Page 47 of Make Me Hunt
It’s too late. I can’t unsee it now.
I can’t unfeel the rumble in my chest. It’s too much, too intense, like something is tearing me apart from the inside out. “I asked you who did this to you?” I growl, this time, the air trembling around my words.
Instead of answering me, she bolts for the light again—like killing it will make me forget what I just saw or stop my chest from fucking exploding.
I won’t have silence instead of an answer. Not this time, even though that’s all she’s willing to give me right now.
I turn the light back on, pinning her to the couch so she can’t reach the switch again. Her expression is something I’ve never seen on her before. The fearless woman I swore to tame is now fragile. Vulnerable in front of me. Like something delicate on the verge of shattering.
And I don’t want to break her. Not like this.
But if I let her slip away, if I give her enough time to put her mask back on, I’ll never find out what happened to her.
She tries to fight me off, to escape my grip and find refuge in the dark. One of her fists flies straight at my face, but the hit barely feels like a bee sting.
I’m almost immune to pain. I still feel it at the same intensity a normal person would. I've just grown used to it. Like it’s just another part of life—an external stimulus that reminds me of my role here.Keeping the balance.And right now, my whole balance is turned upside down, fucking ruined.
Another fist comes at me, but I grab her wrist and slam it against the couch, holding it there despite her curses and screams. She tries to use her legs to get meoff her this time, but I pin them too, until she’s completely trapped beneath me. Her body is so small compared to mine. So feisty, yet so fragile.
I’m so tempted to play with her. But I can’t. Not now. Now I need answers. I need something to fill the void.
“Get the fuck off me.” She tries to get up, but I keep her down without breaking a sweat. My patience is wearing thin, and I warned her about cursing countless times, but I know she’s only fighting me because it’s much easier than facing reality.
I won’t let go until she tells me where those scars came from.
Truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever let her go.
“Start talking, Brynn. Who the fuck did this to you?” I growl, my voice so menacing that it would rattle even the greatest warrior. But she won’t give in. She keeps cursing, trying to fight me off her for long minutes, until she finally wears herself out.
I can feel her strength fading, but she’s still not giving up. She refuses to stop fighting me. Refuses to let me in on whatever happened to her.
Until her resistance fades... and her fire turns to tears. She’s no longer fighting me. A slight tremble replaces the twitching in her arms to hit me, and the strong, powerful woman I knew suddenly crumbles into a weak shadow of her.
“Please get off me,” she begs in a much more weakened voice that matches the emptiness reflected in her onyx eyes.
“Brynn, whoever did this… whatever happened here,” I whisper, tracing one of her scars with the back of my fingers, “they’ll pay.”
I want to see fire—hell, even hate—as she looks back at me. Instead, all I see is fear from a woman I would’ve bet was fearless just a moment ago.
What kind of monster did she face?
“Please,” she begs again, her voice growing even weaker, fading along with her resistance.
I loosen my grip and get off her, but she doesn’t try to get up, like she’s too spent to move, too broken to function. And I can’t stop staring at the dozens of scars running from her torso down to her legs.
All planned.
All premeditated.
“What happened?” I ask, barely keeping my restraint. I need to know who hurt her like this. Because that’s the only way I can fix it.
She doesn’t answer. Just curls into herself, her mind somewhere far away. And I won’t let her go there. “There’s no detour, no other way out. I won’t let you leave until you tell me what happened.” I grab a blanket from the chair and lay it over her. I know she doesn’t want me to stare. And to be honest, I don’t think I can keep looking at her body right now without going fucking feral.
It takes everything in me to get up and leave her alone on the couch, even just for a couple of seconds to pour us two glasses of whiskey.
Still, she needs the distance. If I keep pressing her for a confession, she’ll do exactly the opposite.
And I have no idea how I’ll react to that.
