Page 13 of Make Me Hunt
I lift her shirt again so the fabric doesn’t rub the wound, and my hand stills right beneath the brand—a spear and a Greek helmet now burned into her skin, making her entirelymine.
All that’s left is claiming her—in every sense of the word.
She’s so fucking beautiful sleeping on my chest that I almost consider taking her to my bed so she can get better rest. There’s nothing I want more than having her there. But that’s not the way I want to play this. She won’t get anything handed to her on a silver tray—not after what she’s pulled by almost getting herself killed to get noticed.
She’ll suffer for it. The same way I’m going to enjoy every second of hertorture.
I think about sending her home before I lose control and do something stupid. But no matter how much I trust my men, I don’t trust them enough to take her safely there while she’s unconscious.
So, I take the step I’ve been avoiding all along—I place a call, find her address, and take her there myself. I wait in the car for a few minutes until the street’s clear, then carry her inside her apartment.
The place is clean. Hardly any decorations or personal shit, like she just moved in and she brought little to no personal belongings. But what I find even stranger is that every wall is black.
Everything is painted black, even the bathroom.
There are two bedrooms. The first one looks untouched at least recently, dust coating the dresser, and a large white sheet covers a mirror and an armchair. I then try the other door, and I instantly know this one’s her bedroom. Her closet door is open, and a pile of clothes is scattered across the floor, mostly black too.
The bed’s covered in makeup and a hair curler, which I toss aside to lay her down. She’s still sleeping so peacefully, I almost crawl in beside her.
Not just yet.
I need to know where we stand first, and that she’s not climbing into bed with me just to scale up the ranks.
Still, she’s so fucking alluring, and the thought of that damn piercing on her nipple haunts my mind like a ghost. I lift her shirt again to see my mark one more time, the red symbols resting beautifully on her skin. I want to kiss it, but I hold myself back for now. I’ll do it eventually. I’ll taste every inch of her skin. Mark her with my lips. My cum. My blood.
Still, my mind doesn’t give me peace, and I raise her shirt higher, over her breast, exposing her see-through bra beneath. I groan at the encounter, my fingers gently drifting over the material, tracing the circle of the nipple, brushing the cold metal of the piercing.
I’ve got a few piercings of my own that I want to show to her, that I want to make her feel—especially with my cock already twitching in my pants just by looking at her body. I have to get the fuck out of here, before I fuck her while she’s unconscious. Just not before I inject her with something for the pain. I might’ve wanted her to feel every single second when I marked her—that made everything much more real, unforgettable. But I don’t want to know she’s in pain now.
I take another look around, scanning the room, looking for a photo—anything—that could give me a glimpse into her life. But there’s nothing. Like her whole existence’s been stripped down to a pile of clothes on the floor. She doesn’t have decorations in here either, or anything else that could set this room apart from one of a hotel—except for the black walls, giving it a Gothic edge, something I do appreciate in modern architecture. It’s just that they don’t make any sense since the place isn’t styled in any way–not even in a normal someone–actually-lives-here kind of way.
I have no idea why, but I check her fridge, noticing she only has one tub of ice cream in the freezer. No food whatsoever. And no real food in the cabinets either, just an unopened bag of cereal and a lone can of tomato sauce.
She needs to eat if she’s going to heal. But I won’t be the one spoon-feeding her. Still, something in me won’t let me leave her like this. I can’t be here when she wakes up, but I’m not okay with leaving her alone while she’s unconscious.
I shut the apartment door behind me and text Silver as soon as I’m in my car.
Go fucking check on your friend. Make sure she recovers.
Tell her I’ve got a job for her when she’s fully…
functional.
I know she’ll be running to Brynn before she even finishes reading it, and I don’t get to put down the phone before the ‘seen’ mark shows up on my screen.
She’ll be fine now. It’s what comes next she should worry about.
seven
-Brynn-
My eyes flutter open, and I realize I’m back in my bedroom.
How the hell did I get here?
I ask myself, though my lips don’t move to say it out loud. I remember Ares’s men coming for me, and the feeling when I stepped into his house. He looked like a fucking dark god sitting in that living room, eyes locked on me, finally acknowledging my existence in his life. Just not for the reasons I wanted him to.
I fucked up. Too eager to get things done, too eager to prove myself. But I’m running out of time. And there’s still one thing in my life I need to take care of.
