Page 89 of Through the Flames
And for once,Icould protectDomby keeping this secret. By doing what needed to be done.
It was why I agreed to this, why I was here.
I hated lying to my brother, but I hated even more how much I was enjoying this arrangement. I didn’t want Hunter to see me as a deal; I wanted him to wantme.
Fuck, I was the biggest idiot walking this planet.
Evidently, my text messages hadn’t convinced Dom that I wasn’t being kept chained in Hunter’s basement — not that it would’ve been a punishment — because he called me that night.
I knew he’d flown out to Cali for the weekend to see Sierra, so I was genuinely surprised to hear from him.
Hunter had joined me in the living room where I’d been watching one of my comfort shows, now lounging on the couch next to me and scrolling his phone in silence.
I hitAccept, and Dom’s face popped up on the screen.
“What’s up, sis? Tell me my favorite psychopath hasn’t eaten you alive yet. Wait, that sounded wrong. You know what I meant … right?”
Choking on my spit at the unintended sexual innuendo, my eyes instinctively flicked to Hunter, who returned my gaze looking unimpressed, though he had the faintest curl tipping the corner of his mouth.
“Show her the tramp stamp, babe!” Sierra hollered from the background.
“Shut the fuck up! You actually did it?!” I laughed.
For months, Dom had been joking about the only unclaimed territory left on his body being the strip of skin above his ass. So naturally, he decided to immortalize his girlfriend’s name there — like some kind of deranged property marker.
He even called it his tramp stamp of devotion. Said it was romantic. I said it was a cry for help.
Dom sounded far too proud of himself. “Hell yeah, I did. Go big or go home, right?”
“Big?” I snorted. “Dom, you got your girlfriend’s name tattooed above your ass. That’s not big. In some states, this would be considered a felony.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s called commitment. You should try it sometime.”
“Classy,” Hunter commented flatly.
Sometimes I wondered if I’d ever seen two people who were more different than my brother and Hunter. Though on second thought, you could probably say the same about him and me.
The delusional part of me was still hoping he’d recognize me as his soulmate — something less dramatic would be acceptable, too — wouldn’t stop whispering that being different didn’t mean it was impossible.
Dom pointed at his phone like Hunter had won a prize. “See? Even Broodzilla gets it. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like permanently branding yourself.”
“Branding is for cattle,” Hunter deadpanned, tugging his hoodie over his head.
Dom smirked. “Yeah? Then what do you call all of your ink? You’ve got half a mural under there. Don’t act like you’re pure.”
Hunter’s eyes flicked up, slow and sharp. “None of that is random.”
This made me pause. The way he said it, low, steady, like a warning, sent a shiver crawling up my spine.
None of that is random.
Dom laughed, oblivious. “Sure, man. Bet one says ‘Live, Laugh, Love.’ Real deep stuff.”
“Not even close,” Hunter muttered, jaw tight as he turned away. His gaze flicked toward me for half a second, heat flickering behind those gray eyes, before it vanished.
My pulse jumped, and suddenly I was wondering whatexactlythe ink etched into his skin meant.
Hunter’s hand shot out and plucked the phone right out of my grasp like it belonged to him.
