Hunting Her Box Set

Her posture stiffens, snapping tight in a heartbeat.

She mutters something. A curse. A promise, maybe.

Again, I’m invigorated. Euphoric at the ease of angering her, and equally disgusted in myself at enjoying her reaction.

“The cell feed doesn’t allow for audio. But you’ll have access to it in here.” I reach for the narrow counter and pull out a keyboard to tap in the necessary button combination. Brief flickers of noise filter through from the speakers in the corners of the room. The sound of Luca clearing his throat. The clink and clatter of plates as he piles them into the dishwasher. “You’ll hear whatever my father has to say when the time comes. You’ll bear witness to it all in the safety of this room.”

I can already picture what she’s going to see.

He’ll greet me with a handshake, his designer suit flawless, his hair groomed and perfectly cut. He’ll compliment me on something, then follow it up with a harsh insult. The kindness before the storm. It’s how he’s always been. With me. With my sisters. Reward then reprimand.

We’ll talk about family. Money. Negotiations. And those women.

“Anything overheard is to be kept in the strictest confidence. I have friends in the FBI, so I’ll know if you sing.”

I think that’s another part of this game. I like her being a threat. A constant devil on my shoulder. Once this thing with my father is over, the ball will be in her court. It will be up to Anissa if we play another round.

“You’ve made the threat clear, Cole. You don’t need to keep repeating it.”

“You sure? I have to admit, it’s slightly enjoyable reminding you.”

She sighs, remaining silent while her gaze is trained on the screens for long seconds. “How do you plan to…?” The end of her sentence hangs between us, her voice barely audible. Soft.

I know exactly what she’s asking. It’s the same question I’ve asked myself time and time again.

I have options when it comes to killing my father. Multiple alternatives. But the problem stems from the honor we’ve built our lives upon. Just because I don’t abide by Anissa’s justice system doesn’t mean my world doesn’t have a code of our own. One that demands respect.

Stabbing my father in the back is one thing. Killing him in cowardice is quite another.

I need to finish this face-to-face. Eye-to-eye. His power and authority command a full-frontal attack. An end-game of strategy, not a battle for strength.

“You don’t need to know the finer details.”

“All you want me to do is watch? I don’t need to be involved?”

“Bearing witness is all that’s necessary. For obvious reasons, it’s best if he’s kept in the dark where you’re concerned.”

She sucks in a deep breath and turns to face me, a mere foot of space between us. “Has he made contact?”

“No. But he won’t be too far away. He could arrive at any minute. Either today or tomorrow. I doubt it will be much later.”

“And what if he sees me? What if he arrives u

“We’ll hear the boat.”

Worry breaks across her features. “What if we don’t?”

“We’ll hear it.”

“But—”

“We’ll hear him coming, Nissa. I promise you. That’s why none of the televisions have been turned on. There’s no music or noise to distract from what might be coming.”

“What about when we’re sleeping?”

She seems to inch closer with her apprehension. Or the space around us shrinks. Everything closes in. There’s only her. Only me. And a fucking dick that won’t stop with its incessant twitch.

“Trust me. I’ll keep you safe. I know my father. The last thing people like us want to do is surprise assholes with trigger-happy fingers in the middle of the night. He’ll make sure I’m aware he’s on his way.”

She nods, the movement almost imperceptible as she stares at me. Stares so deep I feel it in my bones.

Could she finally be letting down her guard? Is this fierce, spiteful woman succumbing to my charm?

I step back, giving myself a reprieve from the sweet scent of her shampoo. Or maybe it’s her soap.

“Remind me why you’re doing this. What’s the aim?” she asks. “I understand why any normal person would want to stop your father but…”

“Just not someone like me?” I finish for her.

“You’ve built a crime-riddled empire. Why draw a line at sex offenses?”

“There’s always a line. This just happens to be mine.”

It’s clear she doesn’t understand why a heartless motherfucker like me would want to distance himself from a wealthy business opportunity.

This woman is a world away from having me pegged.

She has no fucking clue.

“I’m struggling to believe why your father’s actions are such a hardship for you. Death and destruction shadow you, Cole. You seem to crave the horrors that stalk most people’s nightmares.”

I ignore the truth and focus on the words she makes seem erotic—death, destruction, craving. Her fake purity sprinkles the evil with naive i

“I have many cravings,” I admit. “Some I think you’d enjoy.”

My mouth is ru

I can no longer deny my attraction. Both physically and mentally.

I want this woman. Her body. Her mind.

She needs to be beneath me. At my mercy.

“Is that a poor attempt at deflection?” She raises a brow. “I know there’s more to this. Killing your father will have long-lasting repercussions. Your family allies will be torn. Nobody will trust you. You’re risking everything. Why?”

“To most, my father won’t be murdered; he’ll simply disappear. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before.”

“You still haven’t answered why. You’re deflecting again. You’re trying to hide.”

Her strike hits its mark.

A fucking bull’s-eye.

“Cole?” She looks at me. Really fucking looks at me. Like she’s a sympathetic shrink and I’m her unhinged patient. “I want to believe you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

“I’m killing a man, Niss. My own father. In cold blood. If I were you, I wouldn’t spend sleepless nights searching for whimsical reasons. Just focus on the benefits his death will bring.” I turn, needing to get away from her. “I’m hungry. We’re done here.”

She grabs my arm, her fingers sliding over the sweat still clinging to my skin.

I don’t need to stop. Her hold is inconsequential. But my feet remain immobile. Unmoving.

“Please.”

She kills me with her plea.

This could be a ploy, a fucking FBI tactic. And it’s working.

Her feigned need for understanding tears at me. Claws. I want to tell her everything. To shed the shame coating me like a second skin. To yell it right into her pretty face. To admit the remorse that has eaten away at me since I was a fucking kid.

I should do it. I should fucking succumb, exposing the depths of my own internal destruction for her to pick and prod.

“Quit the gentle act.” I swing around and take a menacing step toward her. “We both know you don’t have a tender bone in your body.”

She inches back, bumping her ass into the counter as I continue to approach, looming over her, glaring. I attempt to siphon her misleading goodwill with a physical threat and I succeed.

Her expression changes, the gentleness seeping away until all I witness is interest.

Anticipation.

It might be my father’s fucking perverted influence, but I see hunger staring back at me. Somehow this response is ten times worse.