Chapter Xavier
Xavier
The knock at the door is a welcome interruption.
Holding a finger up to stop the man on the screen from speaking, I call out, “Enter.” I don’t care if he’s the head of a multi-million-dollar company that we’re in negotiations with.
Miles would never interrupt unless it was important.
And my secretary has been trained far too well, and they know if they’re the one knocking, they’re already fired.
Miles enters, closing the door behind himself and standing in front of it.
Legs apart, fingers wrapped around the opposite wrist, resting them against his front.
The perfect soldier. The perfect weapon.
My weapon. If I asked him to open the window and jump out, he would do it.
I’ve never met anyone as exquisitely obedient as him. Unwavering loyalty. Love.
“Hunter just entered the building,” Miles says quietly. I’ve never heard him raise his voice, not in all the years I’ve known him. He doesn’t need to; he gets his point across just fine with his actions.
Did he now? It’s been a long time since he’s come to me of his own volition. Years, in fact. “Retrieve him for me.”
Miles inclines his head and disappears.
“Something important has come up. My secretary will reschedule with you.” I don’t wait for an answer, immediately removing myself from the meeting. They may be powerful, but I hold more power than they could ever hope for. If they don’t come crawling back on their own, I’ll make sure they do.
It takes only a few seconds to get into the live footage of the elevator that reaches this floor.
Watching Miles frisk Hunter is more than entertaining.
He’s very thorough, with cold efficiency I appreciate.
I know when I send him to do a job, it gets done.
There isn’t another person in the world I would put that absolute trust in.
Not even my husband. Hunter has too much animosity, and he’s unpredictable. A dangerous firearm without a safety. He hates me just as much as he loves me, and it’s delicious. I’ve learned to embrace it because once upon a time I had no other choice.
Leaning back in my chair, I lace my fingers together and wait.
Miles turns his head at something that Hunter says, and I regret not turning the sound on.
What did he say that gave him that look?
What is he doing here? I highly doubt it’s because he wants me to bend him over this desk.
Though I wouldn’t be opposed to that. I’ll never say no to Hunter, not in anything.
The second he enters the room, my pants get tight, my entire body sitting up and taking notice.
He looks good. Better than good. I can smell him from here, that sweet cologne he likes.
A creature of habit. I want to run my hands through his perfectly styled brown hair and wrinkle his suit. Muss him up more than a little bit.
Without exchanging pleasantries, Hunter sweeps across the floor and drops a small box on my desk. “This is yours.”
I glance over to where Miles has closed the door and is standing in front of it. Stopping Hunter from leaving without permission and preventing anyone from entering. Guarding.
“For me?” I open the box curiously. He came all this way to give me a gift? There has to be more to it than that.
It’s a finger. Based on the colouring, and the lingering unpleasant smell, I’d say it has to have been removed from its owner at least a few days ago.
My brows draw together, and the corner of my mouth twitches. “Why, Hunter, you shouldn’t have.” It’s inspired, to say the least.
“I didn’t,” Hunter replies flatly. “I’m returning it to you.”
Odd choice of word. “Returning it to me?” I hold up my hands and wriggle my fingers. “I’m not missing any. You could have just brought chocolates; you know what I like.”
“It’s from you. I found them in my flowers today.”
That makes me sit up, heart skipping a beat. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t try that innocent act on me, Xavier. I know it too well.”
Ignoring the barb, I put the lid back on the box and lift it. Miles is there in an instant, taking it from me. “Find out who this belongs to. Today.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hunter scoffs. “You can’t actually expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with this!” he sputters. “It was in the flowers you sent me.”
I don’t like any of that. Someone knew the pattern well enough to know when to slip it in. Watching Hunter’s house or the florist? It could be a coincidence, but I rarely find that to be the case in any situation.
“Who else knows that I deliver flowers to you each week?”
“Besides you and your shadow?” Hunter asks dryly.
“Yes, besides us.” I stand and button the middle section of my jacket. “Who else, Hunter?” He’s not leaving until I get the answers that I want from him. Someone left him this unpleasant present, and I’m going to find out who and leave them out for the crows to feast on.
