Hunter Page 2

  I want it enough that each breath hitches in my throat.

  I glance over my shoulder, my limbs throbbing, and come face to face with the impeccable good fortune that stares back at me.

  2

  Her

  I paste a surprised look on my face, placing my mental celebration on hold.

  Dan cuts the engine, slides from the car, then slams the door shut.

  “You changed your mind?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” He stalks toward me, his smile stiff. “I did.”

  I unlock the hotel door and push it wide, allowing him to proceed. “After you.”

  He doesn’t respond as he strides inside, not bothering to scope his surroundings. This smug piece of shit thinks he’s invincible, and I can’t wait to prove him wrong.

  He slumps onto the well-worn bed, the cheap springs squeaking with his heavy weight. A frown spreads across his forehead as he stares blankly at the tiny kitchenette in front of him.

  Could my buddy Rohypnol have given him a friendly nudge of disorientation?

  “You okay?” I purr, closing the door to the world.

  “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “You got a glass of water or something?”

  “Sure.” I saunter to the sink, and the hair on my neck tingles as my back faces him.

  Limit vulnerabilities.

  Stay alert.

  He pushes to his feet while I begin filling a cloudy glass with tap water. Every inch of me is tense, ready to attack, but I continue the monotonous actions, turning the tap off slowly and drying my hands on a dirty dish rag.

  I swing around. He paces near the door. Like a caged dog, he wants out, but there is no out. Not until I have what I want.

  “Here.” I hand over the drink and point to the sturdy wooden chair strategically placed between the bed and the stained sofa. “Have a seat and I’ll make you feel comfortable.”

  He takes large gulps of the water, the deep grooves of his frown still intact when he hands back the empty glass. “No.” He shakes his head in a mix of confusion and agitation. “Let’s go. I’ll take you somewhere better than this.”

  “We have all we need right here.” I grab his wrist and lead him forward, guiding him to sit in the hot seat. “I’ve been practicing something for a while, and I really want to see what you think. Call it an added bonus, if you like.”

  I place the glass on the unsteady bedside table and slide my hand under the pillow on the bed. He watches as I produce a handful of thick, red ribbon. I sway my hips to imaginary music on my return and let the long lengths of material fall to the floor, dragging behind me.

  “This room is a dump,” he mutters. “We need to go to my place.” He grips the armrests, preparing to stand.

  “Don’t.” I lean over and get in his face. “It will be fun to have sex in here. It adds to the fantasy.” I inch closer, his stale breath brushing my lips. “I’m the weak woman in distress, and you’re the wealthy, charming man here to save me. But every fantasy has to be earned. Let me earn this. After that, I’ll go wherever you want.”

  His jaw tightens. His features harden. “You’ve got five minutes.”

  “I can work with that.” It isn’t a lie. Once he’s tied, his ability to negotiate is over. The game is won. All that’s left is the celebration.

  I hold his right wrist to the armrest and begin binding it to the wood with my ribbons.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” He lashes out, gripping a fistful of my hair—my wig.

  I gasp, feigning fear when the reality is anger shooting through my body. “It’s a part of the show,” I plead. “I just—”

  A rustle of noise sounds from the back of the room. In the bathroom. No, it must be right outside the window, in the alley. My escape route.

  The potential for someone to overhear freezes my blood. It seems to have the same effect on Dan because he releases my hair and scowls at me.

  “Hurry up and do your thing.” A slur mars his words. “Then we leave.”

  I nod, quick and sharp, ever the eager escort, and continue binding one wrist to the armrest, then the other. Next, I kneel between his spread legs, sliding my palm over his crotch as I lower. There’s no hardened cock behind that zipper, no erection, no arousal. Not surprising. He won’t get turned on again until he’s in control. Not until he’s inflicting pain.

  I bat my fake lashes at him and tie his ankles to the chair legs, tightening the last knot against his leg with all my strength.

  “Jesus.” He tries to kick me and fails under the restriction. “Stupid bitch. That fucking hurt.”

