”

“Jesus Christ.” The diversion back to this conversation is enough to make my tired head spin. “I swear to God, Keira, I’ll lose my shit if I have to listen to more of your lies.”

Her throat works over a heavy swallow but she holds my gaze, determined. “I didn’t know what was happening at first. My parents were in the kitchen. Cole was on the floor watching television right in front of me, while I sat side-by-side on the sofa with an attacker I’d grown to admire.”

“Stop it,” I mutter. “You’re wasting your breath.”

“He started complementing me,” she continues as if I didn’t speak. “Whispering right in my ear about how I was such a pretty little girl as his index finger ran in circles on my thigh, just below the hem of my skirt.”

She’s doing it again, trying to delude me with her sob stories.

It won’t work.

I can’t let it.

I clench my hands into fists, hating how her lies hypnotize me even though I know the truth.

“I can still remember how it felt.” She lowers her attention to her feet. “The lone finger that changed to a full splayed palm which worked its way beneath my clothes. When he reached the crotch of my underwear he smiled and chuckled an apology, pretending the intimate touch had been an accident.”

I run a hand over my face and clench my teeth to maintain control. How the fuck does she do it? How can she spin her web of fiction like it’s the truth?

“He did it in plain sight. Mere feet from Cole. I could hear my parents talking clearly in the next room. It made me think he mustn’t be doing anything wrong if he wasn’t trying to hide it.”

“Nice story,” I mutter. “You done yet?”

She lifts her gaze to mine, but the a

I despise her beauty. I hate her duplicity. Most of all, I loathe the way she makes me want to believe her.

“He did it often, Sebastian. And I was too young to understand the severity of his actions. Whenever he came around, he’d hug me tighter than anyone else. He’d pay me more attention than Layla or Cole.”

Her gaze trails off, disappearing in memory. “We’d always play chasies, and when he caught me it was usually with a splayed hand across my chest or my ass. I guess I always knew he was doing something wrong, but he was kind to me. He made me feel beautiful and bought me expensive gifts. As a little girl, I guess my greed for shiny new toys outweighed the discomfort.”

“Just like your dad buys for the women he sells to the highest bidder.”

She cringes. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. And I was brainwashed in the same way. But then the casual touches turned into something more. His appetite increased the older I got, and I didn’t know how to make—”

“Keira,” I warn, needing her to stop before I give in. “You’re not going to fool me with this. I’m never going to believe you.”

I spin my own lies in the hopes she’ll quit this vicious cycle. My hands itch to comfort her.

Her—a cu

She shrugs, her face filled with resignation. “When I was twelve, my dad threw a party at our house. All the adults were drinking and talking loud. I could hear them from my room upstairs because us kids had been forbidden to join the fun.” Her chin trembles. “That night he came into my room and laid beside me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he touched himself…right there…on my bed…while I pretended to sleep.”

“Stop,” my voice fractures.

Her eyes glaze with unshed tears. “No. Not until you believe me.”

I scoff. “Don’t hold your breath.”

She wraps one arm around her middle, hugging herself. “Like I told you, I was fourteen when he raped me. I could never lie about that. Cole is the one who saved me by storming into my room and dragging a grown man off me. My brother never left my side. He stayed with me while I cried, his own tears mingling with mine as everyone continued to party downstairs.”

“Yet there’s no police report,” I accuse. “I’ve dug deep enough into your life I’ve practically given you an enema. And not once have I found evidence of this.”

“I couldn’t report it.”

“Of course not,” I snap. “God forbid you ever have one piece of proof to backup your bullshit.”

Her eyes harden, her spite finally coming out to play. “I couldn’t report it because—”

“Shut it, Keira.” I shove to my feet, ready to go inside just so I can get away from her.

“I couldn’t report it—”

“I said shut the fuck up.” I descend upon her in five fierce steps to grasp her upper arm.

Her hand raises in defense, or at least I think it does, until I catch the glint of silver as it sails toward my neck. The blade pierces my skin, the bite of pain barely felt over my rising fury.

Fuck. Me.

She’s done it again.

She’s fucking played me.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

I deserve to have my throat slashed. If I get out of this, I swear to God I’ll do it myself for being so fucking stupid.

“How fast can you move, Sebastian?” she hisses. “Can you disarm me before I slice through your carotid? Because like you’ve mentioned before, there’s nobody here to save you. There’s no phone. No devices. No people. You’ll bleed out before I reach the main road.”

Her gaze flickers between my eyes, frantic even though I estimate she’s got more than a fifty-fifty chance of doing exactly what she’s threatened.

“Slice deep,” I snarl, “because if the cut isn’t fatal, what I inflict on you will be.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not doing this to hurt you. I’m doing it to earn your trust.”

She sucks in a deep breath and retreats, the kitchen knife clattering to the floor as she raises her hands in surrender.

My heart beats in an erratic pulse, waiting for the punchline to her joke.

“I couldn’t report the rape because my attacker would never have gone to prison, no matter what I said.” She articulates the words slowly. Succinctly. “Just like you said, criminal charges don’t stick to men like my uncle.”

My muscles pull taut, every inch of my skin crawling. “Richard?”

“Yes.” She inclines her head. “Richard.”

She steps toward the back door and reaches for the knob. “I didn’t lie to you about the rape, and I wasn’t playing games when I broke down the night of the shooting. The only reason I told you my father died is because I wanted nothing more than to trust you. I had to prove to myself you were the guy I thought you were, especially when I was falling for you.”

Jesus. She’s working me like a pro. “And now you know I’m not that guy.”

“Now I know you’re a better person than the man I fell for.” Her gaze pleads with me. “But you still don’t believe me, do you?”

I clench my jaw. Unable to open my mouth.

I can’t let her know she’s reclaimed the upper hand.

I won’t give her the satisfaction of knowing I’m hooked.

“Okay. I get it.” She doesn’t break our gaze, just keeps staring, keeps wordlessly pleading. “And I guess it won’t make a difference if I tell you I’m responsible for putting Richard in hospital.”

It takes all my strength not to jump at the information. She’s feeding me exactly what I want to hear, but I can’t let myself believe her.