Hunter hesitates, like he’s trying to work out whether I’m lying or not. A look I’m familiar with. One I deserve.
“Jericho,” he says eventually. “And if you try to tell me you think he has anything to do with this, let me stop you right there.”
“I don’t waste my time on dead ends.” Jericho would never harm his brother, and he wouldn’t play this kind of trick on him. If there was ever a person that would remove me from this earth, it would be him. I could almost admire him. Almost.
“You think it was done maliciously.”
“Do people usually send dismembered body parts as declarations of love?”
“Probably depends on the person,” Hunter says, raising a pointed eyebrow at me.
Ah. He originally thought I did, so I suppose it can’t be too far from the truth. “I’d never be so tacky. I’d send you the beating heart, my dear.”
“Beneath the floorboards?” Hunter quips.
“If I were so inclined.” I do like my theatrics. I can admit, however, that sending pieces of a person, while inspired, isn’t my doing. There’s a symbolism to it, I’m sure. What that is eludes me. For now. “You have no clue as to who it may have been?”
“I assumed it was you,” Hunter says, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t have a long line of enemies the way you do.”
I find that difficult to believe, given what he does. Though he’s quite good at remaining in the shadows. My job leans less towards being unseen and more towards intimidation and fear. If retribution of violence is worse than the reward, they’re less inclined to try anything.
“Someone is sending you a message, Hunter.” I circle the desk and invade his space. His smell is stronger now, and I want to bury my face in his neck and inhale deeply. “I don’t like the message.”
“You think I do?”
The breathlessness to his tone only feeds me. How easily I affect him. How easily he affects me. “I’ll find out who, and I’ll ensure they never send you another.”
“That’s not your concern.”
“You made it my concern the moment you came to me.” A white lie. They sent it to Hunter, and that automatically makes it my concern, regardless. I would have found out, one way or another, and we’d have ended up in this very same place.
“I didn’t come to you,” Hunter says in a deep growl. “I thought it was yours, and I was returning it.”
Did he think I’d cut off my own finger? I’d like to think he’s concerned about me, but I highly doubt that. “Is that all?”
“I have zero reasons beyond that for wanting to see you.”
I don’t see him nearly as much as I’d like to.
Despite his words, I know he’s lying. I can see it in his eyes.
He keeps his distance and pushes back if I force proximity too often, but he wants it just as much as I do.
Being somewhat complicit in the kidnapping of his brother’s boyfriend didn’t exactly earn me any points.
An error I corrected as soon as I knew—even doing it the way they wanted me to instead of spilling blood the way I wished to—but the damage was already done.
Another mark against my name, one of many. All earned.
The feel of his stubble against my palm when I cup his cheek is like electricity crackling against my skin. A luxury to indulge in whenever I get the chance.
He doesn’t turn from me, so I push my luck as I always do. Hunter is a worthy reward. I brush my lips over his, a bare whisper. “Why did you really come here, Hunter?” He trembles under my touch, and his tongue flicks over my lips when he licks his own.
“I told you—”
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper. He avoids me until he can’t anymore. He’s as addicted to me as I am to him. A thread of obsession that will never let go of either of us. I don’t want it to.
“That sounds like it’s your problem. I’m telling the truth. Something you aren’t overly familiar with.”
Words hurt, and I deserve a kiss for that. He lets out a small sound when I take it, immediately opening to me. No resistance whatsoever. He never does, not once we get here. This close, there are no defences.
He sways towards me, and my mouth hovers over his.
So close that I can feel his breath and the warmth of his lips.
He makes it hard for me to breathe or think.
Spins me up, the same way he always has.
I want to drag this out, tease him, make him beg for me.
But it’s been too long, and I can’t be this close to him and not need to be closer.
I want to taste him more than I want to play games.
I jerk him forward, slamming our lips together with the same urgency that has me throbbing. He goes pliant without fighting me. In this, he never does. It only makes me ache for him more.
His mouth opens, and he lets me in without hesitation, making a small noise in the back of his throat. He’s just as hungry as I am. It’s still not enough. I need more. I need—tugging his shirt up, my fingers meet warm skin. He moans and presses closer, fingers gliding through my hair.