  I cluck my tongue, stand, and leisurely walk to the bathroom to close the door on anyone in the alley who may plan to snoop on my pleasure. “You’re really showing your true colors now, Danny boy.”

  His face slackens.

  I let the situation sink in—my familiarity, his vulnerability.

  Warring emotions spread across his face, from confusion to annoyance, then more confusion. “Who are you?”

  I shrug and stroll back to stand before him. “Consider me a business partner. We’re going to work together tonight.”

  “Is that right?” His narrowed gaze holds mine as he tugs at his wrist bindings. “Well, I’m more than happy to help a pretty lady. But you might want to untie me. We can’t work together if I’m stuck like this.”

  “You’ll do just fine where you are.” I move to the bed and drop to a knee to retrieve the folder I stashed under the ensemble. “It’s very easy, actually. All I need are a few answers to some really simple questions.”

  “Ha.” He grins. “If you’re after information, I’ll tell you what I’ve told everyone else. You’re not getting anything until I get paid.”

  “I’m sorry, but that deal isn’t going to work for me. I’ll have to convince you to try this my way.” It’s my turn to smile, the curve of my lips gentle with the slightest hint of cocky menace.

  “And what’s stopping me from yelling for help?”

  “I think the most influential answer is my ability to cut your dick off and dive out the back window before anyone finds the room key.”

  He snarls.

  “There are many more reasons,” I continue. “Like, what will Daddy think when another escort makes claims of sexual assault? I don’t think the senator will appreciate an additional scandal where you’re concerned.”

  “You fucking cunt.”

  I chuckle. If only he knew.

  “Now, as I was saying. It’s very simple.” I slide out an image hidden inside the folder and hold it up. “This guy,” I point to the man standing beside Dan in the candid photo, “I need to find out where he is.”

  He doesn’t glance at the image, doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”

  I inhale slowly and smile. “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  I nod, shrug, then slam my elbow against his cheek.

  His head jolts to the side. His shouted curse fills the room.

  “How ’bout now, Dan?”

  “You’re going to die.” He bucks in the chair. “I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands.”

  I lunge, grasping his throat in a tight grip as I glare. “Let’s get one thing straight. You might think you’re tough as nails because you hurt defenseless women, but I spend my days fucking up ruthless men. I will cut you. Flay you. I’ll slice you open and wear your intestines like a fucking necklace to your own funeral unless I get what I want.”

  I release my hold and step back.

  We’re both panting, our chests heaving. Dan glares from under his lashes, his lids heavy. “Something is wrong. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

  “That would be the Rohypnol I gave you back at the bar. It’s only going to get worse.”

  His eyes widen.

  “It also means we’re on a tight schedule. So, tell me.” I raise the photo and wait until his attention strays to the image. “The guy standing beside you, where can I find him?”

 
He squints, his fingers gripping into the chair. “Like I said, I don’t know him.”

  “Danny, Danny, Danny.” I cluck my tongue as I return to the bed. I slide my hand under the pillow and pull out a knuckle duster. He watches my return with narrowed eyes as I slide the shiny metal down my glove-covered fingers, then cock my fist.

  “Wait,” he snarls. “That photo was taken two years ago.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. It was a rented property. Some mansion on the outskirts.”

  “The outskirts of Portland?” My words flow in an excited rush. “Here?”

  “Yeah. Here.”

  “And you spoke to this guy? What were you doing with him? Have you seen him since? And who rented the property?” I fire questions, hoping to maintain the momentum.

  He shakes his head, his brows furrowed. “It was a party. A celebration. I only went to pick up a package.”

  “What sort of package?”

  His chin lifts. “Laundry,” he grates.

  AKA drugs? What a naughty, naughty senator’s son.

  “And this guy” I tap the man standing next to him in the photo, “is that who you got the package from?”

