“He lives alone,” Carson says slowly, drawing it out.
“Was in and out of mental health institutions as a kid. Dad died young. Mom wasn’t around much. When she was, she locked him up—because the alphas in her life told her to.”
A pause. Long enough to make me shift uncomfortably on Hunter’s shoulder.
“Until he was suspected of killing them.”
The next breath comes lighter, giving me space to think about it. Then, with the same easy rhythm: “Learned how to work the system. Acted just right. Knew what to say to the doctors. Got himself out.” A faint hum of amusement seems to trail the last two words. “Smart guy.”
My stomach tightens.
Graham watches me closely, his expression unreadable. “He fixates on things,” he adds. “And you are his fixation.”
A shiver skates down my spine, and not entirely from fear.
Carson doesn’t let up. “And we’re not talking some passing crush here, Willow. We’re talking years.” His smirk fades as he delivers the final blow. “Long enough that he has an entire spare room plastered with your face.”
A sharp inhale gets caught in my throat.
Plastered. With my face.
I should be horrified. I am horrified.
And yet…my pulse kicks up, heat curling low in my stomach at the thought of someone being that obsessed with me, of being wanted that intensely. I clamp my mouth shut, but it doesn’t matter.
Hunter tenses even more beneath me, and Carson and Graham freeze. A thick beat of silence settles between us, and fuck, I know exactly why. I can smell it.
The moment the realization hits me, Graham exhales sharply through his nose. Carson’s brows shoot up, his smirk sliding back into place with a slow, knowing tilt of his lips. And Hunter lets out the softest growl possible.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Goddamn my perfume.
“Interesting,” Carson drawls. “Did not expect that reaction.”
Graham speaks before the silence can stretch. “Not our business.”
“Never said it was,” he replies, still watching me far too closely.
Hunter shifts slightly, his grip on me firm, unwavering. He hasn’t said a word, but his body language is screaming at me louder than anything else. I can feel the tension flowing off of him.
I fight the heat rising through me and twist hard in his arms. “Put. Me. Down.”
Graham glances at his phone. “One more minute.”
“One more—are you serious?”
Hunter is, of course, as immovable as a goddamn mountain.
I groan, dropping my forehead against his back. “I hate all of you.”
Carson chuckles, and even Graham’s lips twitch, holding back a smirk.
The distant hum of a familiar engine signals my driver’s arrival.
Graham nods toward the town car. “Your ride’s here.”
Without warning, Hunter takes three long steps, shifts his hold, and drops me—not roughly, but without hesitation—right onto my feet beside the open car door. I barely have time to find my balance before his hand lands on the small of my back, guiding me inside before I can even think about running.
I turn, about to protest, but before I can, Hunter slides in next to me, shutting the door with a soft, final click. Graham takes the front seat, while Carson opens the door on my left, boxing me in completely.
