“Really?” His grip tightens, just enough to warn. “Because you smell like him.”
My breath stutters. I know exactly who he means. Finn. His scent tangled with mine, staining me with lust and bad decisions.
I rip my wrist back but don’t run. I plant my feet, even while my body betrays me.
Hunter moves.
A yelp tears out of me as he hauls me over his shoulder, effortless, an arm locking hard across the backs of my thighs.
“Hunter! Put me down!” I thrash, but he doesn’t budge.
“Not a chance,” he growls, marching right back inside the building.
Carson whistles low. “Damn. Should’ve brought popcorn.”
Once we are back in my apartment, Hunter sets me down, not-so-gently, in the middle of my living room, his fingers lingering on my waist before he forces himself to let go.
Graham slams the door shut.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he snaps, pacing. “You snuck out. And went to him?—”
“He didn’t hurt me!”
“That’s not the point, peaches,” Carson cuts in. “You let him get close. Again.”
I glare. “You don’t get to decide who I spend my time with.”
“The hell we don’t.” Hunter’s voice is pure command, his arms crossing over his broad chest, muscles tight with restraint. “Your dad hired us to keep you safe. And that includes keeping you away from him.”
I scoff. “So I’m a prisoner now?”
Graham doesn’t hesitate. “If that’s what it takes to keep you alive, then yeah.”
My stomach clenches.
They mean it. Every single one of them.
“Finn isn’t going to kill me. You three are insane. More insane than Finn is, actually. You are taking this too far, and if I could talk to my dad, it would all be fixed!” I prop my hands on my hips, facing them down.
I don’t expect them to just hand over my phone or agree, but when Hunter snorts out a laugh, my blood boils.
“Let’s sit down and go over Finn’s file,” he says, “so that you can be real clear about who you are lusting after.”
Before I can protest, he nudges me toward the couch, grabbing his backpack on the way. His hand is firm at the small of my back, guiding me—not gently, but with purpose. A silent,you will sit down and you will listen.
I don’t enjoy being manhandled—but the weight of his touch? The command in his movements?
I sit.
Hunter drops onto the couch beside me, his presence overwhelming as he leans forward and slaps a yellow file folder onto the coffee table. The impact makes me jump. It just sits there. Radioactive. One wrong move and it’ll burn me alive.
“Open it,” Hunter says.
I hesitate.
Carson steps closer, arms crossed, jaw tight. Graham leans against the wall, arms also crossed, but his eyes are hard. I swallow thickly and drag the folder toward me. My fingers tremble as I flip it open. The first page is a grainy photograph. A boy.
No, a little kid.
