Page 26 of The Hunted

“I can pay you for your help.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Why would you help me Knox? You have no reason too.”

“It’s simple, Little Bird. I’m a selfish son of a bitch. I like having you near me, in my bed, under me. You’ll stay here in my quarters with me while I work to find your sister.”

Sex. He’s helping me because he wants sex. A part of me isn’t surprised by this at all, considering this world he lives in, but a small part of me had hoped his concern was genuine. A man simply helping a woman who is in desperate need of help.

“Okay, Knox. Thank you.”

At this point, I’ll agree to anything to secure my sister’s return.

Knox slaps my ass playfully, and he turns me toward a stool at the kitchen counter.

“Sit down, babe. I’ll make us some dinner.” He smirks over his shoulder at me as he heads toward the refrigerator.

“You cook?” I slide up onto the stool. I’m not very hungry, but I know I need to eat.

“I’m a man of many talents. You’ve only seen a few.”

His smile is broad and infectious as his eyebrows lift up and down. I realize he’s trying to lighten my mood. A giggle erupts from me, and it actually feels good to laugh. I believe Knox means what he says. He will find my sister. He found out Ethan sold her, after all. That should make me have faith in him, but knowing he killed Ethan, however justified that may have been, is still terrifying. This man is a vigilante, a cold-blooded killer. I’m just not sure I can trust him or his motives.

He moves around the kitchen with ease. He hums quietly, happy to be doing the most mundane of things as he stands at the sink, peeling potatoes. The muscles in his back ripple and flex underneath his shirt as he works. He must sense me staring. He glances at me over his shoulder, before quickly returning to the task at hand.

He’s a very guarded man, and I don’t expect him to be an open book, but it’s nice to see him in a different light. His good mood could be the chance I need to learn a bit more about him.

“Knox, can I ask you a question?”

He drops the potato slices into the fryer and grabs a pack of ground beef from the refrigerator, setting it on the island. His eyes meet mine, and I try not to squirm under his gaze.

“Ask away.”

“Did you kill Ethan?”

I know he did. I have no doubt, but I need to have that confirmed. Scarlett will need to know once she returns.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he opens the package of meat, starts forming patties, and puts them in the pan on the stove. He then turns back to the sink, washes his hands, and then dries them on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

He answers without looking at me, grabs a tomato, and starts slicing it. I may as well have asked him if he read the paper today or if he had coffee this morning. That is how nonchalant he appears to be about snuffing out another human being’s life.

“Did he suffer?”

He stops slicing the tomato and turns to meet my eyes.

“I’ve already told you more than I should have. I will tell you, he died a lot less painfully than I would have liked.”

His words have my breath catching in my throat. Jesus, this man is scary as hell. Ethan was guilty, I’m pretty sure I’m okay with his death. But vigilante justice is wrong. Ethan should have been brought to court to answer for what he did.

“How did you kill him?”

I don’t know why I want to know. Part of me is horrified he so easily took a life and part of me hopes it was sufficient to suit his crime. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never once wanted someone’s death.

“I’m not going to tell you that. As I said, I’ve told you too much already.”

His tone is final, it brooks no argument. Now might be a good time to tread on safer ground.

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