Page 23 of Corpse Roads

“Couldn’t sleep?” he guesses.

“Something like that.”

“Me neither. This case is fucked up, man.”

I splash my face in the kitchen sink. “You’re telling me. I’m ready to never look at a mutilated body again.”

“Like anything is ever that easy.”

“What about the girl?”

“She’s been given medical clearance to leave in the morning. I’m sending Doctor Richards in for a full psych eval before we take her to the safe house. We can’t have a messy suicide on our hands too.”

Cringing at his words, my hands clench into tight fists. “She wouldn’t. Harlow’s a fighter. How else did she escape in such a state?”

Hunter studies me closely. I fucking hate it when he does that. I’m not a client, and he always sees far more than I’d like. He’s fiercely intelligent and, sometimes, far too ruthless.

I’m the brawn to his brains, but my emotions get the better of me more than his do. I feel enough for both of us. It’s why I stick to the physical side of the business—training recruits, running active operations, beating on the bad guys on occasion.

I couldn’t do what Hunter does. My fists speak more than his fancy words ever could, but we need him to keep us afloat. He has the tongue of a politician and the stratagem of a military commander.

Hunter’s intelligence does make him vulnerable. While his ability to get inside the heads of our perpetrators makes him so brilliant, it’s also his greatest threat. He feels more than he lets on and bottles it up, ruling with an iron fist instead.

“Don’t get attached, Enzo. She’s a client.”

“I’m aware,” I growl back.

“Are you?” He drains the rest of his tea. “We will have to grill her hard to get the information we need to hunt this motherfucker down. There isn’t time to be gentle.”

“You said that more questions could wait. She’s traumatised, Hunt. We have to give her time.”

“As soon as she’s in our custody, we need to get to work. This sick son of a bitch has evaded us for too long. I’m done playing games.”

Fighting the urge to break his fucking face, I drag my sweaty shirt over my head while storming from the room. I need a shower and a few hours of sleep, but I know the latter won’t come.

Hunter’s warning infuriates me because it’s true. Even if I don’t want to admit it. I can’t afford to get attached. Not after last time.

Love is a weakness.

In our world, love gets you killed.

* * *

The next morning, grumpy and sleep deprived, I camp out in the intensive care waiting area. Hunter is in the small meeting room down the corridor, ironing out the final details with Sanderson and another SCU representative.

We have a safe house lined up for Harlow in East London. It’s a grey, faceless apartment, more of a prison than her first taste of freedom. Once she enters that place, she won’t leave.

Not until this is all over and it’s safe to do so. The thought of her—alone and scared with nobody to hold her close—is pushing me over the edge. I promised we’d keep her safe.

This is internment, not protection.

She will suffer for it.

The door to the meeting room opens. Hunter strides out, smoothing his designer, three-piece grey suit. Sanderson follows, his face red and eyes lowered as he quickly makes an excuse to leave.

The spineless worm has been making our lives difficult for months, angered by his department’s decision to hire external help. It effectively removed this case from his control.

“All done?”

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