Chapter 11 Rayne
Rayne
A hard rapping sound against the window wakes me later that night.
I shoot up in bed, gasping for breath as I move away from the dim light coming through the window.
I’ve heard a sound like that before, and when I last heard it, I ended up with a needle sticking out the side of my neck.
For a moment I think I must have dreamed it.
The wind is gently blowing outside, and nothing’s coming through the window.
But then I turn back toward my room and I hear it again.
Plink. Plink.
Something is hitting the window, hard.
“Fuck. Fuck.”
Adrenaline hits my blood fast.
Anyone could be out there on the balcony.
I toss away the covers and run for the small walk-in closet at the other side of the room, far from the window.
I’m still bleary from sleep as I move, tripping over a case of cold brew cans I stupidly left on the floor.
My back hits the bare wall on one edge of the closet and I look back to the window.
Something hits the window again and a tiny crack forms. Shadows dance along the walls as the wind blows the tree branches outside.
I watch it crack and realize that I truly may be about to die.
And all I can think about is my mom.
I’m her only child. She worked so goddamn hard to make a good life for me. I’m the first person in my family line to go to college at all, let alone get financial aid and a scholarship into Crimson College.
And she’s about to be the mother of a dead son.
The door handle of the room suddenly jiggles, and I have to act now or I know I’ll die.
I need something to defend myself.
Hunter’s desk is beside me, right outside the closet.
I see the edge of one of his knives.
I reach up in a flash and grip the end of the knife, standing up and holding it straight out in front of me as I turn to the door.
The door of the room suddenly swings open.
And Hunter is there, staring back at me.
“You really are the one trying to kill me,” I whisper.
The knife is shaky in my hand.
I know he can see that it’s shaking, too.
I also know that I could never hurt him, even if I tried. I’m strong, but he’s quicker, and he’s used to fighting whereas I’m only used to running on a football field.
“Rayne, what’s going on?”
“I know you have something to do with it,” I say, not hiding the anger from my voice. “Whoever it is. Trying to put another dart into my neck.”
Something hits the window again.
And then, suddenly, the sound becomes constant.
A hard pattering on the window every few moments.
“There’s a hailstorm,” Hunter says.
And before I can move, he reaches out and clutches my hand, easily pulling the knife away from my grasp.
It’s in his hand now.
I look back over to the window and fear drains from my blood, replaced with shame.
It’s hail.
And now I look like a fucking paranoid freak.
“Hey,” Hunter says, tossing his knife back onto the desk with a loud clatter. He comes closer to me. “It’s okay. After what’s been happening to you, this is a normal reaction.”
My blood is hot.
I’m fucking livid at myself for being so stupid.
He puts his hand on my arm and gently rubs my skin.
I want to rip his fucking hand off.
I also want more of his touch.
I’d bolted out of bed earlier without any time to put on clothes, and now I’m in my boxer-briefs that I sleep in, feeling completely exposed.
I bat him away a moment later. “Get your fucking hands off of me.”
Something’s molten in my chest now.
A potent mix.
Rage.
Shame.
Utter exhaustion.
All churning together and somehow making me hate Hunter more than I ever have.
He looks down at my exposed skin, glancing at my abs and then at my tattoos, which he seems particularly focused on every time he sees them.
“I scared you,” he says, looking at my eyes again. “Do you need a glass of water, or maybe a handle of whiskey?”
I swallow hard. “I don’t need anything from you. Never will.”
Panic is still coursing through my veins as the hail patters on the window.
Is he fucking with me?
Is he trying to hurt me?
Or is it something else?
His eyes narrow on me, and he gives me a bitter glare.
“You accept my brother’s condescending bullshit for a lifetime, but you won’t take help from me,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re worse than I thought.”
“Worse? Fuck you,” I tell him. “I’ve never known what your problem is with Weston. That isn’t my business. But I never did shit to you, Hunter.”
“And you act spoiled, just like my brother, even though you didn’t grow up with a silver spoon like us.”
“I thought I was about to die two minutes ago and now you’re calling me spoiled,” I say. “And you wonder why I don’t trust you?”
The panic is gone from me now.
It’s all rage.
Hunter doesn’t seem to care at all. “You’re spoiled enough that you don’t accept when someone wants to help you, because you think you have to do everything yourself.”
“It’s because I don’t trust you, Knox. Not because of some stubborn independence. You show up in Onyx and suddenly there are photos of me nailed onto the front door?”
