Page 35 of Hunter or Hunted

“Good.” I smiled and climbed into the bed beside her.

But the smile fell as quick as it came.

So many feelings, so much to process, in a few hours. A few days. Too much.

Lying beside her should’ve brought me waves of comfort. Happiness and joy.

It would’ve, if she felt any of those today.

But maybe she did, because when I curled an arm around her waist, when I stroked the hair from her sweat-dampened cheek, when she cuddled closer, her breath slowed. Her posture soothed. Her eyes closed.

I didn’t know what came next. I didn’t know what I thought of everything we’d discussed earlier. I didn’t know where I stood, or where we went from here, but I knew I didn’t want to leave this spot.

It didn’t take long for Gwen to fall asleep. As soon as her eyes shut, her breathing slowed, and she drifted away. A glance at the side table showed it was only 5 o’clock.

Hopefully, she’d sleep until nine the next morning. By the looks of it, she needed to catch up.

I tried to scroll for a while, but everything she’d said, all the pain in her voice, the hint of accusation, turned wild in my mind. Worse yet, was the realization that she felt safe enough to share all those opinions with me.

So much of her argument stemmed from men taking women’s voices. Their power.

But she excluded me from the group. While still pointing out my hypocrisies.

There was beauty in that realization. That she felt safe enough to argue with me. To fight with me. To call me a hypocrite.

I was.

When I gave Rhiannon the money for the ranch, in my mind, I severed my tie to the generations of men in my family who'd used their power to subjugate others. In my mind, that was enough. I had done more to help society, to help women, than 99% of the world.

But had I really?

No. I could’ve taken that money, could’ve been a part of the ultra-wealthy ruling class. But the choice to give it away was more a matter of getting rid of it.

I resented that power. It disgusted me. It’d harmed me. It’d tortured my mom, my sister, my younger self.

I got rid of it for the same reason others would’ve chosen to keep it. Selfishness.

The same reason I held onto the percentage of it. If I needed to run, I could. If I decided tomorrow that I wanted to buy a beach house in the tropics and never work again, I could.

On a moral level, I agreed with Gwen. Everything she said. Every point she made.

If I could kill Evan myself, just to ease her mind, I would. Because I couldn’t give a shit less about that bastard. He’d groomed a child, abused her, and probably killed her. The world would be better off without him, and watching his blood spill wouldn’t be much different than cleanup after surgery at work.

But Gwen didn’t have the protections I did. She didn’t have a plan.

Before, when we’d argued the first time, Gwen said I made her out to be emotional and illogical. Which she was. But I had been too. If I hadn’t been so lucky, if the cards hadn’t fallen just right, I would’ve gone to jail for killing Jason. Might have gotten the lethal injection for it.

That’s why planning was important.

Also why I was meeting with Emily next week. The deal wasn’t sealed yet, but it looked promising. I was going to buy the damn crematorium and get rid of the two bodies I already had on my property.

Maybe then Gwen and I could have a realistic conversation about Evan.

My phone vibrated on my chest, dragging me out of my spiral. Lizzie’s picture lit up the screen.

On my left, Gwen’s slow, rhythmic breaths rose and collapsed her chest. She kept the blankets bundled close to her face, now her usual peachy shade of cream.

I slithered out from beneath the blankets. She stirred, but stayed asleep.