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Her
I’m fucked.
And not only am I fucked, I’m a goddamn idiot for thinking this Decker guy from the highway could be a cop when it now seems clear his intent was much more sinister.
My hunter, Torian had said.
He made it sound like a description, not a name, which made my blood run cold with possibilities. It hadn’t been a slip of the tongue. His focus had been trained on me, waiting for a reaction. And he’d gotten one—a heart-palpitating, soul-screaming one I hope I was able to hide.
Hunter slides into the car, starts the engine, and doesn’t acknowledge the weapon in my hand as he veers onto the narrow road and drives from the cemetery.
He’s not daunted by the threat. He’s probably used to it.
The detachment only increases the chill sinking into my bones, freezing every inch of me. In a perfect world, this would be the part where he divulged all his lies and begged for my forgiveness. But my world isn’t perfect.
There is no knight in shining armor here.
I have to save myself.
He drives through the busy streets and onto the highway with neither of us breaking the silence. The voices in my head are already too deafening.
This is bad. This is so horribly, terribly bad, and I don’t know how to make it stop. How could I have missed so much? I’ve probably missed everything. All the signs. All the clues.
He pulls onto an off-ramp, and I tap my heel against the floor, unable to hide my panic. The time for pretending I have this under control is gone. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can talk.” He continues into a rural area, his eyes trained on the road.
I glance around, to the diminishing houses and lack of cars. There are miles and miles of nothing but trees and long grass. Not one witness in sight. “Pull over.”
“In a minute. It’s not much farther.”
My hand trembles as I raise the gun and place the barrel against his temple. “Pull. Over.”
His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I can’t tear my gaze away from the palpable fury evident in his tight jaw and the rapid pulse in his neck. I’d known he was dangerous, and still I’d ignored the threat. My intuition escaped me, and I was left vulnerable to his manipulative charms.
Not anymore.
I press the gun harder and brace for him to snap. I’ll pull the trigger if I have to. I have no choice. He’d said it himself—only dangerous people would be at Dan’s funeral.
The car slows and veers onto the shoulder, the tires crunching under gravel. We stop. But it’s not just the forward momentum. I cease breathing. Thinking. There’s only white noise and the monotonous reminder of my mistakes.
“Get out.” I withdraw the gun and point it at his chest, bracing for any sudden movement.
“You’re not going to shoot me.”
I laugh, and my stomach drops at how wrong he is. I won’t stop fighting now. I won’t let my heart mess with my objectives.
“Out,” I snarl.
He glances at me, his eyes bleak with concern, one brow raised in condescension. A conflicting expression. Two warring emotions, despair, and disdain.
I have to focus on truth and not let the lies sway me. This man holds no concern. Not for me. Not for my life. And certainly not for the vendetta I have to achieve.
I divert the barrel to the right, one inch, maybe two, then squeeze the trigger.
Noise explodes around me, the burst of audible violence filling the confined space even with the silencer firmly affixed to the barrel.
Glass shatters his window and he jerks away, his eyes wide, wild, and threatening. The condescending brow disappears. His lips move, but I can’t hear him. I can’t hear anything apart from the deafening ring in my ears.
“Out.” I hide my building hysteria behind a curl of my lip and open my door, the barrel now trained back on his chest.
His jaw ticks, all that rough stubble shifting while wisps of hair frame his eyes in an untamed mess.
He’s still gorgeous. Brilliantly so. But I see through it now. I’m begi
He turns to get out, and I take the opportunity to pull the gun from the back of his jeans and throw it at my feet. He doesn’t flinch, just slides from the seat, and closes the door behind him.
I follow on my side, round the hood, and fight the need to massage my aching temples.
He shoves a finger in his ear, wiggles it, then does the same to the other. “You’re fucking crazy, do you know that?”
“Thanks for noticing.” But he’s wrong. I no longer feel crazy with my energetic lust for revenge. I’m hollow. The emptiness is irreparable.
“Oh, I fucking noticed, all right. And no doubt I’ll have the friendly reminder for the rest of my life in the form of damaged goddamn hearing.” He stretches his jaw, working it from side to side. “Don’t ever do that again.”
I want to laugh, to ridicule the concept that anything at all will happen between us ever again. Not sex. Not betrayal. Not backstabbing. But he’ll learn that soon enough.
“Who are you?” I demand.
He straightens, growing taller as his lips press tight and his chin lifts. He tries to stare me down, and I don’t understand how he can look at me like that. Without remorse or regret.
My throat constricts, growing tighter and tighter. Maybe his silence is a sign of guilt. But it’s not enough. I need more. I need something. He played me. Humiliated me. Betrayed me. All the while seducing me with his strength and confidence.
“Start talking.” I almost scream the words, and still he doesn’t answer. “Otherwise, we do this the hard way.” I lower the barrel, aim at his feet, and squeeze.
Bang.
He doesn’t shift as dirt dances at his toes. Not a jump or a flinch. He’s not scared of me. Not scared of guns or bullets or death.
“Goddamn it. Tell me who you are.” I raise the gun and storm toward him, aiming at his chest.
Still, he doesn’t cringe, or cower, or recoil. He doesn’t do anything. Not a damn thing, and it’s killing me. Voices scream in my head, demanding answers, demanding punishment. I need him to react to what he’s done. I need an acknowledgement of the devastation eating me from the inside out.
“Tell. Me—”
He lunges, grabs the silencer, and yanks down with a hard twist. I had a split second to pull the trigger, but I didn’t.
I fucking didn’t.
I squeal as my hand follows the movement, bending awkwardly. My fingers lose grip, and the weapon is wrenched from my hand. From powerful to powerless in the space of a heartbeat. In the blink of those menacing hazel eyes.
I retreat with quick backward steps that could easily turn into a sprint if I think he’s going to shoot. I wait for him to turn the tables, to place me in his sights. Instead, he flicks on the safety and slides the gun down his leg, assisting it as it falls to the ground before he kicks it away.
We remain frozen in a stony standoff, matching each other glare for glare.
“You first,” he mutters.
“No way in hell.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, you’re stubborn about your stupid secrets.”
“I can deal with being stubborn.” What I can’t deal with is being fooled by another man who only wants to hurt me. “You know, earlier, when I first saw the recognition between you and that guy I met yesterday, I thought you might be a cop.” I swallow to ease my emotion-filled throat. “I thought maybe you’d been watching, waiting to arrest me, but you’re not a cop, are you?”