Page 11 of Make Me Hunt
“I’ll take care of Brynn,” I cut her off—and hang up.
Taking a deep breath and trying to keep myself from fucking exploding with rage, I call two of my men to bring Brynn to me. I have her address somewhere in her employee file, not that it’d be something difficult to find. I just never took that step because once I started, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop.
My men are instructed not to touch a single fucking hair on her head. That would bemyjob. And I’m planning to do far worse than that the moment she walks through that door.
I light myself a cigarette, smoke blowing from my nostrils, like a raging bull ready to go into the arena. I stare into the fireplace, the flames licking the brick walls like they’re hungry for a sacrifice—while I hope I have enough self-control not to throw her in there.
Yeah, I’m attracted to her, and lately, she’s the only fucking thing on my mind. But I won’t accept someone going behind my back. I don’t tolerate disloyalty!
The more I think about it, the more I fear I’m going to tear her to pieces the second I see her. And maybe that’s exactly what I should do—end the madness and make everything a lot easier on myself. Time will erase her, eventually, and the thought of her will dilute itself. Because I fear that once I taste her, I feel I’ll never be able to go back to what I used to be.
six
-Ares-
I still haven’t decided what to do about Brynn when I hear the car pull up in front of my house.
Voices of my men fill the lobby, but not hers. For a second, I’m starting to think they failed, but then her small silhouette makes her way down the lobby and steps into the living room.
It’s the first time I’ve really looked at her. I never wanted her to know I see her, that I’m watching, so I never spent more than a few seconds glancing her way. But now that’s all I want her to be aware of. That my fucking eyes are on her, scanning her, learning every detail, memorizing every curve of her body, like they’re not already burned into my fucking mind.
She wanted my attention. Now she’s got it, every last fucking drop of it.
I expect to see fear glinting in her eyes, yet there’s not a single trace of anything remotely similar to that. She just walks in front of me—slowly, calculated, all too aware I’m watching this time.
At least she’s smart enough to keep her mouth shut. She just bows her head, expecting me to do the speaking. That helps temper my rage. Just not as much as she’d need to be completely safe from my wrath. “What the fuck were you doing there?” I ask, my voice hitting so hard the windows tremble with every syllable.
She just stares at me for a beat, her tongue trailing along her lips, as if to tease me, before she finally speaks. “I’m not made to serve tables.”
“So, what are you made for then?” I ask, catching a slight tremble on her lips.
“I want a job. A real one, not scraps. I want to work for you like Silver does. Prove to you I can get shit done.” Her breath is heavy as she speaks, her eyes on me, but somehow, they seem to be seeing right through me.
“Yeah, you’ve got shit done for me, alright. You fucking ruined my plans!” I grunt.
She winces at the anger in my voice, but stays quiet, expecting me to go on.
“I didn’t give a fuck about the weapons. I need to get every bastard responsible and wipe them off the face of the Earth. No one defies me. No one steals from me.”
Her gaze slightly lowers, but doesn’t completely drop, like she’s not ready to take the entire fault for this. “I didn’t know that.” She says, with a hint of regret that she’s trying to hide. And just like that, I realize that I could forgive her for fucking anything.
The thought unsettles me, like she just fucking changed the essence of my existence in just one breath, and I couldn’t even lift a finger to stop it. But before I even start to think about what this really fucking means to me, I catch a change in her. Her complexion looks even paler than usual, and even if the porcelain doll look fits her perfectly, I don’t like the way her breath stumbles as she speaks.
Still, I hold my ground, trying to decide what the hell I’m going to do with her. “You didn’t know that because you fucking went there on your own, risked your fucking life to get me a worthless truck,” I mutter, studying her from head to toe because something doesn’t add up in this picture. She looks like she’s frozen, her fists clenched around the rims of her jacket, her knuckles almost white from the effort.
But suddenly, she takes a step closer, her voice much more docile. “I just need a chance. I’ll prove to you I’m a valuable asset to your organization,” she says, and by the time she finishes speaking, I’d bet my life something’s wrong with her. Though she hides it disturbingly well.
“Come closer,” I order, and she walks right up to me, her perfume flooding my senses like it’s a fucking drug.
She smells like orchids and bergamot, and the memories of her serving me different drinks, making my cock ache for her, flood my mind. She stops a little too far for my liking. So, I grab the back of her knee and pull her closer until her legs stop between mine, hitting the edge of the armchair I’m sitting in.
Her poker face slips, and I can see the surprise flashing in her eyes at the closeness. She wasn’t prepared for this, so now, she doesn’t know how to react.
But then the firelight reveals a dark stain on the right side of her black jeans, right where the fabric meets her shirt.
I raise my eyes to look up at her, anger flaring from my gaze.
Why the fuck didn’t she say something?
