Page 39 of Hunted: Season Two

We’re okay.

Everything is gonnabeokay.

This hasn’t rocked anyone too much.

They’re still them.

We’re still…us.

My family is still intact.

Still fresh to the dealership floor.

Whole.

“He uh…he also told us that she hadn’t been spotted in public much lately and that even when she was, she was never left unprotected, not even to take a fucking leak, so getting directly to her is…damn near fucking impossible.”

“Thatphrasing I love,” Bunny warmly announces.

“Unless we were to attach the wordMissionto it,” Nolan mirthfully grumbles.

“Blow me for not being in love with Tom Cruise like the two of you.”

“We are not in love with Tom Cruise, nor will we reward you for your shit taste in movies,” our boyfriend chastises in such a way I can’t help but snicker. “I mean who doesn’t fucking like theMission Impossiblefranchise?”

“They have some incredible fucking cars in those movies. That Lambo Gallardo in 3? It made more than a brief cameo in my dreams forweeksafter I first saw it.”

“Can we focus on the fuckface currently tied up andnotthe one you two clearly have fan club memberships to?”

Amused glares precede us relocating our attention back to the trembling individual who resumes speaking the instant we do.

“Becauseof her being so obviously inaccessible,thiswas my one real shot.” The kidnapper pauses to correct himself. “Hisone shot at someone actually catching her. Fucker even promised todoublethe reward if I was successful.”

Can’t help but wonder if he offered that because heknewthis guy wouldn’t be.

Huh.

What if this whole thing was just one more power play ploy?

A revving of his engine to let us know more of what we already know is under his hood.

“Where is he?” Nolan damn near growls the question Bunny and I are clearly both thinking. “Where. Is. McAdams?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you need a fucking liquid reminder?” I threaten, hand reaching for the plastic jug.

“No! No!” He hoarsely shrieks. “I swear to fucking god I don’t!”

“Were you supposed to deliver me directly to him?” The wanted woman curiously searches for a clue. “To oneof his associates? Frat bros? His godawful mother? His poor Stockholm syndrome-stricken father?”

“I-I-I’m not s-s-sure.”

Nolan slowly shakes his head at the same time he coldly warns, “You’re back to being unhelpful, Toothless Tony.”

“I-I-I…” he verbally stumbles encouraging me to grip the handle on the bottle. “I can’t give you what I don’t have!” The sight of me slowly transitioning the object closer summons more screeching. “My phone!”

All actions from me abruptly stop.

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