Page 65 of Hunter

I’ve been home around an hour, and it strikes me as odd Kasia hasn’t made an appearance. She may only have been in my employment a year, but she always has the uncanny ability to appear when I most need it. After slipping out of my dress and into my pink silk pajamas, I grab my robe and go in search of her.

When I leave the bedroom, the hallway is cast in darkness, only a single light at the end to lead my way. I try to step silently along the creaking wooden floorboards but fail miserably. Within a few moments, Ronan stands facing me at the other end of the hall.

“Can I get you something, Miss?” he asks, forever the gentleman.

“Kasia,” I reply simply. “Is she around?”

“Miss Kasia is unavailable at present. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Unavailable? Where is she?” The explanation makes absolutely no sense; Kasia is always here. The only time she has left in the past months is to attend personal appointments, and I find it hard to believe she is needed somewhere at almost two in the morning.

“Miss Kasia is in the process of helping Mr. Devane with some inquiries.”

“Inquiries? What inquiries? And where is Hunter?”

“Miss Isabella, please return to Mr. Devane’s room. He said he’ll explain everything when he returns. Until then, I’ve been instructed not to say more.” Ronan gives me a small reassuring smile as he steps toward me, and places a large hand on my elbow attempting to turn me around. “Please, Isabella. I can’t tell you anymore; it’s above my pay grade.”

I look into the eyes of the man that was my biggest supporter before all this started, and I believe him. Ronan, in his own way, is attempting to tell me something without endangering himself. For once, I take someone else’s advice and return to Hunter’s bedroom to wait.

The room feels colder now, or maybe it’s just me. The silence of earlier is no longer peaceful; it’s an ominous sense of unease. A sense that there is so much more going on tonight than I can imagine, and it’s my husband pulling the strings. I wrap my robe tighter around me as I sit on our bed and wait.

I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear tires on the gravel drive. On instinct, I move toward the window just as two cars pull up to the front door. The engines cut in unison, and I watch as the driver of each step out and open the rears doors.

Hunter appears from the front vehicle. From here I can see the tension in his body as he climbs the short incline of steps to enter the house. My heart clenches. Even from here, with him silhouetted in the dark, I know something is wrong. His posture is awkward, his shoulders locked, jaw clenched, one hand stuffed in his pocket by his side.

Behind him, two men step out of the second vehicle, a smaller figure restrained between them. It takes me a moment to realize who it is. Kasia walks, head bowed, looking at nothing but her feet.

I don’t wait. Barefoot, I run out of the room and down the hallway past Ronan, who doesn’t try to stop me. He simply nods and steps aside. By the time I reach the top of the stairs, Hunter is at the bottom step looking up. But tonight, he is a man I don’t recognize; gone is the suave, sophisticated leader of the Irish Mafia of hours before, and in front of me is a warrior who can only be described as dangerous.

There’s blood on his shirt. His hands. Even the knife he slips back into his pocket when he sees me watching. Our eyes lock, and his mouth opens to speak. No sound comes out.

I take a step, starting my descent slowly. The sound of my bare feet on wood, the only echo in the night. I don’t speak. There is nothing for me to say. I need to know which man he is tonight. The man I love, or one I should fear?

As I reach the bottom step, we are a millimeters away from each other and only aware of us. His men holding Kasia appear behind him, and I glance over Hunter’s shoulder to the woman I trusted with my world. Confused, at a loss, but confident that her being held captive is necessary, one look into Hunter’s eyes tells me there is so much I need to know.

“Take her to the holding room,” Hunter says simply, without so much as a glance. “I need to speak to my wife.” We stand silent as the group of three disappear out through the house toward whatever the holding room is. I’ve lived here for weeks now, and there is so much of this place I haven’t discovered, so much I don’t know.

“What happened?” I ask him.

“I’m fine,” he says, his voice raw. “It’s not mine.” He gestures to the blood on his shirt.

“That’s not the reassurance you think it is,” I whisper.

He doesn’t smile. There is no hint of the light side of his personality which usually appears when times get tough. He reaches for my hand, then turns me around and leads me upward, not stopping until we reach the bedroom. The door closes behind us with a thud, and for a long moment we stand, unspeaking.

“Hunter…” I prompt, unsure how to start the conversation we so desperately need to have. He looks lost standing in front of me. “What happened after I left tonight?”

He doesn’t look at me when he replies, merely takes off his jacket and blood-stained shirt, throwing them to the floor.

“I nearly fucking ended him, Bella. Came that close, I did.” His hand lifts, his fingers almost pinched together in the air.

My heart stutters. “Who?”

Eventually, he looks up, dark eyes locking with mine.

“Greyson. I nearly killed one of my own.”

With that, he walks off toward the en-suite, and I hear the shower turn on. I look from the bed, to the blood-stained clothes on the floor, to the shower where my husband is about to wash away the evidence of the night.

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