Page 55 of Hunt Me

I nod, and he pulls out his phone, typing into it quickly and then leaning down next to me. The screen flashes with several photos of the coffin beds and the men who slept in them.

As he flicks through the website, I feel connected to him in a weird way. I like to sit in the library basement and scroll through old microfiche films, and he likes to research coffins. I didn’t expect to find similarities there, but I’ll take what I can get.

When his phone finally falls to his chest, I peer up at him, but he glances away before our eyes can lock.

‘Me too much?’ he asks.

I shake my head quickly. ‘Never. I understand why you like it. I spend my free time looking at old fashion magazine microfiche in the library.’

His gaze meets mine, and his finger scrunches. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, it’s my hobby. It’s what I was doing tonight when…’ My fingers trail off, my body not willing to talk about what happened yet, and I curl them into my palm for a brief second. ‘We’re not so different.’

‘I think you’re prettier than me.’

I wiggle closer and bite my bottom lip. ‘I don’t know about that. I like your face a lot.’

We peer at each other, and I touch his cheek gently before he leans down and kisses me softly. I can tell he’s holding himself back. I can tell he knows I need him to. The kiss is still powerful, still so him, but it’s nothing more than a quick touch of his tongue against mine before he pulls back.

‘Thank you,’ I sign.

He nods, then wraps his arms tighter around me and holds me against his chest. It rumbles with a few spoken words or maybe a hum. I’m too tired to really care. The only thing that matters is him beside me like this, keeping me in his grasp so nothing else can hurt me.

The headache that wakes me is cruel. It’s a low pounding in my temples and along the back of my neck. The gashes on my forehead and behind my ear sting, but I can also tell from the itching that they’re healing up and that Percy was right about me not needing stitches.

The concussion is very present though, in the way that makes the world feel a little heavy. When I try to look at myphone screen, my eyes cross, and everything goes double. I don’t have much time to test what I can tolerate because the device is plucked from my hand, and when I look up, I’m met with Archie’s disapproving stare.

‘No.’ His sign is firm and stiff.

I try to roll my eyes, but it hurts too much. ‘I need to check my work email.’

‘No,’ he replies again. He reaches over and helps me sit up, which isn’t fun either, but after a short moment, the world rights itself.

I swallow and feel an ache in my throat, and I have no doubt my neck is a sunset of bruising.

Fuck, I should probably go to the police about all of this, but for some reason, my gut says no. The cops were horrible to me when I first reported the cyberstalking and were absolutely no fucking help at all in my case when it finally went to trial. I’m really not in the mood to be mocked again.

Thorne lives down the street from Archie, and he might be of some help, but I have a feeling Archie and his family won’t love the idea of me involving someone like him. Even if he’s not in the FBI anymore.

In reality, I should give Archie and his brothers all the details about what happened to me last time. I’m terrified that it’s the same guy, but something about all of this feels different than before. I don’t know who the hell else it could be because I’m not the most social guy, and unless one of my Deaf drag friends has gotten into some really dark shit, it won’t be any of them.

But that still leaves me with more questions than answers and no real way to figure out what’s going on.

I look up when Archie touches my chin. He’s being tender with me, which I both love and hate because I know it’s not his first instinct.

‘Are you hungry?’ he asks.

I bite my lip. My stomach still feels tender from throwing up the night before, and I’m still a little queasy from the pain.

‘Denver,’ he signs, then skims his fingers down the front of my throat.

The pain of it makes me hiss, and his brows furrow into an angry scowl. But I have a feeling his fury isn’t being directed at me.

‘Want to kill,’ he signs with one hand.

I curl my fingers around his wrist and gently pull his hand away. ‘I’m okay.’

I see his chest heave with a breath, and then he sits back. ‘Food?’