Page 59 of Hunt Me

I don’t really know the answer, but I know what my gut says. “Yes. I will tell him soon.”

Percy snorts. “I think he kind of figured it out.” He taps the gouge on the table, then looks up at me again. “You can’t tell him about the job though.”

That’s a little annoying and patronizing because I know that. I know how all of this works. I barely know the details, and I’m not about to share those and ruin our harmony.

But if he finds out, because he might—Denver is clever—I don’t think he’ll run.

“He’s staying with us,” I tell Percy.

He tilts his head to the side and gives a little nod. “I assumed.”

“We need to figure out who’s after him.”

Percy sets his tool down and rocks back in his chair, looking at me. “There’s something Denver isn’t telling you about this situation. He was scared shitless, but not as shitless as he should have been. Find out what he knows and get back to me. I’ll give Matias a call after and see what he can come up with.”

My brows shoot up. We’ve known Matias most of our lives. He’s the son of my dad’s best friend, who got into law enforcement so our families had another man on the inside.He works in tech for the FBI, and we don’t call him often. But I appreciate that Percy is willing to take it this far.

“I want him to stay safe,” I say. “He’s mine.”

Percy meets my gaze and doesn’t look away, even after I do. “We won’t let anything happen to him again.”

I’m not surprised that Denver’s quiet on the drive to his place. He sits in the car beside me, eyes closed, breathing steadily. He’s got one hand in mine, his fingers drawing lines on the insides of my own, and the comfort of it is…

There aren’t really words to describe it. All I know is that I’m addicted, and I can’t let him go.

I willnotlet him go.

He has become something I’m hyperfocused on. Much like my obsession with death and graveyards. But this is deeper, more profound. It makes something swell up inside of me, all-consuming and so comforting. I don’t know how to explain it, but the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was different.

I knew he was mine. And I plan to keep it that way.

The GPS directs me to his place, and he doesn’t open his eyes when I pull into a parking spot and turn the car off. I give him a moment before reaching over and stroking a touch down his jaw.

His eyes open slowly, and he blinks, his movements a bit sluggish, like he’d been deep asleep. His nystagmus is pretty much gone though, so I think the last of his dizziness has faded. His gaze meets mine and holds it, and I allow it for as long as I can stand.

When I have to stop, I fixate on his lips instead.

‘Do you want me to go in for you? You can text me a list,’ I offer.

He snorts a laugh, which comes out a ragged, soft wheeze from his throat damage. It creates a fresh wave of anger that I hope is not showing on my face.

‘No. My apartment doesn’t scare me. This just feels like…’ His hands hover for a second. ‘A lot.’

I can’t really relate. My life has been chaos from the moment I was really aware of what living was. There were peaceful moments but rarely any actual peace, which is what Percy is trying to create for us now.

And I want that, but I can also handle this. I can handle more so Denver doesn’t have to feel so much.

‘Come.’ I get out and walk around, helping him out of the car. I know he doesn’t need it, but I’m craving him, so keeping him close feels important. He wraps his fingers through mine and pulls me along to his place on the first floor, the door tucked in a little corner of the building. It’s very nice, cooled by shady trees, and there are flowers planted somewhere because I can smell them on the breeze.

Denver digs his keys out of his pocket, but when he tries to shove the key into the dead bolt, the door swings open.

My hackles are up, and I grab him, shoving him behind me as I reach into my inside coat pocket and touch the handle of my knife. Adrenaline shoots up my spine as I kick the door open all the way and step just past the threshold.

“Oh my god,” I hear Denver whisper.

The place is trashed. I know Denver doesn’t live like this, and as I peer around the corner into the living room, I can see his couch cushions are shredded, the stuffing all over the floor like someone ripped it all out.

It’s an amateur job. Whoever did this tried to make it look like he was being robbed—like they were looking for something—but I can tell this is just ordered chaos. This is an attempt to throw off the cops because they assumed Denver would call them.