Page 1 of Hunted: Season Two

Chapter 1

Kipp

Bunny readjusts her head on my chest and continues faintly humming “Don’t Stop Believing” while scribbling the lyrics along my forearm.

I know Captain America is responsible for saving people, but I didn’t think he did the shit in real life.

But here he is.

Getting my woman to cuddle me.

Touch me.

Even make noise around me.

And because his goofy ass magically breathed life back into her – even if it’s just for the duration of this damn thing –The Losersis now going to the second-place position on my all-time favorite movies.

I still think it could use a few more car scenes though.

Then again, I think most movies could.

All of a sudden, the actions that literally jumped the dead battery in my chest begin fading about as abruptly as they began, prompting me to glance down to investigate why.

To see if I need to jolt them again somehow.

The sight of her peacefully drifting off immediately has my shoulders dropping in unfathomable relief.

Hell, when I first got into bed, she curled up so far away from me, I swore Nolan was wrong.

That she’d never touch me again.

Considertouching me again.

That I wasn’t just the last car she’d pick on the lot, but one she’d rather leave there without than ever drive.

The shit hurt so much I almost gave up and volunteered to just go back downstairs.

To go back to picking up the one part of my life I still know how to manage even in shambles.

Yet…like the low roar of a 1967 Mercury Cougar…Nolan’s voice idled in the back of my brain reminding me to man up.

Take the wheel.

Stay on the charted route, not the one her asshole ex wants us to take.

Having Bunny slowly gravitate closer and then eventually begin doodling on her own ink covered skin until I offered mine felt like running a necessary diagnostic test to confirm you’re making the right call before actually taking your tools to it.

And given that her doodling hand is now wrapped tightly around me while her soft breaths are heating up my chest, I have no choice but to admit our old man was right.

She needs to know we’re not going anywhere.

That we can adjust some shit to her needs; however, we’re not giving her up.

There’s no, for sale sign, in her window.

I’d rather be run over by an eighteen-wheeler eighty thousand times than ever even consider not fighting to keep her in our lives.

Not doing whatever I gotta do to keep us together.

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