Chapter 13

Hunter

My toes are tapping in my boots, sweat trickling down my spine. With each second that passes, I risk more than the feds stumbling in and arresting me, I risk Falcone losing his patience and sending one of his thugs here.

I keep my eyes on the tall redhead, I assume is Natalie’s mother, currently talking to a nurse down the corridor.

I don’t know enough about the situation or the woman to have formed an opinion on her sudden arrival, and I don’t really have the right to, whatever Natalie and I are, and I’m fucked if I know what or if we are anything yet, saying her Mom seems genuinely distraught isn’t probably going to help matters.

It’s bad enough I’m on the other side of the door, I can only imagine what she’s going through if her Dad really is on his death bed.

I keep my eyes averted as Natalie’s Mom starts heading in my direction, two coffee cups in her hands, a tentative smile on her face as she looks at me.

I swallow and try to blend into the wall, wishing I was anywhere but standing out here.

She’s taller than Natalie, thinner, with fine lines marring an otherwise youthful face. If it weren’t for the sagging skin around her neck, and the olive spots on her hands, I’ve have taken her for late thirty.

But there’s a stretched look and an unnatural tightness to her face that lets me know she’s had work done. Expensive work probably.

Her teeth are too white as she flashes a smile. “Are you with Natalie? I’m her Mom, well, I don’t think I can claim that title anymore. You can call me, Jocelyn.”

My entire body reacts. My hairs stand on end, and I’m suddenly a teenager being vetted by a mother to see if I’m good enough for her daughter.

I’m almost relieved when the door opens, and a red-eyed Natalie steps out.

A flickering of anger crosses her face before she strides towards us. Jocelyn steps back and swallows hard. “I know what you’re thinking—”

Natalie cuts her off. “I will never forgive you if you let him die.”

Jocelyn extends the coffee cup like it’s an olive branch. “Natalie, I know you’re upset, it’s a legally—"

Natalie cuts her off, ignoring the coffee. “He wrote you out of his will. You won’t benefit if he dies.”

Jocelyn’s eyes widen. “That’s what you think? That I came back to get his money? Natalie, that’s—"

I wonder if I should point out the rocks on her mother’s fingers, the expensive watch she’s wearing but instead, I watch the hall for signs for anyone out of place.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Natalie growing more agitated. She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter why. Just don’t let him die.”

Jocelyn’s posture shifts into meekness, and I almost feel bad for her. “Natalie. There are so many things I want to explain.”

Natalie’s eyes narrow, and she looks ready to attack her mother, not something we have time for right now. Whatever happened in their family, it’s irrelevant if I can’t keep her safe. I grab Natalie’s arm and start to tug her away. “We need to go.”

This family drama is exactly what I loved about being in the mountains. Relationships are complicated. Women are complicated, and now I’m caught in the middle of some soap opera style shit I was purposely trying to avoid.

Natalie doesn’t fight me, just lets me drag her back towards the stairs. I don’t tell her why we can’t take the elevator again, just open the door and usher her downward.

When we make it to the parking garage again, I release a breath and check for cop cars. It’s only a matter of time before some are sent here. It’s a wonder they already weren’t.

Natalie’s lip is wobbling as we get to the car, her face is set hard, but she looks about three seconds away from crying again.

I don’t say a word as she gets in the car and buckles herself in, all with robotic movements that let me know she’s running on autopilot and possibly in some sort of dissociative shock.

I start the engine and check the rear-view before planting my foot, making the tires squeal in my haste to exit.

Bobby Falcone isn’t a patient man at the best of times, any more delays and he calls the entire arrangement off and settles for putting a bullet in my head.

My skin starts to itch as we drive away from the hospital. Sure enough, a town car has pulled in behind us.

I work my jaw and carry on towards the prearranged destination. Natalie doesn’t say a word, just stares out the window, her fingers gripping the seat as I drive right on the speed limit.

I’m caught in my thoughts, eyes flicking between watching the road, and the car following when she speaks. “Where are we going?”

I chance a look at her, but she’s still looking at the water as we cross the bridge. I roll my shoulders in a vain attempt to release the tension in them before giving her a half answer. “Out of the city.”

I can’t tell her anymore. The less she knows, the better. I deflect and hope I can steer the topic back to something to take her mind off what’s about to happen. “Do you know where your mother has been all this time?”

She glances at me, her brow knotted as she sighs. I keep my eyes on the bridge as she answers in a flat voice. “Denver.”

