I’m fucked.

And not only am I fucked, I’m a goddamn idiot for thinking this Decker guy from the highway could be a cop when it now seems clear his intent was much more sinister.

My hunter, Torian had said.

He made it sound like a description, not a name, which made my blood run cold with possibilities. It hadn’t been a slip of the tongue. His focus had been trained on me, waiting for a reaction. And he’d gotten one—a heart-palpitating, soul-screaming one I hope I was able to hide.

Hunter slides into the car, starts the engine, and doesn’t acknowledge the weapon in my hand as he veers onto the narrow road and drives from the cemetery.

He’s not daunted by the threat. He’s probably used to it.

The detachment only increases the chill sinking into my bones, freezing every inch of me. In a perfect world, this would be the part where he divulged all his lies and begged for my forgiveness. But my world isn’t perfect.

There is no knight in shining armor here.

I have to save myself.

He drives through the busy streets and onto the highway with neither of us breaking the silence. The voices in my head are already too deafening.

This is bad. This is so horribly, terribly bad, and I don’t know how to make it stop. How could I have missed so much? I’ve probably missed everything. All the signs. All the clues.

He pulls onto an off-ramp, and I tap my heel against the floor, unable to hide my panic. The time for pretending I have this under control is gone. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can talk.” He continues into a rural area, his eyes trained on the road.

I glance around, to the diminishing houses and lack of cars. There are miles and miles of nothing but trees and long grass. Not one witness in sight. “Pull over.”

“In a minute. It’s not much farther.”

My hand trembles as I raise the gun and place the barrel against his temple. “Pull. Over.”

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I can’t tear my gaze away from the palpable fury evident in his tight jaw and the rapid pulse in his neck. I’d known he was dangerous, and still I’d ignored the threat. My intuition escaped me, and I was left vulnerable to his manipulative charms.

Not anymore.

I press the gun harder and brace for him to snap. I’ll pull the trigger if I have to. I have no choice. He’d said it himself—only dangerous people would be at Dan’s funeral.

The car slows and veers onto the shoulder, the tires crunching under gravel. We stop. But it’s not just the forward momentum. I cease breathing. Thinking. There’s only white noise and the monotonous reminder of my mistakes.

“Get out.” I withdraw the gun and point it at his chest, bracing for any sudden movement.

“You’re not going to shoot me.”

I laugh, and my stomach drops at how wrong he is. I won’t stop fighting now. I won’t let my heart mess with my objectives.

“Out,” I snarl.

He glances at me, his eyes bleak with concern, one brow raised in condescension. A conflicting expression. Two warring emotions, despair, and disdain.

I have to focus on truth and not let the lies sway me. This man holds no concern. Not for me. Not for my life. And certainly not for the vendetta I have to achieve.

I divert the barrel to the right, one inch, maybe two, then squeeze the trigger.

Noise explodes around me, the burst of audible violence filling the confined space even with the silencer firmly affixed to the barrel.

Glass shatters his window and he jerks away, his eyes wide, wild, and threatening. The condescending brow disappears. His lips move, but I can’t hear him. I can’t hear anything apart from the deafening ring in my ears.

“Out.” I hide my building hysteria behind a curl of my lip and open my door, the barrel now trained back on his chest.

His jaw ticks, all that rough stubble shifting while wisps of hair frame his eyes in an untamed mess.

He’s still gorgeous. Brilliantly so. But I see through it now. I’m beginning to understand my self-sabotage and how far I’ve fallen.

He turns to get out, and I take the opportunity to pull the gun from the back of his jeans and throw it at my feet. He doesn’t flinch, just slides from the seat, and closes the door behind him.

I follow on my side, round the hood, and fight the need to massage my aching temples.

He shoves a finger in his ear, wiggles it, then does the same to the other. “You’re fucking crazy, do you know that?”

“Thanks for noticing.” But he’s wrong. I no longer feel crazy with my energetic lust for revenge. I’m hollow. The emptiness is irreparable.

“Oh, I fucking noticed, all right. And no doubt I’ll have the friendly reminder for the rest of my life in the form of damaged goddamn hearing.” He stretches his jaw, working it from side to side. “Don’t ever do that again.”

I want to laugh, to ridicule the concept that anything at all will happen between us ever again. Not sex. Not betrayal. Not backstabbing. But he’ll learn that soon enough.

“Who are you?” I demand.

He straightens, growing taller as his lips press tight and his chin lifts. He tries to stare me down, and I don’t understand how he can look at me like that. Without remorse or regret.

My throat constricts, growing tighter and tighter. Maybe his silence is a sign of guilt. But it’s not enough. I need more. I need something. He played me. Humiliated me. Betrayed me. All the while seducing me with his strength and confidence.

“Start talking.” I almost scream the words, and still he doesn’t answer. “Otherwise, we do this the hard way.” I lower the barrel, aim at his feet, and squeeze.

Bang.

He doesn’t shift as dirt dances at his toes. Not a jump or a flinch. He’s not scared of me. Not scared of guns or bullets or death.

