Mutual Obsession (Nine Tenths of the Law #2)

Chapter Hunter

Hunter

There’s a finger in the flowers.

That’s… new.

All the years that Xavier has been sending a bouquet to me every week, this is the first time there’s been a severed digit. It’s not his; I can tell that much.

I shouldn’t be relieved about that.

My daughter’s humming, as she swings her legs and eats her breakfast, reminds me that I’m not alone.

Quickly putting the lid back on the box—should I be grateful they packaged it?

—I shove it back into the base of the elaborate flowers.

I’ll have to investigate the finger further.

There has to be some kind of reason behind it.

The flowers will go in Olivia’s room, where they always go.

She knows they’re from her father, and she diligently waters them every day until the next set comes along.

I wonder what Xavier would think, knowing what happens to his gift.

He’s never met her; I doubt he thinks of her at all.

“I hate rock melon,” Olivia decides abruptly after eating almost her entire bowl, which included a good portion of the fruit in question.

“Do you?” It took her that long to decide?

“Hate it. Hate it. Hate it!” She grimaces and pushes her bowl away. Sneaks another piece of the fruit and then drops the fork into the bowl with a clang.

“Hate is a strong word. Are you sure you want to waste it on fruit?”

“It’s poser watermelon.”

I almost spit out my own fruit. That’s a new one. “Where did you hear that word?”

“Nowhere.”

I highly doubt that. Nothing she’s read lately, nor movies, has that word. And Jericho doesn’t use it. It has to have come from somewhere. School, probably. “Vee.”

“Peyton said it yesterday, and he told me what it means.”

I hesitate to ask in what context my brother’s boyfriend—one of four—used the word.

“You told me yesterday”—though admittedly, before Peyton watched her for an hour while Jericho and I were busy with work—“that you were over watermelon and threatened to stand on it in the supermarket. With your shoes off.”

She giggles and drags the bowl back, eating another piece. “It gets in your toes.”

And it gets you kicked out of the store. I’m lucky she was still wearing her shoes by the time we left. And that she didn’t leave her backpack in some random aisle because she was sick of carting it around. That’s happened more often than I’d like to admit.

“If you’re done eating, go get your bag and your reader. And find your shoes.”

“I want to play Captain Toad.”

“If you do what I ask, maybe you can play for half an hour after school.” She knows better than to think I’d let her play video games before school. I’d never get her out the door.

She squints suspiciously at me. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

She holds out her little finger, not trusting me in the least unless we seal the pact in the age-old ritual. Once she’s satisfied, she carefully scrapes the rest of her fruit into my bowl and then puts hers in the sink. She must really want to play Captain Toad.

I’m almost done rinsing the breakfast dishes when my older brother, Jericho, waltzes through the back door. I’m still getting used to not having him in the house, not having him here all the time.

“I’m here, I’m not late,” he says in a rush, slamming the door closed behind him.

“Did you think you were going to be?” I ask, amused. I know exactly why he thinks he may have been late. He and his men have trouble keeping their hands off each other. I’m surprised any of them make it to work on time.

“No. Shut up.” He sneers at the flowers. “Want me to take them out back and burn them?”

“Olivia wouldn’t appreciate that.”

“She’s never even met him; I don’t know why she’d care.”

“She likes the flowers.” And it’s the only connection I have left to a man I can’t seem to find a way to leave behind. I like that in our own way, she has a piece of him too.

“She does, or you do?” He flicks one of the large green leaves and then spots the box. “What the fuck is that? He adding gifts now?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Can it be considered a gift?

Jericho gives me a what? look and then plucks it out. He stares silently for a long moment at the finger. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and he carefully puts the lid back on, placing it with deliberate movements back on the counter. Then he heads for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To kill him.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?” Besides, he wouldn’t get close enough to do any real damage. Xavier is surrounded by people who shoot first and ask questions later. Not to mention his shadow, whose hands are stained with more blood than any of us really want to know.

“Are you fucking serious? He sent you a finger, Hunter! Where did he even get it?”

“It’s not his,” is all I can think of to say to that. Am I so used to who Xavier is that this doesn’t even register on the scale of things to worry about? We deal with worse in our line of work.