I keep her talking in the hopes her anger will help her deal with reality. “Why Denver?”

There’s a bitterness to her voice I haven’t heard before. “I don’t know. Jemma and I haven’t heard from her in nearly a decade.”

The question slips out before I can stop it. “You haven’t talked to her since she left?”

“No.”

There’s a finality to her tone that makes me insanely curious. But she’s entitled to her privacy; fuck knows I’m not in a position to ask anything of her.

Besides which, I understand her reluctance to track down her mother. I couldn’t give a shit about the whereabouts of my own deadbeat parents.

It’s something we seem to have in common. But there’s no point in reopening old wounds, and when family is concerned, some scabs are better left unpicked.

Instead of pushing her, I concentrate solely on what I’m going to say to Bobby Falcone when I see him face to face.

He’s a lying, unbalanced, weasel-faced prick who gets off on control. Add to that the giant chip on his shoulder about living in his father’s shadow all this time, and he’s probably the worst person to make a deal with.

I can only hope his greed will override any lasting anger at me. Technically I haven’t done anything that won’t ultimately benefit him.

But blood is blood. And even if Bobby Falcone hated his father’s guts for the way he belittled him, I have to face the very real possibility this isn’t going to go down well.

As long as I can remind him, he has nothing to worry about, and that no one ever needs to know the job went south because of his incompetence, we’re gold.

***

Natalie

My entire body feels bruised. Like someone took a hammer and smashed it into my muscles. I wouldn’t be surprised to find I’m black and blue from when I tumbled out the door and the way Hunter slung me over his shoulder.

I’m close to exhaustion. Fear battering at me, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the pounding of my heart.

Nausea is swelling as we drive, and it’s all I can do to not cry silently as I think about Dad, Mom, and Jemma all alone as I flee for my life.

I try not to think about Jed. I try not to think about what I’m leaving behind. I can’t. I have no idea what is going to happen, but I’ll be dammed if I lose it and start blubbering.

Hunter came back for me. He didn’t have to, but he did. And if he’s telling the truth, Jed is alive because of him.

He wants me to trust him. And I have to. I have to push aside all doubt, all overwhelming terror and try to believe it will be okay.

It’s surreal. Everything has happened so fast. It’s all blurring into one continuous memory of violence, gunshots, and the sneaking feeling that Hunter is hiding something from me.

I glance across at him as we drive. He’s all muscled fury tightly contained. I don’t know what his plan is. I just know he’s the only thing standing between me and the mob.

That knowledge is possibly the most frightening thing I’ve experienced so far.

He slows as we drive into an industrial area populated by office buildings. I’m not sure if I should be relieved it looks so ordinary. I’d half expected him to take us to a dilapidated old warehouse. But this isn’t a movie, and whoever this mobster is, we’re meeting him at what looks like an insurance broker.

Hunter sends me a quick look and answers my unspoken question. “It’s a front.”

I nod and try not to let my nervousness show as he pulls over. I know enough about money laundering to understand what he means, so I stay silent as Hunter’s eyes flick to the rear-view mirror above him.

I turn around to check and am alarmed to see a black sedan has pulled up behind us. Two bulky men dressed in suits and wearing scowls are getting out.

Hunter’s voice is tight as he releases his seat belt and looks at me. “Let me do the talking. Even if you don’t like what I’m saying or how I’m acting, just go with it and whatever you do, don’t talk back to Falcone, okay?”

I swallow hard and manage to nod feebly, halfway annoyed he thinks I’d be that stupid. My hands are shaking so hard I struggle to unbuckle my belt.

Hunter gets out of the car and leans on the door as he growls at the men. “We don’t need a fucking entourage.”

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to stay where I am, so I chew my lip and try to calm my jagged nerves as Hunter continues to growl at the men closing in.

I risk a look at him and flinch at the hardened expression he’s wearing. There’s no trace of the ruggedly caring man I thought I knew.

My eyes stay on him as he stalks around the car, opens my door and yanks me out, all without looking at me.

He keeps his voice low as he jerks me towards him so I’m pressed into his side. “If you believe in God, now’s the time to start praying.”

My eyes pop as he holds me in his iron grip near dragging me towards the doors. The men are so close, I don’t want to risk protesting, so I press my lips tightly together and try not to look terrified.

Hunter opens the door and pulls me inside, flicking a look behind him as the muscled thugs make a show of surrounding us.