“Goddamn it. Tell me who you are.” I raise the gun and storm toward him, aiming at his chest.

Still, he doesn’t cringe, or cower, or recoil. He doesn’t do anything. Not a damn thing, and it’s killing me. Voices scream in my head, demanding answers, demanding punishment. I need him to react to what he’s done. I need an acknowledgement of the devastation eating me from the inside out.

“Tell. Me—”

He lunges, grabs the silencer, and yanks down with a hard twist. I had a split second to pull the trigger, but I didn’t.

I fucking didn’t.

I squeal as my hand follows the movement, bending awkwardly. My fingers lose grip, and the weapon is wrenched from my hand. From powerful to powerless in the space of a heartbeat. In the blink of those menacing hazel eyes.

I retreat with quick backward steps that could easily turn into a sprint if I think he’s going to shoot. I wait for him to turn the tables, to place me in his sights. Instead, he flicks on the safety and slides the gun down his leg, assisting it as it falls to the ground before he kicks it away.

We remain frozen in a stony standoff, matching each other glare for glare.

“You first,” he mutters.

“No way in hell.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, you’re stubborn about your stupid secrets.”

“I can deal with being stubborn.” What I can’t deal with is being fooled by another man who only wants to hurt me. “You know, earlier, when I first saw the recognition between you and that guy I met yesterday, I thought you might be a cop.” I swallow to ease my emotion-filled throat. “I thought maybe you’d been watching, waiting to arrest me, but you’re not a cop, are you?”

He laughs, flashing his too perfect teeth and too perfect smile. “You’re looking on the wrong side of the law, princess.”

My throat threatens to close. Swallowing is no longer an option. “Okay…” I can figure this out. “Obviously, you know Dan Roberts. So, I assume you’re a criminal. Maybe a lowlife dealer.”

Or a pimp? A thief?

“I’m worse than that.” His eyes harden, and I believe him.

He walks toward me, and I sidestep, making sure not to place additional space between me and the gun.

“A member of the mafia?” I ask.

He plants his feet and glares. “I’m the guy who finished the job you started.”

I keep moving, walking in a circle as his explanation runs through my head. Over and over. He’s deliberately playing more mind games, dragging this out to lengthen the torture.

Either that, or I’m truly not as smart as I once thought.

“Think about it, Steph,” he taunts. “What were you doing the night I met you?”

No. I frown and shake my head. I’m not going to allow that train of thought to make sense. I can’t.

“Come on now, princess,” he murmurs. “You can say it.”

I don’t want to.

He steps forward, once, twice. A slow, sure stride that intensifies my panic.

“You killed him,” I whisper.

I don’t know if it’s a question or a statement. It should be an adamant declaration. X marks this map like a neon sign in the dead of night. But I need it to be a question. And I desperately want the answer to be ‘no.’

There’s a slight pulse in his throat. The briefest glimpse of a hard swallow.

“Oh, my God.” He did kill Dan.

I stand before him, legs numb, chest heavy, heartbroken. Relief doesn’t flood me. I don’t feel vindicated. Instead, bile churns in a mass production in my stomach because the harsh man I’ve fallen for isn’t harsh at all. He is horrific.

“Why?” I’m still shaking, but now it’s not just my head. It’s my hands, my arms, my foundations.

I inch closer to the gun. It’s right there, three feet to my left.

His gaze drops to the weapon, then returns to my face. “Don’t do it.”

I need to. I have to. He isn’t going to let me walk. Obviously, I am stupid, but not that stupid.

He’s poised to strike, every muscled inch of him taut and ready.

I lunge to the side, my hands sliding through dirt, my fingers grating over gravel. He dives after me, grips my ankle, and pulls. I scream as he drags me backward, then to my feet, and into his arms.

I’m plastered to him. Back to chest. Ass to crotch.

“I told you not to do that,” he growls.

I kick. I scream. I thrash.

His hold tightens and he rushes forward, eating up the space to the car to press me into the cold metal. He smothers me, choking my strength under the heavy weight of memories.

He made me feel safe. He made me feel wanted. He made me feel. That is the worst part of all.

“Why?” I demand. “Why did you kill him?”

His breath brushes my neck. He’s so close, he’s under my skin. “Dan had a habit of finding useful information. But instead of handing it over to my contractor, he kept blackmailing for bigger sums of money. The guy was in a perfect position, hearing whispers from the police through his father. He could’ve gone far. Instead he got greedy.”

“And greed deserves death?” I snarl.

“Greed, and assault, and rape, among other things.” The growled words vibrate through my ribs. “I don’t feel guilty in the slightest, princess. So don’t try that shit on me.”

“And what about framing me? Do you feel guilty about that?”

He stills. “I didn’t frame you. I’ve done this enough times to know how to cover my ass. Nobody else has to take the fall.”

Again, it isn’t what I want to hear. I picture dead bodies at his feet. Innocent faces. Vacant eyes.

He steps back and I remain still, clinging to the car like it holds the answers to my problems. And maybe it does. The ignition fob is in the center console. Starting the engine and getting out of here is a button-click away.

