Page 56 of Hunt

Like most generic questions, I had a rehearsed answer. “I was given a tropical fish tank for my eighth birthday and was obsessed with how graceful and beautiful the fish were. I was a good swimmer too and spent practically every summer in the local pool.”

“In Luton?” she queried as if she struggled to believe a local swimming pool existed.

“At the elementary school,” I corrected her. “Have you been to Luton?”

“No, but you said it was a small town, so I was just curious…” she trailed off, and I hoped it was the end of that conversation, until… “Do you miss your family?”

Tears welled in my eyes as the weight of the stress of the last three years and the exhaustion of betraying everyone I met, especially the nice people, fell upon me. At least the tears were genuine, but I wasn’t crying over my fake parents in a town I’d never been to, but I was crying over the family I never had and the family I betrayed.

She noticed the tears, but didn’t say anything to make me feel better, because that’s not her style, and I was pleased with that. Instead, she concentrated on her schoolwork, and I focused on my schoolwork after mopping up my tears.

The hour passed, and I packed my books to head to the marine biology class. After saying goodbye, I strolled to the stairwell, but something urged me to look back at her. That small figure sitting alone, plain face hidden behind a curtain of brown, uncombed hair. Fingers nervously picking at the corners of her textbook.

So much about her reminded me of Riley Laws, yet my heart went out to her. It was a lonely life being introverted and socially awkward, but an even lonelier life living a lie. And I wasn’t talking about me. Some aspects about her were hidden, like I wasn’t seeing the real Katerina…whatever her surname was. I was seeing the person she wanted me to see.

I didn’t think she was as bad as me with a disguise and a fake identity, but she was guarded, kept everything close to her chest, and looked upon the world with suspicion. Everyone was guilty until proven innocent.

A shiver ran down my spine as I reflected on our conversations, which were always short and lacking great detail. I remembered her questions about Luton and why I was so interested in marine biology, as I came from a country town.

If I were clearer in the head, I would’ve turned the conversation back to her and asked about her life. Why did she come to this college? Why did she choose to study those particular subjects? What did she plan to do with her life once she graduated?

And I wondered if her answers would be rehearsed like mine were.

Naturally, I searched for Gunner’s Mustang when I walked outside and didn’t see it, so I went on my way feeling as lonely as Cheetos looked sitting alone in the library.

22

It’s been over three years since I’d fucked a girl and my urge was strengthening with every little ass that wiggled past me on the club floor or every scarlet smile on an immaculate face. I asked Freddie to organize a girl, but the rat incident took place, and I lost my taste for it. There was nothing like dirty rats running under my feet to dampen my heat.

My ears pricked at the sound of the dinner trolley rattling down the hallway, and I lit a cigar and relaxed in my chair, waiting for her nervous knock on my office door. There was an exchange between her and Ronan, and I suppressed the impulse to listen to their conversation to ensure that they weren’t flirting or planning to meet up later. Rules were rules.

They seemed to be speaking longer than usual, and a flurry of her sweet giggle after Ronan spoke to her stirred something in me. Her laughter was genuine and cute, unlike the forced flirtatious laughter I received from the dancers and bar staff on the club floor. It’s been a while since I made a girl laugh like that, but I especially didn’t like the envy that curled in my belly at hearing their exchange.

Obviously, she liked him and he liked her, but I wasn’t sure why. Whyher? What was it aboutherthat spurred androgen in the boys, turning their brains into mush while weakening their loyalties? But that laughter.Herlaughter could uplift the darkest of days.

The trolley rattled toward my door, followed by that awkward knock. I waited a few seconds before answering because she hoped I wasn’t in.

When I heard the trolley opening, as if she were about to place the dinner on the floor, I called, “Enter.”

There was an “Oh no,” as if she was frightened by my voice, and a smile slithered across my face.

The door opened, and she clumsily pushed the trolley partially inside. “I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I couldn’t hear anyone, so I thought you weren’t here.”

“I’m always here,” I mumbled, and she looked up at the sound of my voice, but I didn’t think she heard what I said. Especially at dinnertime when my slave came along to serve me. There was nothing I liked more than being served.

I oversaw her, still searching for that feature or aspect that drew Ronan and Gunner to her, like moths to a flame. Brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a delicate neck, easy to snap. Big soulful eyes behind geeky glasses, terrified and unable to look at me, pretty pert body. Curves. I liked curves. I guess that was something alluring about her. Curves under the unflattering club uniform, white apron tied around her waist, black dress pants, and sturdy shoes.

There was something seductive about strings tied around a narrow waist, but in this case, there was another two layers of clothing underneath that I’d have to cut through if I wanted to fuck her. Which I didn’t.

She hesitated, holding the silver tray with the covered plate, shuffled slightly, waiting for me to direct her. When I didn’t direct her, she stepped forward nervously, her eyes pleading for me to tell her what to do. Finally, she took the initiative and placed the tray in front of me on the desk, where I usually like her to put it.

“I didn’t tell you to put it down here,” I teased in an assertive tone to scare the crap out of her. For fun.

I was her boss, so if she wanted to work here and continue to bring me my dinner, I would taunt her when I was in the mood.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” her little hands trembled as she shuffled forward and leaned over me to pick the tray back up again.

Her sweet perfume danced over me, intoxicating, yet tantalizing. Unfortunately, as she tried to pick the tray up, she couldn’t grasp it well, and her fingers slipped from one side, and the plate almost slid off. It was entertaining as she clumsily wrangled with the tray, while I stifled a smile.

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