“I didn’t ask if—how do you—no, don’t answer that. It’s not the point. He cut a finger off someone and sent it to you. I don’t even have words for how messed up that is.”

I frown at the box. He’s not wrong. This does seem severe, even for Xavier. I can’t even begin to fathom what he was thinking when he chose the gift. Did he cut the finger off himself or have someone else do it?

Does it matter?

“Let’s try diplomacy before we resort to murder.” Especially when I’m not sure whose murder the action would result in. Would Xavier care that Jericho is family? I wish I could answer that, but I lost my trust in the man a long time ago.

Jericho laughs without mirth. “Diplomacy? With him? You can’t be that delusional.”

“He can be reasonable.” When he feels like it. The finger seems particularly unreasonable, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. He’s the head of a company whose slogan should be “unreasonable and dangerous.” Among other less savoury things.

“I doubt he’s been reasonable a day in his life. I’m serious, Hunter, this ends now. He’s done tormenting you.”

I’m not sure that tormenting is the right word. I don’t believe he’s ever done anything with the intent to cause more damage, though I can’t be sure of that. A finger certainly sends a kind of message.

“Let me speak to him first before you do anything drastic.”

“No fucking way. I’m not letting him within a hundred feet of you.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” I say firmly. Xavier is my burden and my responsibility. The message was for me, and I’ll be the one to answer it.

“He almost killed you,” Jericho hisses furiously, jabbing a finger at me. “And then he broke you. And then he helped a psycho kidnap and torture my boyfriend. He doesn’t get a free pass to you, fucking ever. And once he’s in Hell, he won’t be able to get anywhere near you.”

“He didn’t know.”

“Making excuses for him, now?”

“Yes.” I can’t lie, and say that I’m not, or that I won’t continue to do it.

I want to believe that he’s an irredeemable monster, but I know I never will.

Not deep down. There’s still something under there, something I fell in love with even if it was a lie.

Not enough for there to ever be a chance to reclaim the past, but enough that I’ll never be able to walk away, not completely.

It’s also the truth, in this particular case. Xavier didn’t know about the connection, and once he did, he fixed it. Jericho can’t deny any of that.

“Don’t let him do this to you. Not again.”

With a heavy sigh, I rub my forehead. “I will handle this.”

My beautiful daughter saves me from continuing the conversation by bouncing into the room like a herd of elephants. “I can’t find my reader.”

“You can find it after school.”

“What if I need it today?”

“Then you should have put it somewhere you could find it,” I tell her. “I’m sure you’ll work it out. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Brushed your teeth?” Jericho asks.

She grins at him, showing off her teeth as if that’s an answer. I’ll take her word for it today. “Are you and Will still taking me to the park today? Do I need extra snacks?”

“I’m sure he’ll have enough for you to share.” William, one of Jericho’s boyfriends, is incredibly tall and enjoys his food. He and Olivia have bonded over their love of all things sugar filled.

Her face scrunches up, like she’s thinking about it, unsure whether to believe me.

“Time to go, kiddo, before we’re late,” Jericho says. “Your teacher already hates me for wearing a hat during your last teacher-parent interview.”

“I believe she took more fault with what your hat said than the fact you were wearing a hat. And that was last year's teacher. Mr. Snow likes you fine.” Considering the heat of the day, he wasn’t the only one wearing a hat. Just the only one with an inappropriate message on it.

“It didn’t spell the whole word. And she's still there, glaring at me every time I walk through the gates.”

“It was implied enough that it didn't need to say the whole word.”

“Definitely time to go,” Jericho declares loudly. He opens the back door to let Olivia bounce through and then points a finger at me. “One chance to sort it out. And then I’m coming for him. I’ll spread pieces of him across Sydney as a message.”

“Noted.”

“Pieces of who?” Olivia asks, popping her head back inside. “What pieces?” Jericho herds her out the door and closes it behind himself before I can hear the response. Probably for the best.

Except now I have no excuse but to get ready and face my demons. Almost quite literally.

XAVIER OWNS THE ENTIRE thirty storey building where his company is housed.

Not every level is dedicated to them: there are two floors of restaurants, a law firm that I’m confident is owned by Xavier despite him having lawyers directly on his payroll, and a department store taking up at least three of them.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been here, though not so long that anything has changed. Not even the way my heart is rapidly beating in anticipation of seeing him again. That’s uncomfortably familiar as well.

