Page 20 of Hunter's Game
“And now you can prove it all.”
“I can do better than that.” Her smile was pure predator. “I can finish what she started. Expose the whole operation, every player, every connection, every crime they’ve tried to hide.”
“Starting with Thompson.”
“Starting with all of them.” She initiated the final shutdown sequence, watching as her systems began systematically destroying themselves. “The question is, are you sure you want to be part of this? Once we move on Thompson, there’s no going back.”
Instead of answering, Hunter threaded his fingers through her hair, drew her head back, and kissed her. It was harder than their first kiss, carrying everything they couldn’t say about trust and betrayal and the growing certainty that whatever was building between them would change everything.
When they broke apart, both breathing heavily, his smile was pure predator. “Sweetheart, you’re the best kind of danger.”
“Enough waxing poetic, Romeo. We’re out of time.”
They broke apart and moved together with practiced efficiency, gathering everything they couldn’t afford to leave behind, while Eden’s setup continued running through the final stages of its self-destruct sequences, wiping drives and frying hardware as booby traps armed themselves.
“They’ll trace us,” she said as they rushed for the exit. “Thompson’s good at following electronic trails.”
“Then we’ll be better at leaving false ones.” Hunter checked their escape route. “The Blind Jacks have ways of making things disappear.”
“Speaking of which.” Eden paused at the door. “Your club president...how’s he feel about harboring fugitive federal agents?”
“Darkness’s got his own reasons for wanting to take down corrupt law enforcement.” Hunter’s voice held old pain. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s lost family to this organization.”
Understanding passed between them—the kind that only came from shared trauma and common enemies.
“Besides.” He added as they moved through shadows toward his waiting bike. “He’s going to love the intel you’ve gathered on international artifact smuggling. Especially the part about classified intelligence being hidden in museum pieces.”
“The tablets are just the beginning.” Eden settled behind him on the bike, her body fitting against his like she belonged there. “My motherfound evidence of a whole network. Intelligence agencies using stolen artifacts to move information, criminal organizations laundering money through museum donations, corrupt federal agents helping cover it all up...”
“And your father’s club is just one piece of the puzzle.”
“An important piece.” She tightened her arms around him as he started the engine. “One that connects everything else. Why do you think Romano’s been so interested in their operation?”
“Because Merrick Mitchell knows where all the bodies are buried. Literally and figuratively.” Hunter gunned the engine as more vehicles appeared at the warehouse entrance.
“Exactly.” Eden’s voice beside his ear warmed him in a way nothing ever had before. “And now, thanks to Thompson’s greed, we can prove it.”
They shot into the night just as the first explosions hit—Eden’s failsafes ensuring nothing useful remained for their pursuers. Through his earpiece, Hunter heard King coordinating with club members, setting up a secure route to the compound.
Behind them, professional killers masquerading as federal agents gave chase. Ahead lay uncertain sanctuary with a motorcycle club that had every reason to distrust law enforcement.
And somewhere in between, the truth about Sarah Mitchell’s murder waited like a loadedgun—ready to either vindicate her daughter’s crusade or destroy everything Eden had fought for.
“You know this is probably a trap.” Eden’s voice carried over the wind as they wove through traffic. “Thompson letting us escape, herding us toward something worse.”
“Probably.” Hunter took a hard turn, losing one of their pursuers in a chorus of screeching tires. “Going to let that stop you?”
Her laugh was pure adrenaline. “Never. You?”
“Baby, I haven’t even started fighting yet.”
More vehicles appeared ahead, carrying familiar riders. Hunter breathed a sigh of relief. The Blind Jacks moved with practiced precision, blocking pursuit vehicles and creating chaos that let Hunter and Eden slip away.
“Your club’s good.” Eden’s approval was evident in her voice.
“Our club,” Hunter corrected. “At least until this is over.”
Eden grew quiet then, and Hunter imaged she was absorbing the impact of his words—the offer of belonging, of sanctuary, of something she hadn’t had since her mother’s death.
