“H-he’s fine,” Hunter replies, voice unsteady. “Shaken up, but he’s not like you and me.”
No, he certainly isn’t. Pressing my lips against Hunter’s ear, I whisper, “Let us in.”
“Tell me why you’re here.”
“You were involved in a shooting, and you think I wouldn’t come?”
Hunter lets out a breath and shakes his head, stepping back to put distance between us. “My job has always been dangerous. You don’t show up here every time I’m involved in something that could cause me harm. Why now, Xavier?”
I may not have shown up, but if he thinks I don’t know what he’s been up to all these years, he’s very wrong. There’s nothing he does that I’m not aware of. His safety is of utmost importance to me, and that won’t ever change, regardless of whether he’s in my arms or not.
“This time it’s different.”
A muscle in Hunter’s jaw twitches. He glances behind me to where Miles hovers at my shoulders. “How?”
“This is my mess, as you so eloquently put it. I’m at your disposal until we sort it out.” As if this has some kind of expiry date. I’m at his disposal, forever. Whatever he needs, I’ll provide.
“I don’t need your help.”
“You have it, regardless.” He won’t get rid of me so easily.
He seems to sense this, as he finally moves out of the way and allows both of us to enter. “Shoes and guns.”
“No,” Miles says abruptly, stopping right in front of Hunter. “Not this time. You might think you’re safe here, but nowhere is infallible, and I won’t be caught with my pants down.”
“Interesting choice of words,” Hunter says lightly. “If you take out your weapon without there being a reasonable threat, I’ll make sure you can never pick up a gun ever again.”
Miles places a palm on the wall beside Hunter’s head and leans in, the tips of their noses grazing. “If you think you can take me, I’m right here.”
Hunter doesn’t back down, pressing forward until their lips are a hair’s breadth from each other. “I know I can. Guard dogs always have a worse bark than bite.”
The corner of Miles’ mouth lifts. “Not this guard dog.”
“We’ll see. Take your shoes off.” His lips mimic Miles’ expression. “And your belt.”
There’s a story there, I’m sure.
Leaving them to their foreplay, I carefully remove my shoes and then place them on the provided rack before venturing further inside.
Matthew is sitting at the breakfast bar, a steaming mug of something that smells like coffee and perhaps something a little stronger cradled in his palms. He looks like he could use it if only to put a little colour back in those cheeks.
“Hello, Matthew.”
He licks his lips nervously, hands tightening around his drink. “Hello.”
A quick sweep of his figure assures me he’s unharmed as well. I don’t expect anything less, given Hunter was with him. He wouldn’t have allowed anything to happen to the man. There’s a soft spot there that I’m not sure my husband has noticed.
The teacher is certainly endearing. And completely out of his depth here in the midst of monsters. I’m sure he wants to get off this ride now. But there’s no getting off now, not when he’s been specifically targeted. Even if they were simply following Hunter and took an opportunity presented, he’s still in the crossfire now, whether he likes it or not.
The way he looks between us makes me think he’s wondering if I’m about to bend Hunter over this counter. There’s an appeal to that, for sure. Anyone who knows what Hunter feels like, squeezing around their dick, would be thinking about it as well. I’d have to kill them, of course, but that part’s irrelevant. Hunter belongs to me, and anyone who thinks they can claim that is welcome to try.
Does Matthew think he has a claim on Hunter, I wonder? The dull anger at the thought is a bare blip against the curiosity and intrigue. Just what part does Matthew think he has to play in this?
“Augustus,” Matthew says abruptly, letting go of his mug and sliding off his stool. “I have to get him. I left him there.” His eyes widen, a thin sheen of tears covering them. “I left him there,” he repeats, almost to himself. “I’m the world’s worst parent.”
Hunter looks amusedly at me, and I stare back impassively. Whatever he’s implying is justified, though the sting still hurts. I’ve provided for my child her whole life. I simply haven’t met her. What looks like neglect on paper was a very deliberate choice to give her the best start to life. That was never going to be me.
“You have a child?” Miles asks, frowning. He turns to Hunter, who responds before he can follow up the question withsomething I’m sure is less than flattering. Neither of us would expect Hunter to leave a house full of goons while there’s a child in residence—and not take the child with him.
