Chapter 21
THE HUNTER
The footage on my laptop screen flickers, the grainy black and white image capturing Aria's curvy form as she slips out of the hotel where I left her into the waiting cab.
I lean back, sipping the steaming coffee the waitress just refilled my mug with, my eyes never leaving the screen. The cab pulls away from the curb in the footage I just hacked into, merging into the early morning traffic.
Left turn at the light.
Heading east.
Toward the airport, just as I suspected.
I can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. Clever girl. She knows better than to book a commercial flight, leaving a clear trail for me to follow. No, she'll go for a charter, something off the books. Harder to trace. And she'll use a fake name.
Which is why I'm sitting at a coffee shop across from the airport, where it'll be easier to hack into the security system and see exactly which terminal she's headed to.
A few minutes later and my suspicions she went the chartered route are confirmed. I watch as she hands the porter her luggage and disappears onto the flight.
She's wearing a disguise—a short wig and understated clothing—but I recognize her all the same. It seems my little fawn has been paying attention to my lessons after all.
The thought strokes my ego. I'm always eager for worthy prey.
And Aria, with her quick mind and defiant spirit, is the most enticing prey I've ever encountered.
I absently trace the rim of my coffee mug, my mind already racing ahead, anticipating her next move.
She'll try to throw me off, no doubt. A false trail, perhaps. Or an unexpected destination.
But she can't hide from me.
Not for long.
This game of cat and mouse… it's only just begun. And I intend to savor every moment of it.
The waitress returns, her smile a little too bright, her gaze lingering a little too long. I barely spare her a glance, my focus entirely consumed by the woman on the screen.
The woman who has somehow managed to captivate me in a way no one else ever has. Running from me, yet tied to me in ways she can't even begin to comprehend.
I close the laptop, the screen going dark. I don't need to see any more. I know where she's going, or I can at least venture a guess. I know what she's thinking. I've gotten inside her head, just as surely as she's gotten under my skin.
I leave a generous tip on the table, more out of habit than any real appreciation for the service. Money means little to me, just another tool to be wielded in this elaborate game.
As I step out into the bustling city street, I breathe in the crisp morning air. The thrill of the hunt sings in my veins, a pulsing, primal beat that drowns out the noise of the waking world.
Let her run.
It will only make the inevitable all the sweeter.
For in the end, my little fawn will learn the truth—that she belongs to me. That she has belonged to me from the very first day. And no matter how far she runs, no matter where she tries to hide...
I will always find her.
I don’t let myself think about what's going to happen at the end of the seventh hunt.
When our little game becomes all too real.
I step off the plane into the sweltering heat of Las Vegas, the sun glaring off the tarmac. The city rises up before me, a shimmering mirage of glass and neon.
It's an obvious choice, almost too obvious for Aria.
I expected more from her, a cleverer play.
But perhaps that's the point. A double bluff, hiding in plain sight amidst the crowds and the chaos.
As I make my way through the airport, my mind is already working, analyzing, anticipating. I hack into the security feeds of the shops lining the concourse, scanning the faces of the travelers.
But there's no sign of her. Not a glimpse of those striking eyes, that heart-shaped face. She's in disguise, and a good one at that. She's learning, adapting. Becoming a worthy adversary in this game of ours.
But it's a game I have no intention of losing.
I exit the airport and slide into the back of a waiting car, the leather cool against my skin. The driver knows better than to ask questions of me, simply nodding as I give him the name of my hotel.
As we merge into the heavy traffic of the Strip, I stare out at the passing throngs of tourists, the flashing billboards and towering hotels. Somewhere in this neon jungle, Aria is hiding. Planning her next move.
But I have moves of my own.
First things first, I set up my mobile HQ. I've paid a small fortune to be able to do what I do from anywhere in the world, and this is no exception. Certainly beats a literal jungle with no reception.
I set up my equipment, the screens casting an eerie glow in the dimness. I infiltrate the city's surveillance network, tapping into cameras on every corner, in every casino.
Hours pass, the sky outside my windows fading from blue to indigo to inky black.
