Page 31 of Hunted: Season Two

I’ve been through a lot with The Kid.

A lot of firsts.

But this isn’t one I wanna experience.

He’s never been this distant.

This quiet.

And he’s damn sure never been both of those thingsthislong.

And not at once.

I fold my arms firmly across my chest and continue to watch him stare at the destroyed gravesite – that we’re not allowed anywhere near – from the wooded tree area he’s seated in.

It’stechnicallya fucking crime scene.

Vandalism.

Fine.

I get it.

It’s juvenile, but still within the realm of responsibly psychotic.

Grave robbing?

That’s next level fucked up.

That’s hang his rich prick ass from the hook of my tow truck before driving all around town for everyone to see what happens when you mess with those I love.

That I’vealwaysloved.

And I have.

Long before I wanted to be loving The Kid the way I do now, I loved him.

I took care of him.

I protected him.

He was family.

I didn’t have much of it.

He didn’t have much of it.

So, naturally, we became it.

Wearefamily.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I wouldn’t paint the world red to keep him safe.

And this shit with McAdams?

It has me anxious to fucking start doing exactly that.

Rabbit lightly nudges me in the side to get moving.

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