Page 87 of Tempt Me

A week after the men’s military photos appear on the news, Matt Parker takes a sniper shot to the face on his way to a court hearing. The media gets the entire thing on video, and his death dominates the news for two weeks.

In Banta City, people show obvious relief at how the trial madness will fizzle out now. We have a party at the farm catered by Suzanne. Walla Walla and Austen fly into town to celebrate.

The pregnant sisters talk about baby names and nurseries. By then, I’ve gotten to know Walla Walla. He’s an easygoing guy, goofy even. He loves razzing Golden who takes the bait every fucking time. I stand back and enjoy how happy my people are now.

Change has always felt like a punishment to me, but I’m learning to push myself more. Hiding from discomfort kept me in a waiting pattern with Hunter for far too long. I held my tongue with Indigo despite knowing he was struggling.

I can’t change who I am down deep. Shit went wrong for me when I was a kid, and I got used to taking shortcuts to feel happy. That’s just how I’m wired.

However, I’m learning new habits. When I feel myself getting stuck, Hunter is right there to tug me forward. She refuses to let me hide, and I know she believes in me more than I do myself. Her trust is what keeps me strong, whether I’m at a glitzy party or learning how to change diapers.

Our future isn’t like I expected. I always dreamed small. I wanted Hunter, and nothing else mattered.

Now, I have her, and everything matters. Our world got big and messy. After surviving death and chaos to get this second chance, I never want to wait again.

HUNTER’S EPILOGUE

For nearly a year, I feel like a passenger in my own life. I don’t know who I am from time to time, mostly because I no longer control the narrative.

During that time, I hide a lot at the farm and my mom’s estate before the new house is finished. I’m forced to dismantle my old life and discard what no longer works. All because a loser got a taste of power and decided he deserved whatever his dick desired.

After the federal and local governments charge him with a long list of crimes, Matt Parker denies everything. He does his best to play the victim of a witch hunt. The evidence against him is airtight, though. His phones were full of images of me, musings over our future, potential baby names for the child I’d give him, and even a few sex stories he wrote starring me swooning over his impressive dick. He also did little to hide how he found or paid the mercenaries.

A man with hundreds of millions in the bank and an endless line of minions kissing his ass figured he was untouchable. Matt Parker underestimated the power of old money and an angry government. Even then, he figured he might weasel out of responsibility. Fortunately for me, he angered violent men with nothing to lose.

I’m relieved when Matt dies. The pressure of the upcoming trial wore on me. I struggled to gain weight during my pregnancy. I have therapy twice a week to deal with my guilt, fear, and anger.

Even after the assassin’s bullet frees me from that stress, I’ll never be fully free. The world has marked me as both a victim and a vixen. Some people simply hate me for being me—rich, attractive, protected. Even after Matt’s death, I can’t go back to my old life.

However, my new life is fantastic. After leaving the Super Stacked Bimbos, I still get to play music at the farm with the kids. I’m teaching various foster boys how to play the piano and guitar.

As for dealing cards, I do that a few times a month at the clubhouse with the guys from the Backcountry Kings. Above Snakes is closed during those evenings with only safe people allowed to drop by. I play pool with Tack and my friends for the first few months before my baby bump gets in the way.

Performing in public is out of the question. For the entirety of my pregnancy, I travel around Banta City in disguises. I have my “Dolly Parton” wig along with a black bob and “The Rachel” do. When I’m feeling wild during visits to the clubhouse, I wear my “Lita Ford” wig that makes me look like a rock groupie circa 1988.

The wigs are helpful for more than hiding my identity. Growing out a pixie haircut is an ugly affair, but I’ve decided to change my look for good.

Yet, inside at my core, I’m still Hunter Knutsen. The same people build me up. I suffer the same fears as before.

Tack and I marry in a quiet ceremony at the farm on my twenty-ninth birthday. I’m seven months pregnant and in the final part of the “glowing” phase of my pregnancy. Carys works her magic on my hair to help with its mullet stage. I wear a white maxi dress. Tack looks sexy as hell in his club vest, blue jeans, and white T-shirt. He really is his hottest when he’s himself.

By then, the Knutsen-O’Malley estate is finished with remodels and fully set up with security. As soon as the yard is ready, Tack organizes a visitation schedule with Indigo regarding Sleepy and Grumpy. The dogs aren’t too sure about the new location, even if they play a lot and enjoy following Tack around.

Knowing he can’t keep the dogs full time, Tack starts the hunt for a dog to adopt. He regularly hits up the shelter and Sleepy’s breeder.

Many nights, Tack talks about how he didn’t put any thought into choosing Sleepy and how he didn’t train him enough. I assume he’s obsessed with this issue to avoid worrying about the baby.

I occasionally join him on trips to the shelter. All the dogs are big and many seem aggressive. My fear makes Tack even more unsure about what he wants.

During one visit, we end up in the cat area filled with kittens. Tack seems so desperate for a full-time pet. Feeling impulsive, we adopt two female littermates. Tack names them Patty and Selma. He’s so excited over the two orange-and-white kittens.

“Bear’s cats are cool,” Tack says as he follows the curious kittens around our living room. “He bought them a shit-ton of toys and climbing crap.”

My heart breaks during those little moments when Tack seems like a kid again. He missed out on a lot by having terrible parents. Once he was at the farm, he rushed to grow up and be a man like the ones he respected.

A different side of Tack comes out while we decorate the house, plan for the baby, and care for the kittens. For one thing, I doubt he ever realized how much he likes to shop.

Tack owns a fun, quirky eye for design. His bedroom at the farmhouse was barely furnished, the walls were white, and his comforter was something he picked up at a yard sale. Tack put zero effort into making his room comfortable.

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