Page 89 of His to Hunt

"I appreciate the courtesy," I reply, the words like ash in my mouth.

"Hunt what runs, Sinclair."

"Keep what's caught," I respond automatically.

"Control what's kept," he finishes before the line goes dead.

I stand there for a moment, processing. Baine wants me to betray everything my company stands for. My reputation. My professional ethics. All for Luna. And meanwhile, Christopher Finch is circling, looking for ways to take her.

But what Baine doesn't realize is that I've built contingencies into every system I've ever designed. Including back doors and alert protocols that even my own team doesn't know about. I already have a way to make this work—not the way Baine intends, but in a way that will ensure he never threatens Luna again.

I turn back to the poker table where Sebastian and Graham watch me expectantly.

"Well?" Graham prompts. "Did they accept your clever argument, or are we planning a jailbreak for your girlfriend?"

"They accepted," I say, returning to my seat. "With conditions."

Sebastian's eyes narrow. "What kind of conditions?"

"Nothing I can't handle." I pick up my abandoned cards, scanning them without interest.

"That bad, huh?" Graham quips, but his usual levity has an edge to it now.

"Your bet," I remind him.

He tosses in chips, studying me with uncharacteristic intensity. "You know, for someone who just got what he wanted, you look ready to murder someone."

"Probably because he is," Sebastian murmurs, too low for Graham to hear.

We play a few more hands in relative silence, the earlier camaraderie dimmed by the tension I've brought back to the table. Graham tries repeatedly to lighten the mood, but even his outrageous stories about his latest conquest fall flat against my preoccupation.

"Alright," Graham says finally, throwing down his cards. "I'm calling it. You're no fun anymore, Sinclair."

"Some of us have actual work to do," I reply, standing and straightening my jacket.

"Work?" Graham scoffs. "At ten on a Friday? The only thing you should be working on is getting laid. Might improve your poker face."

"Not everyone views women as recreational therapy, Graham," Sebastian interjects.

"No, some view them as pieces to be moved around a board," Graham fires back, then raises his hands defensively when I glare at him. "Just saying, maybe she'd be safer with you than locked up in the woods somewhere."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I say coldly.

"Maybe not," Graham concedes, gathering his remaining chips. "But I know what it looks like when a man's tied himself in knots over a woman. And buddy, you're a walking Windsor."

"He's right, you know," Sebastian adds once Graham has disappeared down the hallway toward the bathroom. "Notabout everything, but about one thing. You've changed since Luna."

"Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything. I'm observing." He stands, straightening his impeccable suit. "Just be careful that in trying to protect her, you don't lose sight of what she actually needs."

"And what's that?" I ask, more sharply than intended.

His smile is small, knowing. "If you don't know by now, you're not as clever as I thought."

Graham returns, clapping his hands together. "Well, this has been delightful, but I've got a date with twins from Stockholm who don't speak a word of English." He winks. "Language barriers make everything more interesting."

"You're disgusting," Sebastian tells him without heat.

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