Page 104 of Corpse Roads

“I… I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true.” His eyes bore into me, intense and relentless. “In twelve years, I’ve killed two hundred and fifteen people. Bombings, assassinations, executions. Sabre benefitted from every kill.”

I can taste his torment. It wraps around me, a familiar blanket of anguish, matching the festering pit of darkness where my heart used to be.

“I counted them all,” Hunter whispers. “Every last one. Names, faces, dates. I won’t let myself forget how we got here.”

Releasing his shirt, I slip my fingers inside his open collar, stroking the tendrils of dark ink rising from his torso.

“Why do you count them?”

“Because the day I stop caring, I become a monster.” He releases a long-held breath. “That’s who I save people like you from. And it’s exactly who I should’ve saved Alyssa from.”

“Alyssa?” I repeat cluelessly.

His eyes squeeze shut. “The last woman I loved died in my fucking arms. She bled out, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it.”

Someone, as Enzo said. She has a name, after all—the one who left such a gaping hole in their hearts.

“Is she why you can’t stand to be around me?”

Hunter looks like I’ve slapped him. “What on earth are you talking about? Harlow, fuck. Why do you think I’m here?”

“To do your job?”

He starts to walk me backwards until my legs hit the bed. Hunter pushes me back onto the mattress and covers my body with his. Any signs of hesitation have evaporated.

“I have wanted to touch you since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he says with fire. “Every time Leighton made you smile, or Enzo held your hand, I wanted to put a bullet in their skulls and take their place.”

His hips pin me to the bed, pressing into me in a slow, seductive grind. Each movement causes these stupid little whimpers to escape my mouth. I feel like I’m on fire.

“Tell me to stop,” he pleads.

Brushing loose hair from his face, I smash my mouth against his instead. Hunter’s lips part, moving in a feverish dance. He doesn’t run or plaster on a mask like every other time I’ve imagined this.

I’m trapped in a hurricane of calculation and precision, surrendering to Hunter’s will. His lips are like fists beating me black and blue. I can’t run from the onslaught, and I don’t want to.

My legs slide open without being told, letting him settle between them. The new position causes a throbbing pressure to explode in the slick space between my thighs.

I can feel his hardness pushing against me, hot and demanding. The fear I thought I’d feel isn’t there. After all I’ve learned, and with the terror of what’s to come, I want to mean something to someone. Even if it’s just for a moment.

“Fuck, Harlow,” he breaks the kiss to gasp. “We can’t do this right now. You’re not ready.”

“Please,” I moan, writhing on the bed.

“Shhh.” He kisses along my jawline, throat, clavicle. “I’ll make you feel good. Just not that.”

Hovering over me, he unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside. I drink in the hard planes of his chest—defined pectorals, a fuzz of light-brown hair covering the gorgeous ink I glimpsed before.

“This wasn’t how I expected this conversation to go.”

“Hunt,” I whine. “I don’t want to think about that right now. Or ever again. Just… make me forget. Please.”

He strips off his trousers, leaving only a skin-tight pair of black boxers. His legs are powerful, tanned, and my eyes bulge at the lump straining to escape its fabric prison between them.

“Eyes up here,” he scolds, flexing countless rippling muscles. “If I make you uncomfortable, tell me to stop. Promise?”

Nodding fast, I bite my lip as his hand sneaks beneath my sweater. My breasts are small enough that I don’t have to wear a bra, and the moment he realises, his throat bobs.

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