Chapter 8
Jada
The clock on the wall ticked too loud in the silence of the safe house. I’d already scrubbed down the kitchen, wiped the counters twice, and reorganized the mismatched plates in the cabinet. The safe house wasn’t big—mainly one large room for the kitchen and living area and two smaller bedrooms, then a small bath—and I’d cleaned every inch of it I could, except the bedrooms. Those were Hunter’s private areas, and it felt like an invasion of privacy without permission. Anything to keep my brain from circling the same exhausting thoughts.
What was Hunter finding out? What was taking him so long?
I paced to the window and peeked out, but I kept the curtains closed like Hunter had said. He’d shown me the hidden fancy panel outside the front door and gave me the code in case I needed to leave and get back in. Evidently, the door was reinforced, and the code was the only way to open it.
As if I had anywhere to go.
I pressed my fingers against my temples and blew out a slow breath. I didn’t want to let myself spiral, but it was too late. My thoughts had already latched on to the one thing I couldn’t make sense of.
Why was Hunter still helping me?
There was nothing in it for him. No reason for him to have dragged me out of that cabin or the hospital or put himself on the line by keeping me hidden. I wasn’t his problem. There was nothing in this for him.
I swallowed hard. I wasn’t blind. Hunter was attractive in a way that made my stomach twist every time I looked at him. The way he moved, the way he watched everything around him like he was always calculating threats—it should have unnerved me. But it didn’t. It made me feel safe. Made me want to be closer to him.
And even though he hadn’t necessarily done anything that suggested he returned the attraction, he was at least still helping me.
Although as each minute passed, I wondered if that was still true. I checked the clock again. He’d planned to be back two hours ago. What if he wasn’t coming back at all?
My chest tightened. Would I blame him? He didn’t owe me anything. Maybe the prison visit had made him realize I wasn’t worth all this trouble. Maybe he’d decided I wasn’t his problem anymore.
I shoved away from the window, stomach knotting, and marched to the kitchen. I needed to do something. If I couldn’t figure out my past, at least I could control one thing—I could make dinner.
I found a box of pasta, a jar of sauce, some veggies, and got to work. The sound of boiling water filled the silence. The simple rhythm of chopping and stirring grounded me. Gave me something to focus on other than the possibility that I might be completely on my own.
I didn’t let myself look at the clock again. Didn’t let myself react to every creak of the house settling or the occasional rustle outside. It was nothing. Just my nerves, stretched too thin.
Then—footsteps.
My heart lurched to my throat. The front door opened, and Hunter stepped inside. I buried my relief under annoyance with myself.
The door automatically locked as it closed behind him. His jaw was clenched tight, and the muscle in his forearm flexed as he ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t say anything, just exhaled heavily and dropped into the chair at the table.
I hadn’t even realized I’d been gripping the counter until my fingers ached. My pulse still hadn’t settled, the leftover panic that he might not come back making my hands unsteady as I grabbed two plates and set one down in front of him.
“You made dinner.” His voice was low, rough around the edges.
“Figured you’d be hungry.” If you were coming back at all. “You were later than I’d thought, so I wasn’t sure what was happening.”
He didn’t say anything as he took a bite, just watched me in that unreadable way of his. Maybe he was trying to gauge how much I could handle. I hated that. Hated feeling like I was fragile, like I had to be protected from the truth.
I swallowed a bite then set my fork down on my plate. “What did you find out?”
He shifted in his chair. “The drug you were injected with—it’s bad news. Caleb says it’s highly unstable. The fact that you’re functioning at all is a miracle.”
My stomach clenched. I’d known it was dangerous, but hearing that I was lucky to be alive made it all too real.
“There’s more,” he continued, his voice even, controlled. “Caleb pointed me toward a dealer who might have information on where the drug came from. And if there’s any kind of antidote.”
I sat up straighter. “So, there’s a lead?”
Hunter nodded. “Tomorrow, we’ll track him down.”
I should have been relieved. And I was. But something about the way Hunter spoke, the way his jaw ticked between words, told me he wasn’t saying everything.
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s not all, is it?”
His fingers tightened around his fork. He didn’t look away, didn’t try to dodge, but I saw it in the way his shoulders tensed.
“I saw Alan Ard,” he finally admitted. “That’s what took so long.”
A cold weight settled in my gut. “Why?” My own voice sounded distant.
“He had information. I needed to know if he had any connection to the people making the drug. It would’ve been a waste not to get that intel while I was already there at the prison.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “And?”
