Page 38 of Hunted: Season Two

“I was only there for the girl!”

“She has a name,” our boyfriend calmly clarifies. “Use it.”

“I can’t! I don’t know it!”

Intrigue has me furrowing my brow and folding my arms firmly across my chest. “You don’t know a lot.”

“I don’t!” He concurs at another earsplitting volume. “In the beginning we were just given a fucking secret contract to sign, a burner phone, her photo, and cash to get us started. Nothing else.”

“You’re one of the bounty hunters,” Nolan heavily sighs.

“Yeah,” he rapidly nods, body doing its best to race towards the edge of his seat. “And…And…And…I got a message from the man that hired me-”

“McAdams,” whispers Bunny, his name being the last one she ever wants to say.

“Yeah! Yeah!Him!He sent a text that the girl was headed out to the cemetery with her two bodyguards-”

“Boyfriends,” Nolan and I correct in tandem.

“Wait…” Confusion crinkles his face. “I thoughthe– the rich dude paying us – was the boyfriend.”

“That’s herex,” I instantly clarify.

“Herstalker,” adds Nolan.

“Her abuser.”

“Fuckkkkkkkk,” the bound assailant murmurs under his breath before pushing forward with his explanation. “He uh…he told me that now would be my best to chance to grab her, so I better fucking go for it.”

There’s no hesitation to ask, “Why you?”

“I guess I was closest? Fuck, I don’t know.” His shrug is rather innocent. “And I honestly didn’t care. All I gave a shit about was that reward. It’s fucking huge.”

Can’t imagine it’s worth his fucking life.

“And I swear the shit gets huger every day.”

Too bad he’ll never see a fucking cent of it.

“Our employer – uh…McAdams– had warned us that you two basically have a leash on her at all times-”

“I don’t appreciate that fucking phrasing,” Bunny huffs.

“I’m tellin’ you, Rabbit,” our partner playfully waggles his eyebrows, “you might like it.”

“And I might like turning your testies into a chew toy. Should we try that too?”

“Rabbits don’t need chew toys.”

“Incorrect. They have an innateneedto chew. It helps wear down their teeth.”

“You know I don’t like bite marks on my trunk.”

“Twig.”

“Don’t make me my whip the shit out in mixed company to correct you.”

Light snickers leaving them both encourage my shoulders to lower and relief to roll itself through my system.

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