  He jolts his wrists. “Yes. Christ. Who the fuck are you? You’re getting yourself messed up in some pretty heavy shit, sweetheart.”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about that.” I only need the briefest grasp of information. That’s all it will take to make another connection. Another lead. “Do you know his name?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  Liar.

  “Think, Danny.” I drop the photo and lean forward to grip his junk. “Think hard.”

  He winces, but the severity of my hold isn’t evident in his features. The drugs must be providing a numbing effect.

  I squeeze tighter and twist, achieving a grunt.

  “Zander. Zeke. Zack. Fuck. I can’t remember. Last name was Vaughn.”

  “Are you sure?” I point to the photo. “You’re telling me this guy goes by the name Vaughn?”

  “Yeah,” he grates. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, bitch.”

  My heart pounds, the inspired reverberations ebbing all the way into my stomach. I can work with a name. That’s all I need to inch another step closer to Jacob.

  I release his dick. “If you’re lying to me…”

  His head lolls back. “Too fucking tired to lie.”

  “Okay. Good.” Tingling optimism makes me believe him.

  “Are you going to let me go now?” His blinks are slow. Sluggish.

  I’m running out of time. “We’re just getting started.”

  He scoffs, opens his mouth, and yells, “Help.”

  Jesus. I slam the heel of my palm into his nose, cutting off the call, then lunge for the bed. In seconds, I’ve retrieved the gag from under the pillow and have it pressed to his mouth.

  His head thrashes, and he yells through clenched lips as I increase the pressure, banging and smacking the hard ball gag until he relents and opens for me with a growl.

  “Good boy.” I tighten the strap behind his head, then come back to stand in front of him, admiring my handiwork. “Revenge is such a pretty picture.”

  He’s yelling, mumbling, whimpering behind the gag. Rage glares back at me, but it’s a wavering emotion. A sleepy anger that dissipates. He no longer tests his bonds, the mind-numbing drugs making the situation more acceptable.

  That won’t last long.

  “Now that we have the photo out of the way, I want you to know I’ve been watching you for quite some time.” I hope to reignite his fear or maybe a bit of panic. Instead, he looks straight through me. “You enjoy hurting women, don’t you?”

  He releases a half-hearted chuckle, his eyes twinkling the slightest bit.

  “Beating them. Raping them.” I grab his hair and yank. “You prey on those weaker than you.”

  His eyes brighten in bliss. In memory. He’s reliving what he’s done in that twisted mind of his. Even with his life at my mercy, he’s enjoying his accomplishments. But then his eyes close.

  Oh, no, he isn’t going to take a nap on my watch. It’s time to fast-forward the festivities.

  “Hey.” I slap him. “You’ve gotta stay awake for this.” I’m hell-bent on retribution, but I’m not going to beat the unconscious.

  He mumbles, over and over, the same cadence, the same indecipherable syllables. I’m curious enough to lower the gag and give him a chance to confess his sins.

  “What’s your name, bitch?” he slurs, his eyes still closed. “I want to know what to whisper in your ear when I’m raping you raw.”

  “Oh, honey.” I reposition the knuckle dusters, pressing them lower on my fingers. “Threats don’t work well with me.”

  “You touch me again and I kill everyone you love.”

  “I wish you the best of luck.”

  His eyes open, but he’s not there. Not really. I doubt he’ll remember any of this tomorrow. He’ll only have the physical pain to taunt his unclear memory.

  I run the cold metal on my hand along his jaw. “Maybe I should cut out your tongue to stop your sweet-talkin’ ways?”

  He spits at me, the projectile not making the distance. “You’re dead.”

  “Not yet. So, while we’re both alive and kicking, I’m going to give you a refresher on the lives you’ve ruined.” I shove the gag back in place and clench my fist. “Cassidy Trelore, twenty-six, broken ribs, broken jaw.”

  I cock my arm, my limbs heating with approaching euphoria. Then I swing, launching my fist into his ribs. A muffled grunt is my reward.

