Page 98 of Theirs to Hunt
She knew.
She knewwhat she was doing to me.
I took another sip of bourbon, but it did not burn enough. Nothing would tonight.
Because I was not thinking about dinner anymore. Or the cleanup. Or whatever bullshit excuse I would give for needing to talk to her alone later.
I was thinking about how she had looked that night. Wild and furious and flushed with adrenaline in that tree.
And how I have not drawn an easy breath since.
Chapter seventy-eight
Brooks, Monday 07:40 p.m.
The others drifted inside once the smoke got heavy and the bourbon ran low.
Devon peeled off with Bobbie, muttering something about grabbing food on the way home.
Grayson disappeared without a word, probably off to pace or glare at shadows until he wrestled his control back.
But Reagan stayed out here.
With me.
She sat quiet in one of the patio chairs now, feet tucked under her, my hoodie zipped over that sundress.
The cigar was long gone, but her smirk still lingered.
I moved beside her, nudged her knee with mine.
"You know he's not sleeping tonight, right?"
She glanced over, eyes lazy, lips curved.
"Good. He should suffer."
I laughed, low and warm.
"You drive him insane."
"I know."
She didn’t sound sorry.
I leaned back in the chair next to her, staring up at the stars for a second.
"You know you’re safe here, right? No matter what... whatever this ends up being, you’re not alone."
Her smile faded. Not gone. Just softer.
"I’m still figuring out what ‘safe’ feels like," she said quietly.
I reached over and took her hand.
No pressure.
No show.