Hunter’s gaze steadies. “Excuse me?”
“Nobody told you what happened earlier?”
“What happened earlier?”
“Cute that you’re playing dumb. Who took those pictures of me? Maybe it’s the fucking asshole who’s been following me around all week.”
“So they’ve been following you, too,” Hunter says. “God, I fucking knew it.”
I bring my hands up to my hair, running my fingers through it.
“I’m so confused. And I’m so tired of being confused.”
“Nothing confusing about it. Someone’s trying to get to you, and I’m going to find them and put a blade through their throat.”
His words put a chill down my spine.
“You wouldn’t actually kill someone for me, Hunter.”
I say it, but I don’t know if I mean it.
Hunter’s been in a lot of trouble in his life.
He’s hurt a lot of people, even if they usually deserved it. When kids bullied him, they always ended up bloody or bruised.
And once, I saw him punch a guy directly in the jaw in the hallway back in high school after the guy called his own girlfriend a “whore” for wearing fishnet stockings.
But had Hunter Knox really killed someone?
Did he have the capability of it?
What happened to him in London? Or… what did he do in London?
“Quit acting like I’m your enemy,” he tells me, something flickering in his eyes. “Yes, I’m following you. No, I am not going to stop. I’m going to watch you. I like watching you. And you like it, too, when you let yourself admit it.”
My heart pounds in my chest.
“Why did you leave London?”
His eyes flare for a moment but he ignores the question.
He always ignores it when I ask about his life.
Instead he reaches out, putting his hand on my hip.
“Are you the jealous type, Rayne?” he asks me. “Sure looked like it when you saw me touching Briar in the Colossus earlier. You wished it was my hands on you, didn’t you? Is that what you wanted me to do after I made you choke on my cock? Give you tender loving care afterward and rub your back—”
I come at him fast, shoving him forward hard.
But he’s faster.
As always.
His hand moves to grab the knife again and by the time I have him shoved back against the wall, he moves one arm up.
And he puts the cold metal knife against the center of my chest, pushing it forward.
It’s like I’ve gotten the breath knocked out of me.
It takes me a second to register that the knife hasn’t sliced into my skin.
Where I expect to feel a sharp pain, all I feel is a dull, pointed pressure.
I look down and see that he has the knife flipped in reverse, the sharp edge pointing away from me and the blunt edge pushing into my chest.
My heart rate ratchets up as I see the look in his eyes.
He looks wild. Unpredictable.
Truly unhinged, more than I’ve ever seen before.
“Are you asking to see what I’m capable of, Rayne?” he murmurs, and his free hand comes down to slide around my wrist just like he had it the other day, gripping tight.
He’s so close to me.
“Chill out,” I say, but it sounds meager coming out of my mouth.
“You’ll never know what happened in London. And you’ll never know why I have my differences from Weston. I told you one sad story, but you don’t know a single thing about me. I can turn this blade around anytime I want.”
I got to him.
Something set him off, and I don’t know what it was.
Even the blunt edge of his knife is starting to bite at my skin, now, and the grip he has around my wrist is starting to burn.
And something in me fucking likes it.
I hate that part of myself.
I reach my free hand up.
Slowly.
Steadily.
Until my palm lands on the back of Hunter’s hand, the hand that’s currently gripping a knife held against my chest.
I stroke his skin there. The back of his hand and his forearm are smooth, the skin much softer than I expected.
I got to you.
I made you snap.
I feel my cock respond as I touch his skin, watching that wild look in his eyes start to fade. I feel like for the first time, I have him in my web instead of the other way around.
Two can play this fucking game.
“You look pretty when you’re out of control,” I murmur, and I almost can’t believe the words that are coming out of my own mouth.
His eyes are wild again, but in a different way this time.
For a second I swear he’s really going to bring the sharp end of that knife to my neck.
“Goddamnit, I want to hurt you so fucking badly,” he growls, and I can tell he means it.
But instead, he keeps it right where it is as he leans in, keeping the metal pressed firmly on my skin as he claims my mouth in a hard kiss.
And as I slide my tongue past his lips, I know for the first time that there’s nothing that’s going to stop us, now.
We’re not in public.
Not hiding from anyone.
I can practically feel every nerve in my body vibrating with need for him.
And there’s nothing to keep me from taking all of him.