Hunter’s expression hardened. “Nothing useful about the drug. But he did have a lot to say about you.”
I forced out a breath. “Just tell me.”
His green eyes locked on mine. “He was using you, Jada. He never gave a damn about you—just about getting to Kenzie.”
I barely felt my fingers as they curled into fists in my lap. I swallowed against the sharp sting of betrayal from someone I couldn’t remember anyway. But he’d done this to me, so obviously, he’d never cared.
“He said that?”
Hunter nodded. “Outright. He’s an asshole, Jada. We’re going to make sure he rots in prison.”
Somehow that didn’t help. “Right,” I said quietly. “Thank you for telling me.”
Hunter’s voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. “You might not always like what I have to say, but I’m never going to lie to you.”
I forced myself to meet his gaze, my throat burning. “Thank you,” I said, the words hoarse but honest. Because no matter how much it hurt, I needed the truth.
Hunter took the last bite of his pasta, then set down his fork with a quiet clink. His eyes flicked to me, unreadable as ever, before he pushed back from the table and stood.
“I’ll do the dishes.”
I blinked at him. “You don’t have to.”
His lips quirked slightly, just a glint of something that was gone before I could name it. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”
I didn’t argue. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to fight over chores, not after the gut punch of hearing Alan had never cared about me at all. So, I stayed where I was, watching as Hunter rinsed the plates and began washing them in the sink. His movements were steady, methodical—like everything else about him.
Except…his hands.
They had the slightest tremor. Barely noticeable, but I saw it when he reached for the sponge, when he gripped the edge of the sink just a little too hard.
He was wound tight and exhausted. It was there in the tightness of his shoulders, in the way his jaw locked like he was barely keeping himself together. Today had taken a toll on him.
“You should get some rest,” I said quietly.
He didn’t look at me, just kept scrubbing the plate in his hand. “I need a few hours to work out.”
I frowned. “Now?”
He nodded, drying the dish and setting it aside. “Yeah.”
It was an avoidance tactic—I knew that much. But I wasn’t sure if it was avoidance from me, or something else entirely.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” I said.
That made him pause, just for a second. Then he shut off the water, drying his hands with slow, careful movements. “I’m fine.”
I crossed my arms. “That’s not an answer.”
He finally turned to face me, something unreadable flickering behind his green eyes. “This is how I deal with it.”
I hesitated. “Deal with what?”
His jaw ticked, like he was debating whether to tell me. Then, with a heavy exhale, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “My PTSD.”
The word hung between us, weighty, final. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but it wasn’t that. I swallowed. “From your time in the military?”
He nodded.
I shifted in my seat. “Was it…one specific thing that caused your PTSD?”
His gaze flicked to mine, something dark swimming there. “A lot of things,” he admitted. “But yeah. One mission, right before I got out. It went bad.”
I waited, giving him space to say more. He didn’t. I didn’t push.
Whatever happened, whatever haunted him, it wasn’t something he was ready to lay out on the table like the dinner plates he’d just cleaned. And maybe I understood that better than I wanted to admit.
“So, working out helps?” I asked instead.
He nodded once. “When I’ve been around people too long, I start getting twitchy. My hands shake. I need to do something physical to work it out.”
I thought of the way his fingers had trembled against the sink. Of how he’d barely looked at me when he’d walked through the door earlier, his whole body humming with unspent tension.
It made sense. It also made me feel helpless. I could barely hold my own emotions together, let alone help with his. And he wasn’t asking me to. But for some reason, I wished I could do something. Anything.
Instead, all I could do was nod. “Okay. You don’t need to entertain me.”
“I know you’ve been here alone all day. And you were alone at the motel for days before that. I’m sure you need some interaction with another person. I’ll be okay.”
Once again, he was willing to sacrifice for me. But this time, I could give back to him . “I promise I’m okay.”
Yes, I would love to have him to talk to. The past days had been difficult. But it could wait.
“Truly. You go take care of yourself however you need too.”
He studied me for a beat longer, then pushed off the counter. “I’ll be back in the workout room.”
I didn’t try to stop him.
The door shut behind him, and the silence that followed was suffocating. I exhaled, slow and unsteady, and sank deeper into my chair.
The weight of the day pressed down on me. Alan’s betrayal. The drug that had stolen my past. The uncertainty of whatever came next.
And Hunter.
I barely knew him, and yet…he was the only solid thing in my life right now. The only person I had.
But he wasn’t mine. That was something I needed to remember.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.