Page 109 of Hunted, Season Three

“You sure?” Kid anxiously inquires.“You sure, sure?” His face nestles into her grip.“Like make ten sequels sure?”

The light laugh she presents successfully warms me in ways only they can.

Between the car shit he says and the beautiful sounds she makes Iknoweverything will be alright.

I knowwe’llbe alright.

As long as we have each other, as long as we’re in this shit storm and any other together, we’llsurvive.

No matter what comes at us.

“We all know that franchise didnotneed ten sequels, Kid.”A loving pat is delivered to his face.“Everyone except you.”

“You might be concussed,” he playfully pokes prior to helping her onto her feet.

“You can’t even spell concussed,” I lovingly tease, doing my best to ignore Little November kicking the corpse around to verify its lifelessness.

“And neither can you, Mutt, but we still love you.”

The sound of my name combined with the feeling of her in our arms stuns me silent.

It’s more important to hear her and feel her than it is to correct her.

Besides.

I’ll spank it out of her later.

Safehouse first.

Slapping that ass second.

Retrieving her ring from my pocket barely precedes me hastily sliding it rightfully back onto her hand.“Kid always has to wear his.You have to always wear yours.”

An almost blood sugar spiking smile is presented as she gives the object a loving squeeze.“Understood.”

“No fight?”My brows skeptically twitch.“Kid’s right.You might be concussed.”

“Concuss my left tit,Grandpa Turismo.”

“There’s our woman,” cheekily precedes me catching our fiancé wincing.“Careful, Kid.”I adjust myself to hold more of Rabbit’s weight.“Those ribs are still fucked.”

“What happened to your ribs?!”

“That asshole Brax is kicking,” he casually informs.

“Brax?”

“Braxton November,” our support warmly introduces upon his arrival to us.“Happy to be a part of your rescue team, ma’am.”

“Ugh,” groans the beautiful woman we’re wrapped around, “please don’t call me ma’am.”

“She’s got a weird thing about her age,” Kid impishly explains.

“Only because neither of you were born when Blink 182 was singing about it.”

Their small chuckles are cut short courtesy of Post shouting, “Overhere!”

Reworking our course to meet him closer to the stable Bunny was dragged from reveals to us the unfathomable identity of our interference runner.

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