Page 86 of Tempt Me

Hunter cuddles up to me as we imagine this empty place filled with our stuff. All those little pointless rooms inside will be quiet spots for Hunter’s hobbies. The yard is perfect for kids and a dog.

Standing on the back porch, I point out, “There’s space to build one of those casitas like Bear has on his property for security.”

“I’m willing to change colors and lighten up all the dark elements,” Hunter says and takes my hand. “But I don’t want to ruin the bones of the house. I feel a kinship with this place. Someone tried to tear it apart and make it something else. The house feels wrong and a little broken now. There’s no fixing some of the changes made, but the house retains its heart.”

Hunter tugs off her wig and cuddles closer. “Maybe I’m being dramatic, but I feel like I’ve lost a lot of myself over the last two weeks. But like this house, my bones are still solid. I still have what I need to survive. I can be different but still me.”

After Hunter shares her feelings, I feel even more territorial of the house. The place begins to feel like mine to protect. Of course, I’m still creeped out the first time we sleep over in the now furnished primary bedroom.

By then, Hunter has security with her at all times. The armed men get set up downstairs in a small bedroom turned surveillance room.

Our second night at the house is spent celebrating Hunter’s positive pregnancy test. We party in the pool after making sure security has the cameras off during our naked fun.

“If it’s a girl, I want to name her Lotus after my mom,” Hunter says as I hold her in my arms on the deep end.

“What the hell is a lotus?”

Hunter laughs. “It’s a flower. Suzanne’s name means lily and lotus. Of course, I want the more original of the two names.”

“Lotus,” I say, sounding it out. “Lotus O’Malley.”

“Lotus Knutsen O’Malley. I took my mom’s name when I was eighteen, and I want to give it to my kids.”

When Hunter’s tone goes a little hard, I know she’s thinking about how her father called yesterday. Weeks after the attack, the asshole finally got off his ass and showed concern. Hunter put him on speaker while he babbled about being in a remote location without access to social media or the news.

Eventually, Hunter contradicted his “off the grid” bullshit by explaining, “Suzanne said you were in Seattle.”

“Why is she spying on me?”

“I thought you might be in danger and asked her to locate you,” Hunter lied, sounding sad. “She wanted to make sure no one had gone after you to get to me. That’s when she found out you were in Seattle with your new girlfriend.”

Hunter then hung up and blocked his number. “I don’t want to discuss what just happened. I’m going no contact with him. That’s the end of it.”

I had no intention of pushing the subject. After all, I don’t give a shit about her dad. He isn’t why Hunter became the strong, dynamic woman I love. That credit goes to Suzanne.

Hunter’s mom doesn’t turn against me. Over time, I come to accept how Suzanne might have never been an issue. I don’t know if I was reading things correctly with her. She likes Walla Walla, but what kind of rich bitch like Suzanne wants both of her daughters hooked up with bikers?

No matter the logic, Suzanne treats me warmly whenever we’re at the estate. I also appreciate how she takes charge of problems so Hunter can heal up.

Within Suzanne’s first week back in Banta City, her people organize funerals for those who died during the attack. Their families are financially compensated with funds for spouses and scholarships for kids. Hunter is moved out of the condo and a lease is signed by the Super Stacked Bimbos guitarist. They also schedule a drop-off system to ensure those single moms at the coffee shop still get their weekly tips despite Hunter quitting her job.

Matt Parker’s PR machine creates chaos over the next months. I try to ignore everything. Though Hunter claims she doesn’t check what people are saying, she’ll suddenly seem ashamed.

“I got people killed,” she whimpers to me more than once. “I made bad decisions.”

When she falls apart, I just hold her and promise she did the best she could. Deep down inside, she knows the team of mercenaries were planning to make a move on her at the estate. Her people wouldn’t have been any safer there.

“We should have torn down all those trees and flown in a chopper,” she says on one emotional night.

“They might have attacked before we could get that done.”

“The people on the street might have lived.”

“And different people might have died at the estate,” I reply, remaining calm when she can’t be. “The only one to blame is Matt Parker. Without him, those mercenaries wouldn’t have had a reason to be on the street that day. They wouldn’t have attacked you in the garage. The others wouldn’t have been hiding in the woods.”

Nearly six months after Matt Parker’s arrest, Indigo and Golden locate a spot in the woods where the mercenaries were holed up. The assholes left behind trash and other signs of their presence.

The FBI identifies fingerprints belonging to two former Army Rangers suspected of overseas assassinations. Their names were among those found in Matt Parker’s phone. Proof of their presence at the farm acts as another nail in the case against him.

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