Page 150 of Hunt for You

SOUNDTRACK:Of These Chainsby Red

~ BRIDGET ~

I slept in the next morning. And when I finally woke, it was to four texts and a voicemail from Sam, growing increasingly worried.

The very real tone of concern in his voice was touching, and for a moment I lay there in bed and thought about what it would be like to be with a man like that actually cared. And was careful. Protective. Capable of violence, but holding himself in restraint.

I got a picture in my mind, and for a second it warmed me.

Sam, standing at the front of the church, preaching. And me watching. Examining those fantastic arms, knowing the tattoos that his button down shirt was hiding.

Finding him after the service. Excusing him from a conversation with a pearl-clutcher, then pushing him into a back room and fucking his brains out because I’d been waiting to do it for hours.

On one level, it was thrilling. A little bit naughty. And the mental image of laying, sweaty and panting in Sam’s arms, hidden from a very judgmental world… it felt safe.

But that was the problem.

The memory of the furious, adrenalized Cain stalking straight for me having just disarmed and busted up Ronald flashed in my head, and my entire body throbbed.

Of course, thoughts of Cain made me blink and remember the rest of what had passed between us last night. What he’d said. And what was going to happen.

Soon.

I swallowed and my heart jumped in my chest. It was happening. One more hunt—he would fuck me, finally. Then kill me.

And there was only one part of me that was sad about it. There was a lot more fear, but that was thrilling and…

My phone buzzed again. Another text.

SAM NOTPRIEST: Bridget, please let me know you’re okay?

ME: I’m fine. Late night. Just woke up.

SAM NOTPRIEST: Are we okay? I didn’t want to leave last night, but I needed to clear my head.

ME: We’re good. I admire your self-control.

SAM NOTPRIEST: I had to leave because of the control I lack. But I want to make it up to you. Dinner? Take-out this time. My treat.

It was so cute that he tried so hard. I wasn’t used to a guy trying when he wasn’t pawing at me and expecting sex. The fact that he wanted me to be comfortable and wasn’t planning to fuck me was a little disconcerting.

ME: Next week. Name your day. I’m flexible.

And I was. Because there was a very good chance I’d be dead by then.

Strange feelings I couldn’t quite identify twisted up in my guts at that thought.

SAM: Sunday at 7 again. Is that close enough to next week for you?

I thought about it, and decided it was. If I got to Saturday, I could always make an excuse and put him off. Or maybe, go see him. See if I could break through that self-restraint he was working so hard to maintain.

But then it hit me… if Cain was hunting that night, Sam might get caught in the crossfire and try to protect me. I didn’t want to be the reason he got hurt.

I’d just cancel it if we got that far.

ME: Sure.

I was slow to get moving that morning and found myself standing in the bedroom looking at that space where both guys had appeared last night—and the mark on the floor where Ronald had lain. Apparently he’d been bleeding, at least a little. It was just a smear, but seeing that did weird things to my insides and stole my appetite.

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