“Good. It’s settled.”
“No. I will assess Hunter’s accommodation and decide for myself if it’s comparable to where I have in mind.”
“That’s fine. If it’s not, we can both go wherever you are thinking.” He meets my eyes, refusing to back down. “But it will be.”
I highly doubt that. “Don’t you have a life? A job? A club to help run?”
“Most of which can be done remotely.”
“You can’t manage a bunch of unruly bikers remotely.”
“Your perception of my MC is inaccurate,” Hunter says as he pulls wires from computers and shoves them into the boxes. I eyeball his hands as he twists them without care. It will take me ages to detangle them, but I understand we don’t have the time to label everything and place it in the original packaging.
“Keep us informed,” Fox demands. “Speak later.”
The phone beeps, signaling the end of the call, the whir of hard drive fans the only sound. I glare at Hunter, who sports a very smug grin. Joke’s on him. I don’t play well with others. I am alone for a very good reason. Spinning on my heel, I stalk toward my room, already mentally packing what essentials I’ll need. Pity he has to learn the hard way why that is. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch his eye before quietly shutting, and locking, the door behind me.Hold on to your leathers, Hunter. You’re about to get a lesson in why you should leave ghosts alone.
Chapter Thirteen
Hunter
Well, that was a surprise.
It’s inconceivable why one person would have this many screens and computing power. She’s one woman—a brilliant, complicated, scary woman—but still only one person. I don’t care how fucking good she is, this is nuts.
I contemplated acknowledging and following her very clearfuck off and leave me alonevibes, but I have a gut feeling that if I leave her to her own devices, I won’t ever see her again. Not because, like her nickname, she can disappear willingly, but I fear the demons on her trail are more than she can handle. I can’t have that on my conscience. Not again. I have long since stopped ignoring my gut when someone is in trouble, particularly a woman who doesn’t have a support network to fall back on. The barren penthouse has a lot of stuff, but no life. Easier to leave. Easier to run. My eyes settle down the hall, knowing she’s already planning her escape. Perhaps she is my redemption; an opportunity to heal a deep wound I thought would never mend.
She’s almost silent as she moves around her bedroom, packing the bare minimum. I have several properties we could hide in until we figure this shit out, but the more I analyze the threat level, the more I realize staying in one close to the Reapers is best. We’d only be an hour’s drive from Fox and Honor, it’s the most defensible property I have, and with the MC nearby, we’d have heavy-duty, well-trained backup should we need it. And I have a feeling we are going to need it. There is strength in numbers, something Eleanor has not experienced before. She hasn’t been candid about why and what she’s gotten herself into, but I’m not stupid. I might not be an analyst, I might not be as smart as her, but the mask she wears is flimsy at best. Superficially, people see her as cold. Detached. Unbothered. Clinical. If they stopped and paused for a minute to look beneath the surface, they would witness the massive storm surging against her battered defenses. The problem is, if she doesn’t find an outlet, a safe space to release all her pent-up emotion, it will break her.
An almost imperceptible hiss has the hair on the back on my neck standing on end. I move on silent feet and catch the heavy reinforced door before it snaps closed. My eyes widen as I step inside the room she refused to allow me in, finding her standing in the center of the large space devoid of furniture. A sex room would have been less surprising than whatever the fuck this is.
She turns on her heel, and her eyes tighten, panic hidden behind the fury. “Get out.”
I drag my gaze back to the chaos covering every single space of the walls. I can’t even tell what color they are painted. There are documents, photos, sticky notes, and lines of black string pinned between them. A map of America covers one of the walls, with notes and numbers scrawled all over it. There is shipping information, plane schedules, and a line of photos includingsome very rich and influential people. People the Reapers have been eyeing for a business deal I need to burn.
In the center of the largest wall is a blown up but grainy photo of one of the men from the club. The man that chased her is also there, but clearly isn’t the target. The guy that pushed her into the alley features in photos scattered around the room, but he’s always in the background. He’s connected, but not worthy of her wrath. Who is he? Spinning slowly on my heel, I ignore the ball of fury behind me and take in the years of careful stalking and researching. This is like gazing at the physical representation of her brain; the information, the connections, the ability to piece together a puzzle only one percent of the population could even attempt.
“Can’t you follow a simple instruction?” she snaps.
“This is who you are tracking?” I glance over my shoulder, my brows drawing together. “Why?”
She huffs as she gives up trying to make me vacate the room. “That man,” she whips her hand out, pointing at the grainy photo, “is Jonathan Walker. He’s a cult leader and trafficker, responsible for countless disappearances. Daughters. Sons. Sisters. Brothers. Fathers. Mothers.”
I don’t miss the hitch in her voice over the word mothers, but now isn’t the time to pry. I take a step toward her, not touching her but allowing my heat to radiate at her back.Come on, Eleanor, lean on me. Take a chance.
“This is why you should run far, far away from me, Hunter,” she whispers. “This is my path—to prevent more people from falling into his hands. I’ll do whatever is necessary to destroy him, even if it costs me my life.”
It’s personal. Did he take her mother? That’s enough for a single-minded vendetta. “Then consider me forewarned and forearmed. I am making the decision to help you with my eyes wide open.”
Her hands fist at her sides.There’s that storm. Let it out, Eleanor.She drags in a deep breath and unclenches her hands. It’s almost eerie how much control she has over the emotions she’s got locked up tight.
“Christopher is one of his highest profile customers. I tracked him to the club in Miami, and I dressed and behaved in the exact manner which would entice him to drag me into the dark.”
“That’s the guy who chased you?” I check.
“He is.” Her voice carries no emotion. No fear. No remorse.
“And the third guy?”