  “Melissa Taylor, twenty-eight, swollen lip, two black eyes, and eight facial fractures.” This punch I aim at the middle of his face, cracking cartilage and distorting his nose.

  He yells.

  Everything inside me tingles in celebration while rivulets of scarlet blood seep from his nostrils toward his mouth.

  I continue, naming the women he’s assaulted, along with his long list of offences. Each time I land a blow harder than the last, until his face is a masterpiece of reds, maroons, and puffy, swollen skin.

  Bree Foster. Carla Kane. Zoey Day. Amanda Scupin.

  “Do you like feeling vulnerable, Dan?” I stand in front of him, cupping his clean-shaven cheek in my palm while I run the steel down the other. “Do you like knowing I’m hurting you, the same way you hurt those women?”

  His eyes roll, and my stomach swells with disappointment. He’s tapping out. Already. Weak fucker.

  Then again, I did give him a healthy dose of powdered goodness.

  “That’s the downside of the drugs.” I sigh. “That, and the unlikelihood you’ll remember this tomorrow. But I want you to try, Danny boy. I want you to try real hard. Can you do that for me?”

  His head slumps forward, a barely conscious affirmation.

  I lean in, place my lips near his ear, and close my eyes as I breathe victory deep into my lungs. “Good, because I never want you to forget the night karma finally caught up with you.”

  3

  Her

  I leave Dan tied to the chair, drool seeping from around the gag while he slumps forward in unconsciousness. Every inch of me that was numb and emotionless the day before is thrumming with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader at a pep rally.

  The buzz spurs me on as I slip through the bathroom window with a pack of my belongings strapped on my back, and strut my cheap fuck-me heels as far as they will take me.

  My journey home lasts longer than my magical moments with Dan. I walk a lot of miles, catch two different cabs, and slink down numerous dark alleys to dispose of every item of my costume in a different location.

  By the time I reach the bar across the street from my apartment, I’m dressed in my favorite pair of denim jeans, a tight, long-sleeve, plunging top, and my strappy stiletto heels.

  The lack of warm clothing isn’t appropriate for the January chill, but that’s what adrenaline is for. Right? That, and the promise of a
stiff drink once I get inside.

  I open the door to Atomic Buzz—a drinking hole with nowhere near the edginess or allure of its name—and Brent, the owner, grins at me.

  “You’re lucky, Steph. I was thinking about closing early.”

  I glance around, my attention skating over the two elderly guys playing poker near the front window, then around the soulless room to the couple whispering sweet nothings at a table in the far corner.

  “And ruin the atomic buzz you’ve got going?” I ruffle the long blonde strands of my hair, trying to work out the stiffness left from the nasty wig. “It looks like you’ve doubled your clientele since I was here last.”

  “Almost.” He snickers. “What are you drinking tonight?”

  I throw my pack to the floor and slide onto a swiveling seat, resting my hands on the sticky wood of the bar. “Whiskey, neat. Thanks.”

  Brent raises his brows as he reaches for Johnny Walker, then slides me a filled glass.

  Yeah, I know, it’s a sick-fuck move picking Dan Roberts’ drink of choice, but I’m in a sick-fuck kind of mood.

  “I’m celebrating a job well done,” I clarify.

  “What job was it this time?” He eyes me with interest, as if he’s actually invested in my life. Nobody else looks at me like that. No one has in years. I make sure of it.

  “The professor had us researching the growing number of assault and rape cases tied to solicitation.”

  I sometimes wish I could tell him the truth—that I don’t work as a research assistant for a college professor who specializes in violent crimes. Having one person in this world to confide in could be a game changer. But trust issues are one of my many colorful traits.

  “Which means we’re on to a new project by the end of the week.” I raise my glass in a silent toast, then take a sip.

  “Well, congratulations on having finished studying that fucked up shit.” He gives me a grim smile. “You know, my sugar daddy offer still stands whenever you want to quit that horrible job and let me take care of you.”

  I laugh. “Brent, you’ve only mastered the daddy part. When you get the sugar, let me know.”