Page 27 of Hunter

My furious fingers grab his t-shirt, and I pull him up off Bella’s body. Face down on the floor, she flips onto her back with the commotion in enough time to see me cracking her personal trainer across the jaw with my fist.

“Don’t fucking touch my wife!” I scream, feeling almost feral. “Or next time I’ll cut off your fucking hands!” The pathetic cretin cowers below me, hands raised to protect his pretty-boy face. This only accentuates my fury, extreme jealousy coursing through every vein. She’s here, she’s mine, and no other bastard will lay a finger on her skin ever again.

Chapter thirteen

Hunter Devane’s Mansion

Isabella

Hunter pulls his knife as he pins poor Jaxon to the floor. The tip of the blade sits at the base of his throat. I scramble to my feet, my eyes frantically darting around the room for something to stop the madness. Jaxon attempts to curl his body into a ball in self-defense, his muscular frame unable to contract as Hunter places a knee on his abdomen. To look at, Jaxon is twice the size of my husband, with muscles bugling beneath the little material he wears. But his physical strength is no competition for the insanity in Hunter’s eyes—a man possessed to get revenge.

“Hunter,” I snarl, marching forward and grabbing a strand of his loose hair. He ignores me and presses down harder on Jaxon’s stomach. I pull harder, but it makes no difference. His victim gasps as air is expended from his body by force. Hunter moves the blade upward, running the flat side across the other man’s cheek in a slow, deadly movement. “Hunter, stop being fucking ridiculous and let him go.”

My husband pauses, not a muscle in his body moving as my words hit his ears. Everyone is completely silent as we all wait for what will happen next.

Ronan appears in the doorway. He looks from me to the men on the floor, then back to me for some sort of instruction. I wave him away, not needing another testosterone-filled male in the room to make matters worse.

“Hunter.” I try for a third time, crouching down to his level. I place my hand over his on the knife, then slide it beneath to take hold of the weapon. He doesn’t try to stop me but maintains a grip on my hand. We’re caught in a fraught game of calling each other’s bluff. “Give me the knife. Jaxon wasn’t doing what you thought he was.”

“He was touching you,” he mutters, his voice a mix of confusion, anger, and fear. “His hands were on your skin.”

“He was helping me stretch after my workout,” I correct him as he releases the knife. Jaxon scrambles backward across the floor, as far from the enraged idiot as he can. He clambers upright, grabs his belongings, and runs out of the room without a backward glance. Hunter doesn’t even notice his departure, lost within himself.

Well, that will be the last fucking time I see him. It took me ages to get a trainer I liked.

“He was touching you, Bella.” Hunter sits back on his heels, as do I. We face each other, and the terror in his expression makes my heart ache a little. He has so much emotion that he doesn’t know what to do with and can’t control. “And no one touches what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours.”

The phrase is simple enough, but there’s no mistaking the flicker of pain in his eyes. I sigh softly, annoyed with myself for allowing our few hours together at the restaurant to cloud what this is for either of us. I want to leave London, and Hunter is in no state to have a relationship, never mind marriage. My walls need to go up and stay there for both our sakes.

“Yes. You. Are,” he begins to argue. I raise myself up on my knees, leaning forward and placing my lips on his forehead. When I withdraw, his eyes are closed, and what I think is a tear sits on the corner of one eye. My childish love for him wars with my adult sense, the romantic fairytale I once craved rearing its head unhelpfully.This man is not good for me, and the life he stands for is not what I need. Stick to the plan, Isabella. He’s not a knight in shining armor. He’s a murderer in an Armani suit.

“No buts,” I tell him. “This won’t work. What we had ended on our wedding night. A few hours of romance won’t change what happened back then, and we shouldn’t try. Everything happens for a reason.”

“Save your cliches. Neither of us believe that.”

After pushing myself to my feet, I place his knife on the table beside the sofa. Jaxon and I had pushed them back against the walls so I could work out this morning. Hunter doesn’t look at me. He stares at the rug beneath him as if transfixed by the monochromatic pattern. Brooding unhealthily in his darkness, he sits entirely still like a lion waiting to strike.

“I’ll see you later,” I say, walking toward the doorway. When I reach it, I turn and look back at the broken man still sitting on the floor. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to run over and console him. Not to ask what happened at the police station and if he is all right. Not to be the woman I want to be for him, one he doesn't need. “Tell me when you need me to attend another public event.” There is no need for me to wait for his response; what needs to be said has been, and the line is drawn. This is business.

I retreat to my room, the upset of the past twenty minutes hitting me hard as I throw myself onto the bed and sob. In a matter of days, I have allowed my broken heart from decades ago to rule my head. It’s a situation I promised myself not to fall into when I took Hunter up on his offer of this charade in return for my freedom.

There’s a soft knock at the door, then it opens slowly. The person behind it is uncertain whether to enter or not. Kasia steps into my bedroom dressed for work, her fresh face filled with concern. I’m immediately relieved not to see my husband. I can’t face another conversation with him today. My heart may shatter. My resolve will break. There’s no denying he wants to try; he has made that clear.

“Miss,” she exclaims, running over and crouching beside my tear-stained face. “Are you hurt? Whatever happened? Should I call Ronan? Mr. Devane?”

“No, Kasia,” I say, squeezing her offered hands. “I’m fine. It’s just taking a little time to settle into our new situation.”

She sits on the bed beside me as I lie on my front. Her fingers trail up and down my spine in comfort—an intimate gesture for a staff member to give their employer, but much appreciated. Only now do I appreciate how truly alone I am in this world. I have no one who doesn’t work for me.

“I understand, Miss. When I left home to find work, there were plenty of situations I found myself in that made me question my future.” She pauses, allowing the ambiguous statement to sit unfinished. “But we are where we are and must do what we need to for ourselves.”

Kasia is younger than me. She’s a woman sent abroad to earn for her family who lives back in her home country. Even though she’s only been with me a short while, I enjoy her company. Kasia has the ability to look controlled in all situations I’ve seen her in so far, and I envy that quality. My emotions tend to lead the way, sometimes to my detriment.

“That is true,” I agree with a chuckle. “You’re very wise, Kasia.”

“I am not sure wise is the correct word, but I appreciate your compliment.”

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