Page 93 of Theirs to Hunt
We've been raised on warnings and backup plans.
We know what it feels like to clock every exit in a room. To watch the friend’s boyfriend a little too closely.
To read body language that says ‘no’ before anyone else notices. It's not paranoia. It's instinct."
I glance at him. He's quiet. Listening hard.
"Men look for statistical danger. Women feel it in our skin," I continue.
"Chuck from accounting? Guys think he's hilarious when he's drunk.
We know he's handsy when no one's watching. Uncle Fred? You see a good uncle.
We clock grooming patterns before your niece learns to read. It’s not that men aren’t capable.
It’s thatthey’re not victimized the same way." I stop. Unsure if I’ve said too much. If I’ve overwhelmed him.
But Brooks doesn’t look overwhelmed.
He looks like he's falling in love with me a little more.
"Fuck, Bambi," he says softly, shifting gears without breaking eye contact.
"You're not wrong. And I should’ve thought of that. But maybe that was your point," he admits wryly.
He taps the steering wheel twice.
"I’ll rotate one of the team out and pull in someone I trust.
There’s a woman named Inez Santiago. Former special forces.
She’s been on assignments with me and Devon.
Smart. Fast. Can break a man’s neck with her thighs. You’ll love her."
"I mean, I already do. Just based on that description."
He laughs. It’s warm and sincere.
"You’re good at this," he says.
"You’ve got the kind of instincts I’d kill to have more of on my team."
I glance out the window, hiding the way my smile turns just a little shy.
Brooks might be younger than Grayson, but when it comes to safety?
His word carries law.
And today, he didn’t just hand me protection.
He gave me respect.
Chapter seventy-six
Reagan, Monday 06:30 p.m.
Bobbie shows up in cutoff shorts, a tank top, and a high ponytail, not dressed to impress, just to make it clear she's not here for anyone’s bullshit.
