Page 42 of The Huntress and Her Hound

“Are you getting texts from someone you don’t know?” Jude asks the question slowly, but also nonchalantly—like he couldn’t care less.

“No,” I answer him, looking up from the screen as I lock it. “I mean, yeah, but I think it’s just the wrong number.”

“Hmm. I can check for you.”

I roll my eyes. “No thanks, hound boy. Anyway, I have plans tonight, so I’ll see you around.” I clear my throat, and then spin on my heels.

“We’re going out tonight, too.” Jude’s voice stops me in the doorway. “To a costume party on the north side.”

I freeze, turning back to face him. “Why?”

“Apparently, the target will be there.”

My heart jumps to my throat. “Oh? Sex club parties your thing?”

His brows shoot skyward. “I never said it was at a sex club. Are they your thing?”

Oh fuck.

“I, uh, I heard about it at work,” I say quickly. “They happen often around here, and the costumes give the whole thing anonymity. You know, you can be whoever you want to be—and not worry about repercussions.”

“Yeah... Nothing like having sex with strangers. Swapping STDs never sounded so fucking intriguing.” The disgust in his voice is palpable—as is the bitterness.

“No one said it has to be strangers... But you must not have gotten laid in a long time,” I scoff, matching his energy.

He pops his jaw. “Why do you say that?”

I cock a hip, folding my arms across my chest. “Because you wouldn’t be so jealous of a bunch of strangers swapping STDs if you had been getting your dick wet.”

“You got me,” he says flatly, though his eyes burn with something dark and intriguing. “That’s exactly it. I’m jealous of all the people who can go out and fuck without feeling. It must be nice. But that’s not what I was asking you about.”

My chest instantly tightens at the implied confession—and what else he was asking. I change the subject. “How many women have you been with?”

“That’s a highly inappropriate question.”

“Only to a man ashamed of his body count.”

“Jeez, you’re just as bad as they are,” Jude snaps at me. “I don’t have a fucking body count. I have past girlfriends. Who I cared about. They aren’t just notches in my bedpost.”

I swallow hard, jealousy creeping into my chest. “Yeah, right.”

Jude glares up at me. “I have work to do.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling like an idiot all of the sudden. “Sorry.” I open the bedroom door, desperate to get away from him and also reminded of why I was avoiding him.

“I heard the party will be hot,” he calls out as just as the door closes. “And by the way, it’s only three, so you can go ahead and laugh your ass off.”

That’s still two more than me.

But I’ve had enough for a fucking lifetime. I never want someone to touch me again. Well, maybe. My mind still tempts me with the thoughts of what might have happened had I let Jude kiss me.

‘He’d have taken more.’

I breathe out a sigh as I linger in the hallway, catching sight of Henry carrying a tuxedo on a hanger with clear plastic around it. My brother will be there tonight. It’s a huge risk. But I need a rush, something that can distract me from the way I want to open up to my brother’s best friend.

‘It is a costume party, after all.’

And I can be anyone I want tonight, Black Widow or otherwise. I chew the inside of my cheek as I head back for my own room, a shitstorm fantasy already funneling through my mind like a tornado. Maybe I could let someone touch me if I was someone else tonight.

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