The city comes alive, a pulsing, frenetic energy that I can feel even from my lofty perch. But my focus never wavers, my eyes scanning the screens, searching for any sign of her.
And then… there.
A flicker of movement, a figure slipping through the crowds on the casino floor.
The software pings, highlighting her face. It's her, but not her. A blonde wig, heavy makeup, clothing that's all wrong for her usual style.
But those eyes. I'd know them anywhere. Even through this grainy footage. I've always been perceptive, but this is something different.
It's as if my senses were honed specifically to recognize her.
Like I was made to seek her out.
To find her. To hunt her.
To make her mine.
I lean back in my chair, a slow smile spreading across my face. Clever girl, but not clever enough. She can't hide from me forever. Not even here.
I watch her move through the casino, her steps purposeful, her head held high. She's not just hiding, she's… hunting?
Searching for something, or someone.
Me?
The realization sends a thrill through me, a rush of dark anticipation. Could it be? Has my little fawn finally decided to turn the tables, to become the huntress herself?
The thought is intoxicating, a heady rush that has me rising to my feet, already reaching for my jacket. If it's a hunt she wants, then a hunt she shall have.
I step out into the night, the neon lights of the Strip casting a garish glow over everything they touch.
The air is thick with the mingled scents of perfume, alcohol, and desperation, the sounds of laughter and music spilling out from every doorway. But I'm not here for the distractions.
I'm here for her.
I pull up a map of the area on my phone, cross-referencing the location of the casino with the nearby hotels. There are a few likely candidates, but one in particular catches my eye.
The Bellagio, with its luxury suites and high-end clientele. It's exactly the kind of place Aria would choose now, hiding in plain sight among the wealthy elite.
I hail a cab, sliding into the back seat and giving the driver the address. As we navigate the crowded streets, I lean back, my mind racing ahead. She's up to something, that much is clear.
But what?
What game is she playing?
The anticipation is a living thing inside me, a coiled serpent ready to strike. I've never wanted anyone the way I want her. Never been so consumed by the thrill of the chase.
She's awakened something in me.
The cab drops me off at the Bellagio, and I blend into the crowd, just another face among the many. I take up a position in the shadows, my eyes scanning the entrance, waiting for her to appear.
Minutes tick by, stretching into an hour. And then, there. A flash of blonde hair, the swirl of a long coat. It's her, emerging from the hotel like a ghost slipping free of its haunt.
I move to follow, keeping my distance, letting the crowd shield me from view as I stalk her through the streets.
She moves with purpose, her strides long and confident. I can practically feel the determination radiating off her, the steely resolve. She's taken my guidance to heart, her mannerisms completely different.
She doesn't act like a newcomer here, hiding among strangers. She acts like someone who's lived here her whole life, someone who belongs.
She's not just running this time.
She's on a mission.
We wind through the streets, past the glittering casinos and the drunken revelers. She seems to know where she's going, never hesitating, never looking back. I'm forced to admire her composure, even as the questions burn inside me.
Who are you now, little fawn?
And then, she turns, ducking into a doorway. I pause, my brow furrowing.
A strip club, the neon sign proclaiming "GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS" in lurid pink letters.
Definitely not what I was expecting.
What the hell are you doing, Aria?
I hesitate for only a moment before following her inside, the heavy bass of the music pounding in my ears. The interior is all black lights and velvet, the air thick with the scent of sweat and cheap perfume.
On stage, a girl in a barely-there bikini writhes around a pole, her movements mechanical, her eyes glazed.
But I barely spare her a glance. My attention is focused solely on Aria, watching as she winds her way through the crowd, headed toward the back of the club like she belongs here, too.
Jealousy rises up inside me, hot and irrational.
Is she meeting someone?
Another man?
The thought sends a surge of possessive fury through my veins, my hands curling into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
Aria is mine.
She belongs to me, whether she knows it yet or not. And I'll be damned if I let anyone else lay a finger on her.
I force myself to take a breath, to push down the jealousy and focus on the task at hand. She's here for a reason, and I need to find out what that reason is.
