Page 96 of Hunter

“No,” I admitted. “But Spider’s still out there, and I think it’s best for now that we disappear.”

“And when they catch Spider?” my mother probed, looking down at her grandson, her first glimpse of the little boy.

“Ifthey catch Spider,” I amended, resulting in a chastising look from my mom, “then I’ll bring Adair to visit.”

“But you won’t stay … because Hunter will still be around. And you won’t be able to live here knowing he’s right next door.”

I felt my heart tighten in my chest, and a single tear strayed from my eyes. “I love him, Mom. Adair loves him. I … I can’t.” I took a deep breath, swallowing the rising emotions. I wasn’t ready to deal with them. Not until I was at least a couple thousand miles away. “I’ve made my decision. And now I have a plane to catch.”

“Can’t you tell me where you’re going?” I knew this was my mother’s final plea, and I wished I could grant it. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk it.

I shook my head then watched my mother swallow. She gave me a final stiff nod, and then pressed a kiss to my head then to Adair’s. She reached into her purse to pull out the two passports she had arranged for me. I had asked her to do it in the hospital, fearing that Hunter would find out if I did it from the compound, and despite her initial reluctance, she had done as I asked. She had also picked me up to get the photos taken, allowing me to escape from the compound for a while. I had wanted to stay with her, but due to Spider’s unknown whereabouts, Hunter had managed to convince me it was too dangerous, and thus I had spent two months surrounded by him.

It had only made my decision harder to make. But I had made it after all, and there was no going back.

“Be safe,” she whispered, pushing the passports into the pocket of my jeans. “And keep in touch.”

“I will.”

With that, my mother turned away from me, glancing back only once as she stepped back into her car and disappeared from the drop-off zone.

I stood for a moment in the hustle and bustle of moving people before I turned and went inside, juggling my kid and my bag.

I handed over my tickets, and after the check-in girl got her manager to verify them, he personally checked me in with my preferred destination, and then escorted me through customs until I sat in front of gate nine. Adair slept soundly across my lap and the next chair while they fueled the plane for departure.

My anxiety and paranoia built as I waited, thinking about Hunter having discovered the letter by now, probably flipping out or drinking his way into oblivion. I wondered what everyone at the club would think of me now, and despite wishing I didn’t care, I knew I did. Those people had accepted me into their family, and what I was doing now would be considered a betrayal.

I ran my fingers through Adair’s hair, the gesture soothing as he snored softly.

At least I knew, deep down, that all of this was for his sake, and it was because of him that I could do this.

“You don’t believe that.”

The voice came from beside me, and I almost jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t even realized someone had sat next to me.

She was dressed in threadbare shorts, a tank top, and walking boots, all showing off her sun-kissed skin. Her long, brown hair was wavy and tied into a rough ponytail on the top of her head. A single dusty rucksack sat at her feet. She, herself, and the bottle of Jack in her hands smelt of whiskey, and she had a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, despite being indoors.

She was peculiar. I didn’t think to be cautious around her, but I didn’t exactly want to get to know her, either.

Seriously, though, who wears sunglasses inside at three thirty in the morning?

She didn’t look directly at me, and I wondered whether she had spoken to me or not. However, when I looked around the gate and saw that there was only us in seating area, I knew she hadn’t sat next to me by accident.

“Excuse me?” I asked, feeling the need to identify the intention behind her approach.

She looked over her shoulder at me, the bottle of Jack swirling in her hand. She stared at me then at the whiskey bottle that had drawn my eye then at me again. “Uh …” She seemed surprised I had approached her. “Are you a nervous flier? Do you want some?” she asked, offering the bottle as if trying to understand why I had spoken to her. She was the one who had started the conversation.

Who was this girl? And what was that accent? It was clear, distinctive. British?

“Um, no,” I said. “What did you mean when you said, I don’t believe that?”

“Oh,that.” She nodded like she only just remembered. She looked down to her bottle of Jack, swirling the dark liquid. “Whatever you were thinking about, you don’t believe it.”

I frowned. “How would you know?”

“It’s all over your face.” She shrugged. “Whatever you did, you didn’t do it because of that little boy.”

“What?” I exclaimed, feeling invaded. “How did you know what I was thinking? Are you some kind of mentalist?”

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