Page 25 of Make Me Hunt
I open one up:
A Brynn is waiting for you at the bar—along with the man you’re looking for. Josh
My nose twitches, picking up the flirty vibe dripping between the words. A Brynn. The bastard named a drink after her just to get into her panties.
Over my fucking dead body.
But then, as I move onto the latest message, full rage blurs my vision, and some kind of kill mode switches on within me.
It’s a fucking dick pic.
The image is laughable, along with the extra skin hanging there—every fucking where—is definitely a turn off for any living breathing being. But it doesn’t excuse the fact that someone sent a picture of his dick tomylittle curse.
I tell my hacker to track the number, and this time it doesn’t take him too long to come up with an address and a name—Bill McCalister.
Bill’s about to get a visit from me, and I’m going to teach him a lesson about flashing his ugly dick at strangers.
eleven
-Brynn-
I can’t describe what I’m going through—anger, embarrassment, or satisfaction. Truth is, my body’s never felt this way ever before, this free, this wired… I can’t really describe it because I don’t even have a name for it.
Silver dropped me off in front of my apartment building, and as soon as I got inside, I stripped off my clothes like they were on fire and jumped into bed.
I just want to sleep it all away at this point, praying it’ll somehow help me clear my mind. Or better yet, wipe Ares out of it. I need to chase away the memory of his fingers between my legs. But it’s still there, like a curse, pulsing in my clit every time my thighs brush together.
I’m angry enough with myself for feeling anything for the man I suspect killed Elias. I might not have gotten a full confession out of 404, but everything connects too neatly. He’s the hacker Ares sent me to get, the one who’s behind the game where Elias was murdered.
I toss and turn between the sheets. I usually only sleep when I’m too exhausted to function because otherwise nightmares haunt me.
It’s evening when I get out of bed, frustrated that I couldn’t get a damn minute of real sleep. I check my phone. No text from Ares, and I know better than to show up at the club without him summoning me there. I don’t want to provoke his anger—or even worse, his possessiveness over me—so I’ll give it a couple more days before making any rash decisions, and hope that I’ll get a sign from him.
I try to watch TV, but the images flicker past without me taking them in. It’s like I’m seeing through the damn thing. My own movie playing in the back of my head. His grip in my hair, his hand in my pants, his hot breath sliding down my neck…
I need a drink, and as tempting as going to the bar where Josh works and having a Brynn may sound, I’m not desperate enough to chase a man, especially one who isn’t even the man I really want.
I shake my head, chasing the thought away. I don’t want Ares. I don’t want anything except revenge.
I go to the store downstairs and buy myself a bottle of vodka along with some orange juice. I splash barely a drop of the juice in the vodka, just enough to flavor it a little, and I pour myself an oversized glass.
I spent the whole night staring at my phone. It’s been almost forty-eight hours since I last slept. Not that I usually get more than four or five hours of sleep a night anyway.
Despite all that training, the weapon I have in my nightstand, and the fact that I can take on a full-grown armed man empty-handed, I still don’t feel safe. Nothing I do ever makes me feel safe. I learned that the hard way. Days and nights spent training, fighting to get better, trying to become invincible and smother the broken girl that’s still hiding somewhere inside of me.
I finally manage to get some sleep in the morning, and I don’t wake until past noon.
I check my phone before I even make coffee, hoping for a text from Ares, but it’s someone else who’s been texting me
Josh 10:30:
“Hi, beautiful. Wanna grab coffee?”
I look at the time, and it’s almost 4 p.m.
Me:
“Just woke up.”
