Page 81 of Possession

“Then you and I are going to have problems. I told everyone that he’s to be left alone until he’s released.”

“Well, I’m definitely putting a team on you,” Vaughn says through a growl. He’s never been on board with me in charge, but it doesn’t come from a spiteful place. I know he truly cares about my safety and thinks it would be best if I stayed home and painted landscapes until the baby comes.

Hell, he’s probably right.

“There’s been a security team on me for weeks, so let’s not pretend otherwise,” I say with a hand on my hip.

“You know?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do I need to fire somebody?”

“No, Vaughn,” I chuckle. “Hunter told me weeks ago.”

“That henpecked motherfucker. You weren’t supposed to know.”

“I’ll call you with an update,” I tell them both, ending the conversation. “I promise.”

I step outside into the cool night air, the chill instantly making my skin tingle. Lars is waiting by the car, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed. He knows something’s up as soon as he sees me. This is not the usual time I leave the club.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice low and steady, but I can tell by the way he’s watching me that he’s already in problem-solving mode.

I walk over to him, feeling the weight of the situation settle on my shoulders. “I got a call from a woman at The Shaded Lamp. There’s a body in the back room.”

Lars straightens immediately, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not going there alone.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I reply, giving him a pointed look. I know better than to walk into a situation like this without backup. Plus, Lars still feels guilty about Naomi’s father abducting me, so this is an opportunity for him to redeem himself, although I’ve never assigned any blame to him for that.

He nods, his expression hard. “Let’s go, then.”

We climb into the car, and the ride is quiet as we drive through the city. The streets blur past, but my mind is focused on what’s coming next. I’ve run the scenario script through my head a thousand times, but this is real life. There is always the risk of something going wrong. Always the chance that one mistake could unravel everything.

I want to call Hunter and hear his voice, for a pep talk, for some guidance, but that would be a terrible idea. All I want is for him to focus on his recovery and to be a hundred percent healthy when the baby comes. But I know that man; if I told him what I was about to do, he’d check out of the rehab and come after me in a flash.

The Shaded Lamp comes into view, its neon sign flickering weakly in the night. It’s a dive bar—one that caters to a rough crowd—and the thought of dealing with whatever’s waiting inside makes my stomach churn.

Maybe this was a dumb idea?

But I push the feeling down. I have to stay focused.

As we pull up, I spot a woman pacing nervously near the entrance. She looks out of place here—like she doesn’t belong, but she’s trying to blend in anyway. Her hands are shaking, and she’s chewing on her bottom lip like she might chew it clean off.

Lars and I step out of the car, and as soon as she sees me, her face falls.

“You’re the one I talked to?” she asks, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re... you’re pregnant.”

The disappointment in her voice is clear, and I don’t blame her. She was expecting a legendary fixer—my Hunter. Instead, she gets me, a pregnant woman who paints portraits.

“I am,” I say, standing taller. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m here to help you with your problem. Now, take me to the body.”

She blinks at me, then at Lars, clearly unsure of what to make of the situation, but eventually, she nods and leads us inside. The bar is dark and dingy, smelling of stale beer and desperation. The few patrons at the front don’t even glance our way, too drunk or too tired to care about what’s happening around them.

The woman pushes open a door at the back, and my heart tightens as I see the body. It’s a man slumped against the wall, his face bruised and bloody, a deep gash on his head. Blood pools around him, staining the cracked floor.

Lars steps forward, his gaze sweeping over the scene. “What happened?”

“He... he was causing trouble,” the woman stammers, her hands trembling. “He wouldn’t leave, got into a fight with one of my guys. He tripped, hit his head on the bar, and then... then he wasn’t moving.”

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