Page 4 of Hunt

“C’mon, Gunner, you don’t want that to happen. She’s a nice girl,” I rationalized, imagining her swimming naked through the clear water, little islands poking up above the surface, and shiny brown hair dancing in the water behind her.

“She screwed us over,” he argued, noticing the change in his tone as if he’s surrendered to the fact that she was on the chopping block and it was more important that we got what we needed from her; therefore, her life was irrelevant.

“So, you don’t mind if I kept fucking her then,” I pressed to see how he’d react.

His pupils dilated, and smoke poured from his ears, cracking me up. “A…” his thumb twitched. “Are you going to keep fucking her?”

“I want to, but she told me to stay away from her because some guy that she’s dating is dangerous,” I was doing a piss-take and using a mocking tone, “and had a habit of knocking the teeth out of men who dare touch her. And where is this poor guy? Is he still alive? Or lying in a hospital bed?”

“He’s been let off with a warning,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “He won’t fucking try anything again, and fuck, he should’ve obeyed me in the first fucking place.”

“So, you won’t mind me creaming her on the odd occasion for research purposes?” Again, I pushed it with him to see if he’d snap.

“Research?” he questioned, fuck he was in a grumpy mood. “Research to see how deep her hold is?”

I taunted, “Yeah, maybe. Or how long can she stay underwater?” My selkie referenced that he wouldn’t understand.

He cringed. “What? You hold her underwater, you sadistic fuck.”

I tipped my head back and laughed. This was the same guy who stalked her wearing a Scream mask, broke into her room to plant a hidden camera, beat the shit out of some guy who touched her, and he thought I was the sadistic one. “I’m joking, dude. But she is a good swimmer and… I will keep trying to fuck her.”

“Mikky will be pissed. You fucking the staff.”

“So are you,” I hit back. “Besides, Mikky told us to act normal with her until we know for sure. Honestly, I’m leaning toward her being a sweet girl who came here to study marine biology.”

The door swung open, and a guy stepped inside to grab a bag on the floor and glanced up at us. The left side of his face was so swollen that it forced his eye closed, and a string of drool was hanging from the left side of his mouth. He noticed us sitting on the couch watching him and quickly fled back out the door.

“Wasn’t that Shaun?” I asked since it was difficult to tell when he looked as though he had a football shoved in his gob.

“It is,” Gunner declared flatly, looking up briefly from his laptop, uninterested in speaking to his friend, an ex-friend, or an enemy, might be more accurate.

“It looks like he’ll eat his lunch through a straw.” I was starting to feel sorry for the guy, although he would think twice before disobeying Gunner again. If I were him, I’d transfer to another college on the other side of the country.

“That’s his problem,” Gunner shrugged as he scanned through the footage on the flashcard of an empty room.

“I’ve got a class,” I told him as I stepped to the pool table and dunked all the balls in the holes. “How are your grades?”

“Alright.” His gaze was fixed on the laptop screen, frowning as his fingers ran across the mousepad.

“Have you called your mom yet?” I shit stir because his mom was his least favorite subject.

“I told you,” he snarled, and I cracked up laughing. “I think she’s genuinely innocent and confused about that night.”

“Yeah, but did she hint about you visiting her in Larsson?” She’s been asking me for months to convince Gunner to go home for a week to catch up with old friends and her, but he won’t go. Mikky had been on my back because if he didn’t go home to see her, she’d come here to see him, and we don’t want that. “Anyway, I’ll see you later.” I waved to him, but his gaze was fixed on the screen, his eyebrows low over his narrowed eyes.

“Hang on,” he called after me, still not removing his stare from the screen. “Come here and take a look at this.”

I turned back, and he turned the laptop around so I could see what he was talking about. A blond woman, probably in her late 30s, dressed professionally, stood in Riley’s room, speaking to her with a menacing expression.

“That’s a cop,” he stated with conviction. “I’d know a fucking cop anywhere, but she…I swear I’ve seen her before.”

I sat on the couch beside him to get a better look at the woman, who looked familiar to me, too. “Oh, yeah, she’s a cop, but…what the fuck is she talking to Riley for?”

“Let me show you this,” he suggested, rewinding the footage to where we see Riley packing her bags, then stopping to answer a phone call.

“Where is she going?” I scratched my head in confusion because she seemed distressed and searched for someone outside the window.

“She packed all her stuff, even her laptop and school books,” he said, bemused.

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