Hunter - Blaire Drake Page 0,101

wasn't his own.

His playground fights when we were kids meant I'd thrown away more than one stained cloth in my life.

“If I had a knife, maybe.” He grinned. Not maliciously, just... grinned. “There's a chance one was close-range.”

I ran my finger down his jacket to remove the blood. The gunshots above us had ceased, so I hoped that meant everyone that wanted to kill me were now dead themselves, and that Gaige and Angelo weren't among the bodies I knew would be littering the ground.

Hunter wrapped his fingers around mine, still holding his gun in the other at his side. His silver eyes were bright, even in the harsh light that flooded my prison. They changed from relieved to concerned, but they swam with guilt.

I hated the way the emotion darkened his eyes.

“Don't,” I whispered, gently grasping his jacket. “We can talk after.”

“What if we can't?”

“Are you doubting me, Hunter?” I looked into his eyes. “We will talk after this. You and me. Alive. Okay. Without my father lording over this family as if he owns it.”

He fought as his lips twitched. “Yes, Boss.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but instead, I half-smiled. Yes, I was hurt, and I was sure as hell angry with him, but now wasn't the time for it. No matter how much I wanted to snatch his gun from him and whack him in the face with it. Maybe even shoot him with it.

Non-fatally, of course. Like his elbow or something.

“Let's go. Before he gets here,” Hunter said, holding his hand out to me.

I stared at his bloodied palm. “And how am I supposed to go up there with no way to protect myself?”

“That's what I'm for.”

“That's cute, but I'm not fucking Cinderella. More like Merida.”

“Who's Merida?” He frowned.

I stilled. Of course he'd have no idea about any kind of princess that wasn't born into blood. “Never mind. Just give me your gun.”

He looked appropriately horrified. “That's not gonna happen, Addy. Take this one instead.” He pulled one form the inside of his jacket and handed it to me.

“You just happen to have a spare?” I frowned as I wrapped my fingers around the handle. There was the tiniest amount of blood spatter on the barrel, and I wondered if he was ignoring some people when he said he'd only killed three.

“Yeah. Doesn't everybody carry a spare?” He flashed me a grin before a rich chuckle escaped his mouth. “No. I took it off some associate upstairs.”

“Once he was dead... right?”

“Absolutely. Almost dead at the very least.” He turned around, rolling his shoulders, and headed for the door. His gun clicked as he checked the magazine for bullets.

I slowly shook my head. “You're a little disturbed. You know that, right?”

“I'm more than a little disturbed, bella. I'm downright fucked up.” He glanced over his shoulder. “But downright fucked up is what's gonna keep you alive tonight.”

Well. When he put it like that... “Let's go,” I muttered, checking the gun he'd just handed me. Loaded and ready to shoot. I was glad.

I didn't want to talk anymore.

There was something strange about the plans I'd been making for the past ten years finally coming to fruition. I knew I was about to come face to face with my father for the first time in a long freakin' time, but I didn't feel so brave anymore.

I was scared.

There was every chance he, or one of his men, would kill me first.

I took a deep breath as I followed him through the small room. I decided there and then that the first thing I'd do when I killed my father would be to turn this exact room into a wine cellar. You know, after the basic disposal of bodies and cleanup this shootout probably already required.

I grabbed Hunter's hand as my vision adjusted from the harsh lights of the basement to the dimmer, more natural light of the staircase that lead to the top of the stairs. He paused for half a second, then squeezed my hand. Tingles ran up my arm, making my hairs stand on end. He released me as quickly as I'd grabbed him, and I didn't realize how badly I'd needed that second of reassurance.

It was as though that tiny moment had reminded me that I could do this, that I could be strong... Because he was there.

Maybe I should have been ashamed. Maybe it wasn't rioting feminist of me to admit that I needed him, but in that moment, with shit about to go