Page 63 of Make Me Hunt
He doesn’t have the right to fix me because I will never be his. No matter how good it felt. No matter how strong our bond was. No matter if he is a god.
I don’t belong to him, or to the monster in the sanatorium who did this to me.
I belong to me, and I’m reclaiming my body.
It’s the only thing I can do to keep from dying with Ares.
Because one thing I know for sure—one of us isn’t walking out of that building.
twenty-four
-Brynn-
It takes me a few moments to recover. Sometimes it feels like I’m a different person, and I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. But the longer I stay in here, the more my memories start to haunt me.
Before I fall down that path, there’s a loud knock on the door. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to answer it. I do it either way, just to see one of Ares’s men carrying different boxes and bags.
“Where do you want these?” He asks, as I try to read the labels on the boxes and realize they’re all name brand clothes.
Maybe they’re his sister’s.
“Didn’t he tell you what to do with them?” I ask, since I have no clue where they’re supposed to go.
“Boss only told me to take them inside and make sure you know about them, ma’am.”
I don’t even know what throws me off more. The fact that the man is carrying more than a dozen boxes and bags that I’m starting to suspect are for me, or the fact that he just called mema’am.I don’t even know if I should be flattered or pissed. I don’t like it either way.
“Just leave them here, thanks.” I gesture for the hallway, waiting for the guy to drop the bags there.
I don’t care how nice Ares is to me. I have zero intention of opening them. At least I didn’t, until I realized I’m still wearing his clothes. A pair of his joggers that are oversized on me, and one of his T-shirts, tucked in awkwardly.
I could go home wearing this, but they’re ridiculously long and don’t exactly pair well with the laced leather boots. He managed to ruin my clothes, so that’s not an option either.
That leaves me no choice but to grab the first box and take out a casual black dress, just long enough to hide my scars, and somehow exactly the kind I would’ve picked for myself. It’s not elegant enough to wear to a cocktail party, but sexy enough to stand out in a crowd. The top part is loose enough to wear off one shoulder—or both—while the bottom wraps around my curves in all the right places.
I want to be bitchy and say it’s something I should wear to his funeral. Maybe I would’ve felt that a few months ago, but right now I’m still fighting to impose that thought on myself for when the time comes.
I want to stop here, but there’s a box that catches my attention. A pink courier package that looks way too familiar to ignore. It’s from my favorite online store nastythoughts.com.
I grab the box, which is a lot bigger than what I’m used to—but then again, so are a lot of things around here—and open the lid. Inside are a few dozen pairs of fishnet stockings along with enough sexy lingerie sets to make me think he emptied their stock in my size.
That was... thoughtful of him. But also very obsessive, since I know he found the site by going through my phone and probably personal orders. I’m not sure if I should sayfuck youorthank you.
I grab a pair of stockings and pull them on. There are a few scars on my legs I’d rather not have people asking questions about.
One day, I’ll get the scars lasered off, but only after I go after Ezekiel. I guess I need them there to fuel my rage, to remind me how badly I need to torture him before I kill him. And I can’t deny Ares’s method of removing them is more tempting than the laser, because he’s not just dealing with the physical ones. It’s the mental ones he’s managed to erase. Though I know wewon’thave time for him to fix them all.
I don’t go through any other boxes. I’m not planning to look at the presents he picked out for me. This was only out of necessity, not some kind of pampering. Which is exactly why I fight off the curiosity and head to the other room to get changed.
I end up in the living room, and there’s no one around anyway. Just me and my dark thoughts, taking off the clothes I borrowed from Ares as I stare at the armchair where he sat the first night I came to his house. The night he marked me.
A chill creeps down my spine, and I wish I could take my eyes off the damn armchair. But I can’t. A trail of regret seeps in through every pore, the pain of losing something I never had, more vivid than ever.
I rush to change and leave this place, but as soon as I have the new dress on, I find myself in the back garden. The outdoor couch is still made up like a bed. His whiskey glass, still on the table. My ripped skirt, still on the granite floor. It was less than twenty-four hours ago, yet it feels like a lifetime ago.
A lifetime where I deserved to be happy.
I just hope I’ll leave all my sins behind in this one.