There’s no easy way to get to the penthouse where Xavier’s office is located, not even for employees. And I’m definitely not one of those. No fancy elevator passes here. I doubt anyone but Xavier and his shadow have personal access to the floor.

“I’m here to see Xavier Alicent.”

The man seated at the reception desk looks like he fits right into this world of glamour and sophistication. A suit pressed to perfection, styled hair, and that haughty look. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” After his gift today, Xavier has to know that I’m coming. It’s the only reason I can think of why he did it in the first place.

“You think anyone can just waltz up and talk to the boss whenever they feel like it?”

I understand security and the risks involved in Xavier’s position. More than I imagine this man in front of me does. “If you could tell him that Hunter is here, I’m sure he’ll want to see me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.”

He doesn’t believe me. I can’t really blame him. I do, however, need to see Xavier, and since I don’t have a direct line to him—I’ve tried my hardest, for a long time, to avoid the temptation of having his name and number in my phone—this is my only avenue to see him.

“Hunter.”

I turn to see a man I haven’t laid eyes on in almost a decade.

He hasn’t changed at all, and if someone told me he was a vampire, destined to never age, I’d believe them.

Midnight-black hair that hangs to his shoulders, with the top half up in a ponytail.

Dark-brown eyes, easily mistaken for black, and lips that would put Snow White to shame.

He’s wearing a sleek black suit—I’ve never seen him in anything else, and I wonder if he was born wearing it, and it just grew with him—with a bulge at his hip, where he’s not even trying to hide the fact he’s carrying.

Unlike my own, which is carefully concealed.

Xavier’s shadow, there before even I knew him.

“Miles.”

The receptionist is staring at the man like he’s a ghost. I doubt Miles personally escorts people into the building every day.

I don’t want that to please me. That Xavier sent this man. Because it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t. It doesn’t.

“Appreciate your help,” I throw over my shoulder before following Miles towards the bank of elevators.

“Are you armed?” Miles asks, placing a card over a reader and waiting for the light to turn green before lifting it.

“No.” I’m lying, and we both know it. I’m not stupid enough to come here without protection, however.

The doors slide open with a ding. “Get in and put your hands on the wall.”

“Going to check?” I ask mildly, doing as he asks. I’m too far into the building now. Even if Miles threw me into the small space, no one would do a thing to help me.

He doesn’t push a floor, but he does at least wait until the doors are closed, and we’re trapped in there, before he puts his hands on me. Arms first, then my shoulders, his touch abrupt and professional. The first thing he finds is my concealed weapon, snug on the inside of my pants.

Looking over my shoulder, our eyes meet.

No expression on his face. Without hesitation, and without looking away, he pulls the gun out.

He releases the magazine and empties the chamber before putting it back with a distinct click.

He pockets both and continues his search, sliding his palms between my legs, palm skimming my dick.

He moves down my inner things, around to my ass, and then crouches so he can reach my ankles.

His fingers sneak under the hem of my pant leg, tracing around the blade strapped to my ankle.

He unhooks it and brings it with him as he stands.

It goes into his pocket as well. Is he going to add it to what I’m sure is an already-extensive collection?

“Anything else?” he asks, gaze boring into me.

“Not anywhere you want to go,” I say sarcastically. Not even a twitch. Tough crowd.

Miles presses the top floor and then sets himself up in front of the doors, blocking me—and anyone from getting into the elevator without his permission. He spreads his legs, locking fingers around his wrists. An illusion of relaxed, but I know he’s anything but. A lethal weapon.

“You knew I was coming.”

“We knew you were here the moment you stepped into the building,” he says quietly.

A nonanswer, though I’m surprised he answered at all. “He could have just sent me a note.”

Miles tenses imperceptibly and even glances back at me, a look of concentration on his face. Doesn’t acknowledge the statement otherwise, of course.

I shove a hand into my pocket to suppress my urge to tap my fingers against my thigh. Seeing Xavier shouldn’t make me nervous. Not anymore. Not now. Admitting that he does means admitting he still matters.

My gut clenches as the doors slide open, and Miles steps out, half turning towards me. “This way.”

Into the belly of the beast.