Page 42 of Make Me Hunt
I need to narrow that down somehow, but I also need to get the fuck out of here as fast as I can. Ares is already suspicious of me, and after the episode I had last night freaking out, he’ll only dig harder for information about me.
I might be good at hiding my past, but I also know that mistakes always find their way of biting you in the ass eventually. So, I’m going to go with better safe than sorry.
Maybe I could’ve stayed. Maybe in another life. Maybe if he hadn’t killed the most precious thing in the world to me.
I study the pictures, trying to make sense of the buildings.
What’s the connection? Could they tell me where the next game will be?
But there’s nothing linking them except for the fact that they look old and abandoned. And I don’t have time to check every abandoned building in Seattle and the nearby towns.
Just as I turn to leave, the door opens and my whole body freezes. It takes a second for the damn thing to swing open, and the blonde from last night steps in.
What the fuck is she doing here?
“Can I help you?” she asks, arching an eyebrow as if she owns the place, and I’m the intruder.
“I was looking for something to write on,” I say, trying to keep my calm, though I don’t know what I’m supposed to do first—lie to her or punch her in the face.
And judging by her attitude, it will bepunch her in the face. “Oh... what?” She asks, crossing her arms and waiting for me to answer. Like I owe her one. She looks so entitled to be here that I’m starting to think I’ve missed seeing the wedding ring on his finger.
“A message to Ares,” I mutter, snatching a Post-it from the desk—probably the same pad he used to write me the note—and waving it in her face.
“Don’t you have a phone?” She presses, and I can’t believe I actually have to explain myself to this bitch.
I take my phone out of my pocket. “It’s dead,” I say, clipped, unwilling to answer any more questions.
I could stay and ask her who the fuck she thinks she is. But I take another glimpse at the sword, and I feel tears prick at my eyes. Fucking shit.
“Now that you’re here, I don’t need the damn Post-it. Just tell him I left.”
The nerve of this fucker, telling me to stay when he has his other bimbo over.
Fuck, he deserves to die. He deserves for me to be the one who kills him.
I storm out of his office and walk straight into the bedroom to pull my dress on. It’s slightly ripped, but you can’t tell if I keep a tight grip on the straps so it doesn’t fall off me.
I don’t know where the fuck my shoes are, but at this point, I’ll take any pair I can find, even if I risk looking like a clown.
Still, I get a better idea.
That bitch’s shoes are at the door, so I take them. Ares can just give her mine. Fuck if I care.All I care about is whether my phone has enough life left for me to call an Uber.
I get that a lot. My phone dies on me, claiming low battery, but when I restart it, I can squeeze out a few more minutes. And that’s exactly what I do as I walk out the door, down the alley, and through the gate.
Damn, these shoes are even more uncomfortable than mine.
My phone died just as a driver accepted the ride. I just hope he doesn’t change his mind.
Luckily, I make it home in less than half an hour. I hop straight into the shower since I didn’t have time to clean up last night. I was too busy snooping around in Ares’s office.
I need to get him off me—his scent, his touch, his fucking cum.
I need to rid myself of him. It already broke my ego to sleep with him, even after he paraded that bitch at the club, and now into his home.
My body was never sacred—that’s because I sometimes feel like I’m living in a shell—but being with Ares, having him next to me, inside me, has a high chance of ruining my mind.
I mean, if someone can do whatever he wants with your body, it stops being yours, right?
