Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2) - Jodi Ellen Malpas Page 0,121

to find the sculpture.’ He’s lying. I know he’s lying.

‘Medusa, give me strength!’ Old Mr H yells. ‘You expect me to believe that passion and urge in you goes away just like that? That need for vengeance deep, deep inside you, boy, will never be gone, no matter how hard you try, and no matter how much time you dedicate to our business. Having a woman on your arm hasn’t quenched your thirst for adventure. It hasn’t chased away the thrill of danger, so don’t you dare try to convince me otherwise.’

I drift off into my own world, wondering if the deep-seated urge Becker’s fighting will ever go away. The adventurer and daredevil are inbuilt into the Hunt men. It’s part of their DNA. Maybe it will be a constant battle and worry. Maybe those desires in him will fade over time. Who knows? Nothing is certain.

‘I love her,’ Becker says as he looks at me, his eyes glazed and confused. ‘I love her more than the sculpture, Gramps. I’m more obsessed with her than I am about finding that lump of marble.’ His jaw is going wild, ticking madly. ‘I just need to know for my own sanity. To put it to rest.’

Old Mr Hunt huffs disbelievingly. I can’t help feeling insulted, yet the reasonable side of me points out that he has every reason not to believe Becker. And it has me wondering . . . did the old man confess the whereabouts of the missing piece as a test? To see if Becker would choose me or the sculpture? The thought stings. I was completely unaware that I’d found the missing piece. Mr H could have easily passed off his funny turn as something else. Or could he? Becker knew immediately there was something amiss. Seems my saint is a little more on the ball than I am. But then again, he’s a Hunt man. They’re exceptional at so much, including sleuthing. ‘So you won’t look for it any more?’ Mr H asks outright, his expression daring Becker to lie.

‘No.’ Becker shakes his head adamantly.

Old Mr H glances over to me, and I shake my head mildly, silently begging him not to tell Becker where his stick is, or what he knows is on that missing piece of the map.

‘There are some numbers,’ he starts quietly.

‘No,’ I shout.

But the old man ignores me, a million apologies in his eyes. ‘A code,’ he goes on, and I close my eyes, trying to hide from the wonder that I know will be on Becker’s face.

‘Why did you keep it, Gramps? Why didn’t you destroy it?’

The old man’s lips purse, though he doesn’t speak.

So Becker goes on. ‘Because you couldn’t let it go, either, could you? You kept that piece as a private trophy.’

The old man sinks into the bed on a heavy sigh. ‘My stick is in the wall.’

Becker gasps his shock, and I close my eyes again, so tightly, maybe to escape the crazy I’m faced with. Now what? I can’t let him go off and hunt for that sculpture. I can’t risk losing him. This is beyond my ability to handle.

The torrid tale of his parents plays on repeat in my head as I open my eyes and look at Becker. He’s in a trance, and I can see his mind spinning, plotting and planning. He’s already looking for that damn sculpture again. ‘No, Becker,’ I warn.

He stares up at me blankly, giving me nothing. So I take his arms by his biceps and dig my nails in. ‘Do you hear me?’ I grate, my temper getting the better of me. I can’t help it. My panic is escalating with each second he remains quiet, knowing he’s thinking too much. ‘Do you hear me?’ I shout, crashing my fists into his shoulders viciously. I’m not letting him do this. Not to us, and especially not to himself. ‘Tell me you hear me.’

‘Vengeance for my parents, Eleanor,’ he says calmly.

I start shaking my head fast, tears springing into my eyes. I knew it. I knew he didn’t mean it when he told his granddad that he was through. No more searching. No more obsessive need to hunt down what may not even be there to find. He never had any intention of giving up. He’s incapable of it. ‘No.’ I say quietly.

The seriousness in his hazel eyes terrifies me. ‘Yes,’ he replies.

‘I’ll leave you.’ This threat is all I have, and I beg it’s enough. The tears break