I follow her, staying back, letting the crowd shield me from view. She slips through a door marked "Employees Only," and I curse under my breath when I spot the keycard entry. It's no major obstacle, but it's an obstacle nonetheless. At least for now.
Why does she have a card?
Did she spot me following her?
No… I was too careful.
I order a scotch at the bar, the amber liquid glinting under the pulsing lights. The music throbs, the bass a physical presence in my chest. But I barely notice, my attention trained solely on the door Aria disappeared through.
I take a seat at the end of the bar, positioning myself to have a clear view of both exits. If she tries to slip out, I'll see her. There's no escape, not from me. Not ever.
The scotch burns my throat, a welcome distraction from the jealousy still simmering in my veins. The thought of her with someone else, it's enough to make my vision go red, to awaken the darkest parts of me.
A dancer sidles up to me, all fake tan and bleached hair. She runs a hand down my arm, her nails like claws against my skin.
"Looking for some company, handsome?" she purrs, her voice a cheap imitation of seduction.
I barely spare her a glance, my eyes never leaving the door. "Not interested."
She pouts, but I can see the calculation in her eyes. I'm just another mark to her, another wallet to empty. She doesn't know that she's playing with fire, that I could break her with a flick of my wrist.
"Come on, sugar. I can make it worth your while." Her hand drifts lower, toward my thigh.
I catch her wrist in an iron grip, my fingers digging into her bones. She gasps, her eyes widening in fear.
"I said, not interested." My voice is a low growl, a warning. "Walk away. Now."
She scurries off, clutching her wrist to her chest.
I feel a flicker of satisfaction, but it's short-lived. My mind is already back on Aria, on the game we're playing.
The announcer's voice crackles over the sound system, barely audible over the thumping music. "And now, gentlemen, put your hands together for our newest dancer, the sultry, the sensational... Cinnamon!"
I roll my eyes, taking another sip of my scotch.
Just another girl, another broken doll in this sordid little playground.
But then the crowd parts and she steps out onto the stage and my heart stops dead in my chest.
It's her.
She's wearing a wig, the flowing blonde number from earlier that looks gold against her pale porcelain skin. Her makeup is heavy, her lips painted a deep shade of crimson. But it's her, there's no mistaking those eyes, that body. Those luscious curves highlighted by a dark burgundy lingerie set that I immediately want to tear off with my teeth.
Even in that getup, she’s the most real, purest thing in the room.
I choke on my scotch, the liquid burning my throat as I cough and sputter. The glass slips from my fingers, shattering on the sticky floor. But I barely notice, my eyes glued to the stage, to her.
She moves like a dream, her hips swaying to the music, her hands gliding over her curves. The crowd hoots and hollers, waving crumpled bills in the air. But she doesn't seem to notice them, her gaze distant, focused inward.
What the hell is she doing?
This isn't like her. All I know is that seeing her up there, exposing herself to these leering men… it's enough to make my blood boil.
It's enough to make me forget all about this damn hunt.
I grip the edge of the bar, my knuckles turning white. I want to storm the stage, to throw my jacket over her and carry her out of here, away from all of this. But I can't. Not yet. Not until I know what game she's playing.
So I watch, my jaw clenched, my heart pounding. I watch as she spins around the pole, her movements fluid, graceful. I watch as she sinks to her knees, her head thrown back, her throat bared.
And I watch as she scans the crowd, her eyes searching, seeking. For a moment, just a moment, her gaze meets mine.
And in that instant, I see it.
The challenge. The defiance.
I know exactly what game she's playing now.
It's called Drive Lucian Absolutely Bat Fucking Shit Insane.
And she's winning.
Those red lips curve into a smirk that says a thousand words with none as she slides her back down the pole and beckons me with her gaze like we’re the only ones in the room.
She knows I'm here. Knows I'm watching.
That’s why she came here, I realize. She knew I would find her, and she knows I’m ready to march up onto that stage, throw her over my shoulder and carry her out of this den of iniquity, the Hunt be damned.
And suddenly, another realization washes over me.
This isn't a game anymore.
This is a declaration of war.
My little fawn has grown claws, and she's ready to use them.
God help me. I've never wanted her more.