The office is an open expanse of contemporary and incredibly pretentious architectural design. It reeks of expense. From the carefully placed brick to the polished floorboards. The entire space gives the illusion it’s a giant barn that’s been remodeled.

At the front desk, a receptionist so pretty she could be a model is sitting, smiling in Hunter’s direction. I feel his body stiffen as we approach. From the way she’s getting up and plastering a bright smile on her face, she knows him far too well.

Hunter doesn’t respond with anything resembling warmness. “Is he ready?”

The girl bobs her head and leans forward so half of her breasts are visible in her low-cut sweater. “You don’t have time to say hello to me today?” she purrs.

Hunter grunts a response as he pulls me in the direction of the only door in the strange office.

I stay glued to his side as the goon behind us shifts so he’s ahead of Hunter. He ignores me completely and smirks at Hunter. “Like to see you talk your way out of this one.”

Hunter’s jaw tightens, but he stays silent, glaring as the man pats him down roughly.

I’m wondering if I’ll be subjected to the same level of scrutiny when the door opens without warning.

Hunter backs away as another man, slightly thinner with piercing grey eyes and a pinched expression, appears.

He ushers us inside another smaller office with similar décor to the main reception. I’m not sure what I expected, but when a lean, dark-haired, olive-skinned man Hunter gets up from behind a desk, I’m surprised to find him remotely attractive.

Any hope I had for his appearance to match his nature disappears when his eyes roam over me, and a lewd expression appears on his face.

He jams his hands into his pockets and leans on the edge of his desk, his eyes on my chest, while Hunter’s fingers dig into my arm.

My cheeks start to heat as Falcone purses his lips. “You came back from the dead for this broad?”

Hunter answers in a flat voice. “I came because I want my damn life back. You have that power now. Not the feds. You are in control here.”

Falcone seems pleased when he steps so close I can smell his aftershave. He doesn’t even bother to look me in the eye, just stares at my breasts. “How’s your father?”

Ice trickles down my spine, mingling with anger. I’m so terrified of saying the wrong thing; I look at Hunter who nods slightly.

I swallow and try to make my voice sound level. “He’s in a coma.”

Falcone smiles, but there’s nothing kind about it. “Fathers. Can’t kill them, can’t pay someone else to.”

He barks a laugh as chills snake down my back. Hunter’s expression stays bland as Falcone’s eyes shift to him then back to me. Falcone jabs a finger in my direction. “He tell you where he hid the money?”

I’m paralyzed by fear so I shake my head and try my best to look confused.

Hunter’s voice comes out as a growl as Falcone stares at me. “You really think I’d tell her anything important?”

Falcone shrugs as if he’s not bothered, but his hand shoots out, and he grabs my other arm and yanks me away from Hunter. For a moment I think Hunter isn’t going to let go, but he relents as Falcone pulls me over to his desk and pushes me against it.

Falcone’s lips part as he starts to run a finger down my cheek. “Just need to check you for weapons and a wire.”

My skin crawls, and it takes every ounce of control not to flinch as he starts to run his hands over my body, spending a lot of time massaging my breasts.

I can’t look at Hunter, I can’t even breathe as Falcone runs his hands over my legs, hips, and ass pawing at my crotch, making me utterly grateful I’m wearing jeans.

As I try to hide my revulsion, nausea and fear are colliding in my stomach as I try not to slap him.

I can’t just accept this. I can’t just sit here and let him molest me. I wish I had my gun. I wish Hunter had a gun.

I stop wishing when I try to make eye contact with Hunter and find him staring at the floor.

With a sob stuck in my throat, I realize he must have known this would happen. He must have known what Falcone was like.

Hot tears spring to my eyes. Burning with humiliation and fear. Dread coils around my body as I try not to show how disgusted and terrified I really am.

When I don’t think I can take the humiliation any longer, Hunter finally decides to speak, but he does nothing to reassure me. “We’re wasting time. Pretty sure her ex put a warrant on my head.”

Falcone takes his hands off me, leaving me wishing I had mouth wash and a bucket to vomit in. He turns sideways so he can see Hunter. “Where’s the money?”

Hunter doesn’t reply, but his fists are curling at his sides as the older man edges closer to Hunter. “You remember me, Sloan?”

A twitch starts at the side of Hunter’s jaw as he looks in my direction. “Yeah, I remember.”

When Falcone turns and grips my chin hard enough to make me flinch, and the older man removes a switchblade, I know I’m in more trouble than I ever imagined possible.