Page 45 of Three
Fuck! I left him at the club without a ride. How angry is he going to be at me?
The next day I’m sitting in my parked car outside Hunter’s house gate. It was kind of hard to find where he lives since the property is not in his name, but his father’s, who has never been in Grizzly’s life. Until he died and left this place to his only son. Mine didn’t even do that.
The house is in Monee, south of Chicago, a forty-minute drive from downtown. The area has a suburban-rural feel to it with its green fields and single-family homes.
The front door opens, and the star of my latest filthiest dreams strides out, followed by a veryheftydog. He bends over to pick up the mail. His nice, round jeans-clad ass just begging to be groped as the fabric slides slightly down, showing more curvy skin. He straightens up, and I see his brawny, hairy chest and a little of the pudge around the middle—which is sexy as fuck—in all their splendor for the first time.
The air is chilly, his pointy nipples agree with me. Two buttons of his jeans are open, and he’s barefoot. The sight of him like this sends all the blood south to dick city.
His hand goes to his neck, right where the bruise I left is. He strokes it, and I wonder if he’s thinking about me while reveling in the dull ache. Or maybe he’s just rubbing a crick in his neck.
I feel the hard fabric of my jeans getting too tight around my groin, the smell of the car seat leather, the taste of the cinnamon gum in my mouth.
I’ve certainly been thinking about Hunter every time I felt the soreness in my ass. I stayed up all night enjoying my newfound senses—but mostly jerking off to memories of my bear and all the filthy things he whispered in my ear.
My eyes follow his sturdy back until he disappears inside, and I decide to go and be done with it.
The old wooden, five-bar farm gate is open. Don’t know what the purpose of it is since it can be as easily climbed over as the rusty metal fence.
I start walking the short distance to Hunter’s house. I expected an unadorned bear cave or an ordinary, no-frills apartment in an unremarkable building. Not this single-story, welcoming, old cottage with green trim surrounded by nature.
“Serena, how’s the security?” I ask. How can a P.I. not take precautions against intruders? His job can be dangerous. Look at the vengeful Baker brothers.
“Do you want me to hack into it?” Serena asks me.
“Yes, darling.” I suddenly stop a few feet from the front door. Did I just see a squirrel almost fall from the sloping roof?
“A five-year-old security system with entry sensors, but no safety alarms.”No smoke detectors?“Six cameras around the property, entrance, and back. No doorbell or indoor cameras. It took me one minute to bypass the system because of a few variations made to the circuits.” Hunter must have bought it under the table. So, he’s not that oblivious about home security. Good, but some changes need to be made.
“Someone is trying to lock me out,” Serena says before the front door opens, and my stomach sinks at the sight of the young, gorgeous, bare-chested guy who clearly spent the night.
“Well, fuck a duck,” I mutter under my breath. He has messy, wavy, blond locks falling over his brown eyes, a tattoo on the side of his neck and is wearing only a pair of worn-out sweats dangerously balanced on his narrow hips. He tosses a grape in his mouth, then spits the seeds on the ground.Charming.
“Who the fuck are you?” he rudely asks me, just as another guy who could be the first’s carbon copy appears.
This one is wearing mirror glasses and a pair of jeans, looking like a Hollywood actor.
Are shirts forbidden in this house?
He looks more put together. He crosses his arms and tilts his head to one side, like he’s studying me or something. Can’t tell with those glasses on.
They both look…barely legal.
Did Hunter bring Hollywood and his rude doppelgänger back home from the club? Did he fuck them?
I clench my jaw at the thought. If he did, I’ll erase them from his memory using only my tongue—after killing them. Fuck! I can’t. Damn code!
I’ll…send them to Timbuktu on a cargo ship. Ethical conundrum avoided. They both need a bit of African tan.
The bellicose feeling running inside my veins only increases when another guy walks out. He has brown hair, sad ice-blue eyes and is wearing cargo pants and a sleeveless hoodie over his bulky figure. Is that the same suicidal squirrel I saw on the roof wrapped around his neck?
What is even happing here? Is Hunter kinkier than I thought? Because now that I look more closely at them, I can see more similarities among the three. They are related. Brothers?
“Is this an incestuous orgy?” I ask them. “Do you have more in there?”
The blondies snort. At least they have a sense of humor, I almost feel sorry about sending them to the other side of the globe.Almost.
A nudge on my leg makes me look down into two round black eyes and a flat dog’s face. Drool is dripping from its large mouth onto my sneaker while its very heavy ass is parked on the other one, cutting off my blood circulation. It looks like a bulldog with those bat ears, but he has a long wiggling tail and a curly caramel coat. And fuck, he stinks.