“Look at me,” he demands.

No. Not going to happen. I refuse to look into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer and feel attraction. And that’s exactly what would happen if I met his gaze. I wouldn’t be able to help it. I wouldn’t be able to stop it.

“Steph, I need you to listen.”

“I’m listening.”

He sighs. “I didn’t get the information I needed from Dan. I followed you instead, and by the time I went back to the hotel, he was already too fucked up to talk.”

“What does that mean?” I stare out at the vacant fields, the miles of space between me and safety.

“I heard you interrogate him. I just didn’t get specifics. I now need the information he gave you. And I need to know why you wanted it.”

“I didn’t get any information.” Nothing his merry murderous crew would find useful, anyway.

“Don’t lie to me.” He grabs my elbow and tugs, making me face him. “He had the details on an informant, and I heard you asking him for a fucking name.”

He presses into me, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. His hands land on either side of my head, a threatening stance, if only those eyes weren’t slaying me.

I cluck my tongue at him. “That looming thing doesn’t work anymore. Last time you did it, I got an orgasm, remember?”

His lips kick, slow and subtle. “You can this time, too. All you need to do is give me the name.”

I fight a shudder. Fight and fight and fail. Tingles wrack my body, from collarbone to nipples and stomach. “No. Thanks.”

“Come on, Steph. What did he tell you?”

“Nothing,” I snap. “I didn’t get a damn thing.”

This man has already stripped me of too much—my dignity, my strength, my confidence. He won’t steal the secrets of my past, too.

“Please.” The plea is pained, almost believable. “I’m not joking. They’re going to come after you. That man you met earlier—Torian—is a bad guy. Worse than Dan. Worse than me. Worse than any motherfucker you’ve ever met. But if you talk, I can help you.”

I roll my eyes. “So this big, bad motherfucker lets me walk free if I talk?”

“I can protect you.”

“Oh, goodie.” I release a derisive chuckle. “Is this where I’m supposed to swoon?”

“No. This is where you tell me the fucking truth so both of us walk away from this unscathed.”

I chuckle again, and this time it hurts. Pressure consumes my chest, moving higher, wider, deeper. “Too late,” I whisper.

He lets out a heavy breath and leans in to rest the side of his head against mine. I want to fight for space, for freedom, but I can’t when everything inside me still aches for proximity.

I need to believe in his torment. That the pain he’s wrapping around me in tightening ribbons is real.

“I never meant for this shit to happen between us. I never meant to want you,” he admits. “And now we’re in a fucking mess, and the only way out is for you to tell me what you know.”

“Then trust me when I say whatever information you’re after, I didn’t get.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

He leans closer, those lips a breath away, his hips pressing harder. The thick length of his erection nestles against my pubic bone, and I freeze in disbelief.

This fucker is horny. And damn it, the thought of his arousal has the same effect on me. My nipples tingle. My pussy tightens.

“Tell me,” he whispers against my neck.

His mouth trails my skin, leaving a path of goosebumps in its wake. He’s a murderer. A killer. And I still want to kiss him. Taste him. Devour him.

I hate myself for the war waging inside me. The battle between sanity and stupidity. A ragged breath escapes my lips and he leans closer, our mouths almost touching.

“I’ll protect you. I can promise that.”

I crave the truth of those words, even when he’s played me so many times already. I can’t help bridging the space between us to sweep my mouth over his in a gentle glide.

He relaxes, all those muscles losing their tension. I don’t want to enjoy this, but I do. The bliss sinks under my skin, flutters my heart, and warms my limbs.

I want more. I want everything.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I break the connection and pull back, sinking my teeth into my lower lip to stop the tingling throb.

“If I tell you, will you really protect me?” I ask.

“With my life.”

I smile through my heartache and raise my hand to his hair. I guide the strands away from his eyes, brush my fingertips along the rough stubble of his jaw, then launch the heel of my palm into his Adam’s apple.

He buckles, hunching over in an instant.

I give him a shove to escape the confinement of his body. He coughs, splutters, and swings out an arm, trying to catch me. I slap away his touch and run for the gun, leaning over to scoop it up before twirling back in his direction.

“Move away from the car,” I yell.

He clears his throat, chokes, swallows. “Don’t do this.” His voice is raspy as he shakes his head.

“I’ll shoot you if I have to.” I flick off the safety and jerk the barrel in an instruction for him to move. “And this time I’ll aim higher.”

He backs away, the hand at his side balling into a fist as the other holds his throat. He continues to cough, to splutter. “They’ll kill you.”

“They’ll have to find me first.”

I’m good at hiding. I can do it a little longer. Then once I finish the unresolved business with Jacob, I’ll run, because I’m good at that, too.

I open the driver’s side door and slide inside, keeping my gaze on him the entire time.

“Don’t be stupid.” He hunches, hands on knees, looking over at me from beneath his lashes. “There’s an easier way out of this.”

“I appreciate the concern.” I close the door, start the ignition, and shove the car into drive. “But I can look after myself.”