Page 64 of Hunter

“No, Hunter. As much as you’d like to believe you would have, I wasn’t willing to take that risk. So, I buried that Noble was the father. I didn’t want to give any disrespect or badmouth Noble or your club. I was ready to raise the baby on my own. I had my mother, as well. As mad as she was about what had happened, she would be there for me. We would raise my baby on our own.”

“But you left,” Hunter said.

“Yeah, I left.”

What came next was what it all boiled down to. Ever since Hunter had learned of my existence, he had been waiting for this moment. He didn’t believe my speech about guilt, and he was right when he had said that wasn’t the whole reason I ran away. Don’t get me wrong; the guilt played a huge part in it, but this … This was the reason I had abandoned everything. The reason I had dedicated myself and my son’s childhood to a life on the road for almost four years with nothing to our names and no one.

I found my voice hitching on the next words. I wanted to say them, knew it was time for the truth, but the terror still formed a lump in my throat. My mouth tried to form the sounds, but it was as if there were no such thing as words.

“I had no other choice,” I blurted at last.

“No choice?” Hunter frowned.

“It came through the mailbox two days after the funeral.” I looked down at my hands, going back to the moment I had held that delicately glossed image in my hands. “It was a picture. It was taken the night I was on the back of Noble’s bike. He was smiling …” A flicker of a smile twitched on my lips, but it turned sour as the memory progressed. “On the back, there was red ink on it.” The pain and fear I had buried rose with the memory. “It said,You’re next.” I took a deep breath, looking down at my shaking hands, forcing myself to carry on. Needing to.

“I didn’t know what to think or do. It wasn’t like I’d ever received a death threat before. I assumed it was from a friend of Noble’s who had found out what I’d done.” I smoothed my fingers across my waist, feeling the faint ridges of the stretch marks beneath the thin shirt. “Then, when the letter came a few days later, I … I …” I fought to breathe. I had started it, and no amount of dragging my heels could stop it now. “It detailed exactly what they were going to do to me. It said they were going to start with knives, that they’d cut all my skin and burn me until there was nothing left of my face. They’d put a bag over my head, and then they’d pass me around so that everyone could have a turn at raping me until I begged them to kill me. How they would ignore me, even if I did beg. That they would get turned on, and then they’d use the knives to fuck me if I didn’t comply. And then they’d—”

I slammed into something hard. My brain stuttered, unable to comprehend the warmth squeezing around me. The grip was so tight it almost hurt, but that small pinch of pain leaked into me and pulled me from that dark place.

I couldn’t see Hunter, but I could feel him. I could feel the soft shaking of his chest as he clung to me. I could feel his heavy breaths and racing heartbeat.

“Stop … Juststop.” Hunter’s voice was broken as he wrapped himself tightly around me.

It was too late to protect me from the memories. I knew that. But as this big, strong man clung to me, brought to such agony, I cracked.

Tears leaked onto Hunter’s shirt as I grasped the material of his shirt so tightly my nails dug into my own skin. Everything I had hidden, had locked away and buried behind walls, it all came tumbling down.

And then I cried.

Not for Hunter, or Nobel, or even Adair.

I cried for me.

Chapter Twenty-One

Hunter

“That’s all she knows,” I said, leaning against the wall, my arms folded over my chest. The door was left open a crack so I could see inside if I looked over my shoulder. I didn’t have to look to know Mallory sat on the bed, humming softly as she ran her fingers through Adair’s soft curls.

“A letteranda photograph?” Wolf asked, his eyebrows furrowed. He had been stuck on that fact ever since I had mentioned it.

“Yeah, and a letter,” I repeated. “No doubt it’s the Hell’s Runners.”

“No kidding.” Wolf dragged his phone out of his pocket and began hammering numbers into the tiny keyboard. “You stay with her. I’ll see to Hell’s Runners. See if I can’t get some information on what they’re planning.” He looked up from the device. “There’s a party on Friday. I want you down there, making nice with the brothers and hammering out any doubts ’cause of the shit that’s happened. Trust is key in the club, brother. Loyalty is what protects the club because, if brothers have our backs—”

“Then we’ve got our brothers’ backs, and that’s what keeps us alive,” I finished. “Yeah, I got it, Prez.”

Wolf scowled. “Good.” He slammed his hand hard onto my shoulder, nearly dislocating it. “Next time”—he grinned—“don’t interrupt me, kid.” With that, he returned to his phone and disappeared down the hallway.

“Kid?” I scoffed, shaking my head.

I headed back into the room where Mallory continued to hum, facing the window. A burnt orange sunset streamed through the window and across her delicate face. She sat cross-legged, her shoulders slumped but chin raised. Her brown eyes were glowing like a candle in an absent draft, still and bare. Adair was asleep on her lap.

I lowered myself onto the bed beside her, and she stopped humming, letting her head fall onto my shoulder.

“What were you humming?” I asked, keeping my voice soft as not to wake Adair.

“‘Amazing Grace’.” Her gaze flickered up to look at what must have been a surprised expression because she quickly added, “Don’t get me wrong; I’m not all that religious. I’d be kind of screwed if I was.”

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