Page 6 of Make Me Hunt
Jesus.
I’ve been feigning a stomachache for the past hour, which I keep pretending is getting worse. So, the moment he leaves, I’m right behind him. I need to know where he lives since that information isn’t public knowledge, and I have to start my investigation somewhere, especially after getting jack shit from working here.
I follow him from a distance, no way I’m risking getting close enough for him to notice. I’d rather lose his trail than blow up my cover. There will be other chances to find out where he lives. And I almost lost him at a traffic light, but luck is on my side. I keep going straight, then take a left where I saw him turn. Now I’ve got two options: another left or a right. So, I take a guess and turn right, then drive a little farther, and to my surprise, there he is. I catch him right as he enters an alley.
A luxurious villa is hiding somewhere deep behind a tree line, a place more astonishing than anything I’ve ever seen. It’s modern, but it also vibrates with something ancient, like the two styles intertwine to create perfection. Mystery and luxury combined, balanced so precisely that it almost feels unreal.
The walls are carved from pale stone that doesn’t belong anywhere near Seattle’s damp skyline. It looks like it was airlifted straight out of the Mediterranean with all the columns and symmetrical arches. Like something I’ve only seen on postcards from Greece or Italy.
I haven’t been anywhere myself, but I’ve always dreamed of traveling. Still, the only place I’m headed lately, with the way my life is going, is straight to Hell.
I drive off and park my car a few streets away. There are a few guards posted at the gate, which will only make it difficult for me to see what he’s doing. Difficult but not impossible because the garden’s overgrown with enough vegetation to give me decent cover.
All I need now is a good plan.
I returned the next night, but Ares doesn’t seem to be home. He’s not at the club either, or at least he’s not in the main area. I discovered earlier today that there’s a second entrance to Elysium. It’s going to be a hell of a lot harder to keep track of who goes in and out of there, especially since I’ll be working the bar, and the entrance is outside the club, completely out of view.
I won’t give up, though. I figured out a way to get near his house without the guards seeing me. I’m thin enough to hide behind a few decorative shrubs, which helps me get close enough to study the place without drawing attention. But all the lights are out. It’s the second day he’s not in, so there’s nothing left for me to do but go home.
I’ve got a shift at the club the following night, and as I walk in, I catch some of the staff talking. Apparently, he’s out of town for a couple of weeks.
Fucking great.
I don’t do anything that stands out while he’s gone, just keep a low profile, stick to my training routine during the day, and work nights at the club. That until his people start acting twitchy again. Word is, he’s coming back to town soon.
I give it a couple of days. No point in sneaking around if there’s no one there. But once I’m sure he’s back, I head to his place. This time, the lights are on, and the floor-to-ceiling windows offer a clear view of part of the house—the one directly in front of the garden.
For a long while, the rooms stay empty. It’s almost 10 p.m. when I finally see him entering the living room. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of black joggers, showing off an exquisite, athletically toned body adorned with so many tattoos that his whole chest is almost black in the low light. I swallow the knot in my throat, training my mind to stay focused on the mission. I need to get information.
Not that anything he does during the whole night is in any way compromising or useful. He just crashes onto the couch, flips on the TV, then makes a few calls, swirling a glass of scotch on the rocks—or whiskey—in his hand, I can’t tell from this distance. Every now and then, he cracks his neck from side to side, like he’s struggling to shake off a tension he can’t quite get rid of. Nothing out of the ordinary but still, something that’s making my temples sweat for an unknown reason.
After a couple of hours, he gets up from the couch and disappears down the hallway—probably into the bedroom. I can’t see that far. I only have a clear view of the living room and part of the kitchen. The rest of the house is blocked. The vegetation only allows me to hide in one of the corners of the garden—just enough to stay completely out of sight.
I only head home in the morning, right before the break of dawn. I kept hoping something—anything to make it worth my time—would happen, but I think Ares just went to bed while I lost another night of sleep.
I needed to go before morning came and the guards found me. But I’ve returned every free night I’ve had for the past month. It’s starting to feel like a compulsion watching him every night, even if I nearly froze to death last week. I don’t even know why I keep coming back. His routine never changes- watch TV, kitchen, maybe the occasional visitor, mostly male. Besides, they always disappear into some other room to talk. So yeah… this is proving to be completely pointless.
It’s just that I can’t stop. I can’t fucking stop watching him. It’s becoming like an obsession. And no matter how much I keep lying to myself, there’s something inside me that keeps battling to defeat reason every time the six-foot-something slab of muscle walks past a window, like a Calvin Klein ad. I don’t even want to start thinking about the tightening sensation between my legs every time he stretches and the black ink on his chest shifts across his muscles like it’s alive. Or the fact that I once caught myself giggling like a fucking idiot just because he cracked his neck from side to side, the way he does when he has a long day and needs to relax.
He acts like the world belongs to him, like the whole universe owes him something, every gesture, every move betraying that this is all his playground. And he calls to me like a fucking magnet, something primal and irresistible that logic can’t explain. Something that makes my hand drift across my chest, fingers clutching my breasts to stop an ache that refuses to make sense.
But then, there come the moments of lucidity, brief flashes when I try to find a reason for all of this. Ares isn’t just my target, or the man my body keeps calling for. He’s the only thing I cling to, so that things feel slightly normal in my life. Or maybe it’s because I don’t want to be alone in my apartment. I only go home when I’m too tired to function, and I know I’ll fall asleep the instant I hit the bed.
Still, following him around has to stop. It’s not leading anywhere, and if I get caught, it could screw up everything I’ve got planned. I need to reevaluate things—everything. I need to find a different way to figure out what he’s up to. A much closer approach.
Things at the club are finally starting to turn around. I’m still avoiding him until I have a clear plan of what I’m doing, but I’ve been making progress tracking whatgoes in and out of the bar, which will help keep the scale in my favor. I’m good with numbers and pay attention to details. It’s this kind of work, and not serving drinks, that could get me into his inner circle.
He’s been out of town a lot lately, and when he’s been around, he sticks to Elysium. He only came to The Breach once in the past month, and I was off that day.
Actually, it was the day I bought my sword. Not the low-budget one I was training with. A real sword to avenge Elias.
It sounds weird now that I think about it, almost unreal. But that’s the game he’s been playing. And I’m going to beat him at it.
Almost two more months pass, and I’ve managed to befriend Silver, one of the few women who work with him. She has access to the back room, but never talks about it, not even with me. We actually became friends one night when she stayed late at the bar trying to get over some douchebag who only used her for sex, then dumped her right after.
I think she killed him afterward. Not that she said it directly. Honestly? I don’t blame her. I can’t truly understand her, though. I don’t do relationships. I can’t get close to anyone, so a guy wanting just sex is fine with me. The only problem is, I’ve kind of given up on that lately. I don’t like being touched. And sex… kind of involves that. Plus, I can’t get off unless I’m the one in control. And sometimes, not even then.
I’ve been stepping up my game lately, trying to handle as many things as I can, and even dealing with some of the not-so-docile assholes who hit on the waitresses.
