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Her
I wake up on a plush, unfamiliar sofa, dressed in nothing but my underwear. My head pounds as if I’ve been at a month-long rave and there’s a sore spot that throbs even harder near my temple.
It takes seconds to blink away the groggy confusion. To remember what happened.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
I take in my surroundings—the sunlight streaming into the room, the expensive furniture, the scent of baked cookies or cake that makes my stomach growl.
Great. I killed a guy only to be abducted and stripped by Betty fucking Crocker.
“I think she’s awake,” a woman murmurs.
“About time.”
The response chills my blood. It’s Torian. I don’t need to glance over the sofa to confirm, but I do. I sit up and find him in a million-dollar kitchen beside an equally stu
“Sleep well?” he taunts.
My head voices a protest, throbbing and pounding.
Decker knocked me out. At Hunter’s instruction.
“Where is he?”
Torian raises a brow. “The surly one or his faithful sidekick?”
“Both,” I snap, pushing to my feet, then wincing at the renewed burst of pain in my skull. “Where are they?”
“At the police station.”
“Why?” Blood rushes from my head, the panic making me dizzy. “What’s going on?”
“It’s standard procedure for a witness of a double murder. At least it will be if they get released soon. Otherwise…” He shrugs. “Your friends might have to spend a generous amount of time in prison.”
I reach for the sofa as my legs threaten to buckle.
“Don’t be cruel,” the woman chastises. “She’s been through enough.” She saunters toward me, her long, lean legs eating up the space between us. “It’s only been a few hours. I’m sure they’ll be back any minute now.”
She continues by me to the pile of folded clothing on the coffee table. “Here.” She picks up a pair of yoga pants and a baby blue sweater. “Put these on. They should fit. And your shoes are underneath the sofa.”
I take the offering and pull them on with shaky arms. “Where are my clothes?”
“Incinerated,” Torian mutters. “Just one of the many things I’ve done to cover your ass.”
I wince, not appreciating the help, but thankful for it at the same time. I’m not naive to think his assistance is out of the kindness of his heart. I owe him now. Or worse, Hunter owes him.
That’s a debt I need to clear.
“I’m sorry for involving you in this.” I slide my feet into my sneakers and approach the kitchen. “And I beg you not to hold my actions against anyone but me.”
He reaches for a mug and takes a drink. “You’re worthless to me, little girl. Hunter, on the other hand, has been an asset I’ve wanted to control for quite some time.”
“What will you do to him?”
He takes another sip of tea, or coffee, or marijuana-infused water for all I know, and stares at me over the rim of his mug.
“Please,” I beg. “I need to know.”
Will he be tortured? Beaten? What will happen to Decker? Will they be treated the same? Punished equally?
Hunter vowed on his life that I was telling the truth. It should’ve been my goddamn life.
Torian cocks a judgmental brow, probably disgusted by my show of weakness. “I’ve worked with Hunter for years. But it has always been on a contractual basis. Under his terms. He had the freedom to pick and choose when and if we worked together.”
“And?”
“And he will no longer get to pick and choose. He will no longer be a contractor. He will be a valued part of my team that will fulfil any job I see fit.”
Anguish overwhelms me. “You can’t make him hurt i
“Nobody in my world is i
He raises his mug and inclines his head, as if toasting my existence. Toasting the vulnerability I bring to Hunter’s life.
“Cole,” the woman reprimands. “Stop it.” She walks by me, squeezing my arm as she passes. “Ignore him. My brother likes to be dramatic. But deep down, he loves Hunter. We all do.”
Torian gives a barely audible chuckle. “I love the debt he now owes me, that’s for sure.”
“Enough,” she demands. “The poor thing is petrified. Leave her be.”
I’m not petrified.
I’m angry.
Unstable.
She walks into the kitchen and opens a cupboard under the black marble bench. “Would you like a coffee? Or maybe something stronger?”
“No, thanks.” I lean forward, looking down a hall to my right. There’s a door with light streaming through the frosted-glass panels. The front door, I’m sure.
“Making an escape plan?” Torian taunts. “Don’t bother. I don’t want you here as much as you don’t want to be here. You’re free to go.”
I snap my gaze to his in disbelief, my heart thundering beneath tightened ribs. Is this a trick?
“Go on.” He jerks his head toward the hall.
“You’re safe to leave,” the woman reiterates softly.
I stare at the door, at freedom, as a shadow darkens the frosted glass from the other side. A knock sounds, and I hold my breath, hoping it’s Hunter.
“Come in,” Torian yells.
There’s a click of the latch, the air in my lungs congealing as I wait, impatiently, to see Decker walk inside, closing the door behind him.
Where the hell is Hunter?
I stalk toward him, stopping him halfway down the hall to throw my arms around him.
He stiffens, long seconds passing before he drapes his arms around me in an awkward reciprocation of the gesture. “Hey, tiger. How are you holding up?”
“I’m not sure yet. How about you?” I lean back to ask the question tightening my throat, but it lodges in my mouth as I acknowledge the extent of his drawn features. He looks exhausted, his skin pale.
“I’ll be perfect once I catch some sleep.” He winks at me.
I nod and wait for more, my gaze pleading for answers he doesn’t seem to understand. “Please tell me where he is. What happened at the police station? Is he okay?” The onslaught bubbles from me in a garbled mess.
“You don’t have to worry about a thing.” He claps my shoulder and steps back. “Hunt took the fall, so you’re all clear on murder one.”
“What?” I stumble backward as he walks around me, continuing down the hall. Hunter took the fall? He confessed? “Why?”
Decker stops and turns back around to face me with a wince. “Sorry. Bad joke. He’s outside paying the cab driver.”
“He’s here?” I swing around to the door as another shadow creeps over the glass, and seconds later Hunter walks inside.
“Oh, God.” I rush for him, ru
“Hey, now, princess,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”
I hold him tighter, squeezing until my muscles burn as his gentle arms wrap around my back.
“Come on now.” His voice grows an authoritative edge and he pulls back, craning his neck to look at me. “It’s over. He’s gone.”
“And you’re not going to jail?”
“In your dreams, princess.”
No. That’s the last thing I want. I’m so unbelievably thankful for this man. Gratitude and respect flood me.