Page 2 of Theirs to Hunt
Primal. Like one of my dark romance books come to life. Yes, Daddy in fiction. Real life? Hell no. I am not a TSTL girl.
And then Genevieve waltzed in, bragging to Justine about her five-thousand-dollar bonus for bringing me.
I’d wanted to storm out of that bathroom stall, demand answers, but kept still, hoping to learn more.
Sold? Like a Poshmark item?
My pulse thundered, my body vibrating with the need to run. I wasn’t worth five grand. Average at best. But apparently enough.
I slipped from the bathroom and aimed for the garden exit. If I could make it to the levee, I could follow it back toward civilization, call a Lyft, beg a ride, anything.
But fate, as usual, was a bitch.
I rounded the corner too fast and smacked into a wall of muscle. My breath caught as hands closed around my arms, steadying but firm.
I looked up.
Ice-blue eyes locked with mine, pale and glacial, beautiful and unyielding. Early forties, silver threaded through dark hair, tux fitting like authority had called ahead to custom-tailor him.
And the mask. Tiger. Predator to my doe.
“Going somewhere?” His voice was smooth, laced with something darker.
I swallowed. “I was… going to get some air.”
“Funny.” A ghost of a smile. “You don’t look like someone strolling. You look like someone running. Dangerous thing to do here. You never know what you might trigger.”
Fuck a duck. Is this a threat? Promise? Both?
He studied me, curiously. Hungrily.
“Reagan, right?” he asked, my name rolling off his tongue like he already owned it.
I froze. “Yeah.”
“Genevieve said you might be skittish.” His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed sharp.
“You know Genevieve?”
“Of course.” His voice dipped lower. “She brought you to us.”
Us.
I didn’t know whether to scream or cry.
Someone behind him called, “Sir.”
His head turned slightly.
My chance.
I yanked free and bolted through the side door.
Maybe I owed my trainer an apology. Turns out all that cardio had finally bought me something: a head start.
Chapter two
Grayson, Friday 09:35 p.m.
