Chapter 3 Hunter - Three Years Ago
Three Years Ago
“Don’t go all rogue in there. Your job is to watch, collect information, and get the hell out. This isn’t hero hour, and if you do something stupid to fuck up my investigation, I’ll make sure you never make detective. You’ll have a point of contact. They’ll find you. Don’t let me down, Remington.”
Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I disconnect the call, the fear of failure pressing down like lead on my shoulders.
But I was born for this—the thrill of the chase, the hunt.
It’s why I’ve advanced through the program so quickly.
Narcotics doesn’t even have room for me, but this is what I’ve been working toward since the day I joined the Metro Police Department.
Hard work and determination, Hunter. No fucking distractions. Just hard work and determination.
I pull at my collar and shove my phone into the pocket of my jeans.
It’s early evening, the sun just starting to dip behind the skyscrapers of the Manhattan skyline.
The strip club isn’t bustling yet, so I grab a gyro from a halal cart two blocks over and bide my time.
The scent of spiced lamb hangs in the warm summer air, trailing behind me as I head toward my destination.
This wasn’t supposed to be a one-man job, but the douche they paired me with has failed every chance he’s had at making detective. A few well-placed words were all it took to convince my sergeant I could handle it alone—with only my contact on the inside, whoever that may be.
I double-check that my fake ID is in the right place in my wallet and that my badge is hidden from sight.
I had to shave my beard for this assignment, my baby face aging me down to early twenties when it’s not hidden beneath week-old stubble.
It’s not going to do me any favors with the ladies, but I’m a scrawny shit with glasses and a love of smooth jazz—it’s not like I’m getting anywhere with them anyway.
Which is exactly why I blend in. No one notices the skinny guy in the corner. Eyes are always on the muscled men who look like they might pose a threat.
Case in point—the bouncer barely glances at my card or me when I hand it over, despite my half-hearted comment that I’ve heard the chicken wings are the best in the city. Just trying to make polite conversation. No one actually comes to a strip club for the food.
The main room is dark—deep-colored walls and black tiled floors.
Neon lights in shades of pink, purple, and blue serve as the only illumination.
It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust as I make my way to the bar, order a whiskey, and brace my arms on the glossy black marble countertop while I scan the room.
Rows of liquor glow magenta from backlighting, framed by neon signs shaped like martini glasses and bubbles.
Mini stages dot the main floor, the bases lit from below, surrounded by leather booths and black lacquer chairs.
Four women work their poles, costumes already half shed as groups of men throw crumpled bills.
A few guys loiter at the buffet near the bathrooms—guess some people do come for the food.
It’s fucking disgusting that the wings are next to the shitter, but I can’t imagine the kitchen here is much cleaner.
Nothing stands out as suspicious. No shrouded booths tucked away in shadows. No sharp eyes following me as I venture farther in. The bouncers inside stand like sentinels against the walls, arms crossed, watching the dancers with glazed-over eyes.
A woman approaches with an extra swing in her hips, her makeup thick enough to look like a mask while her tits threaten to burst from the red lace of her bra. “How about a dance, handsome?”
“Maybe later. I’m here for the show.” I point to the main stage, where someone’s adjusting the lights.
She shrugs and slinks off, leaving a cloud of powdery fragrance in her wake. She finds a new target quickly—the club’s filling up, the air growing heavier with the stench of sweat and desperation.
I claim a table alone. Risky, isolating myself, but it’ll make it easier for my contact to find me. The place is getting crowded enough that I doubt I’ll sit alone for long.
Lights flicker on beneath my table, bathing the booth in a lavender glow. A few men turn their heads, gazes catching on something—someone—behind me.
I almost glance over my shoulder. Almost.
Then I feel her.
The air shifts, sharp and electric. The hairs on my arms rise.
She rounds the booth with the kind of presence that pulls gravity with it.
Golden skin gleams in the phosphorescent lights, revealed in slivers between a two-piece leather set.
Her breasts threaten to spill from the tiny top, while the brief-style shorts barely contain the curve of her ass.
Understated makeup compared to the others, but her face is lethal—hazel eyes framed by thick lashes, pouty lips painted in a dark crimson, and high cheekbones that pop as she smiles at me.
She is the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen.
Swinging onto the platform before me, she balances her petite, hourglass frame on heels at least six inches high.
A crowd starts to gather on the other side of the table as she sways around the pole, seductively whipping her long neon-blue wig and rolling her hips against the brass in perfect rhythm.
Money rains at her feet, but for all the men watching, her gaze rarely strays from mine.
It momentarily blinds me. Distracts me from why I’m here—even if it helps my cover.
Her attention makes me feel special as I settle back against the booth, sip my whiskey, and pull out a wad of cash.
A delicate brow arches as her mossy gaze dips to the money, a slow, seductive smirk curling her lips.
I can’t sit here and not throw money if I’m going to occupy her table. One performance won’t hurt. Though it doesn’t escape me that she’s not stripping like the others.
Surely they wouldn’t have my contact be a stripper.
She spins around the pole a few more times, flips upside down, her toned thighs and core suspending her in midair with sheer strength. As beautiful as she is, though, the fact that she isn’t removing her clothes causes the men watching to lose interest and move on toward the topless dancers.
When it’s just me, she sensually slides to her knees at the table’s edge, crooking her finger. Like she’s looped an invisible leash around my neck, I move forward, feeling like I’ve stepped off a cliff to freefall to my death.
Beauty like hers is deadly to men like me.
Up close, she’s even more devastating. Freckles dust her nose and cheeks, gold flecks flash in her hazel eyes. Maybe it’s the lights. But something tells me if I see this goddess outside this club, she’ll be the only divine thing I ever worship.
She lowers her mouth to my ear. “I heard a hunter is looking for a rabbit to snare.”
Well fuck me. She is one of ours.
The odds of seeing her again just multiplied by a fuck ton and the anticipation of those meetings has me high as a kite.
“The devil is looking for a new demon,” I whisper back, finishing the code phrase.
The smile she beams when she pulls back is exquisite. “How about a dance, handsome?”
If it were anyone else, I’d numb myself to it. Let the intimacy wash over me without meaning. But when she slides off the platform and into my lap, everything in me goes taut and alive.
I start to lift my hands to her thighs when she shakes her head. “Nuh-uh. No touching.”
But holy fuck does she touch me.
She moves slow, deliberate. Rolling her hips in a figure eight before grinding against my cock, which is fucking steel. Heat blooms low in my gut. My fingers stay welded to my thighs.
Standing, she turns and sinks her ass against my crotch, pressing her back to my chest as she keeps moving.
Her arms loop behind her neck to pull my head down so she can whisper, “When we’re done, go to the bathroom.
The hall is dark, but there’s a door at the end that’s painted black, so it’s harder to see. Make sure no one’s watching.”
I grit my teeth, trying to absorb her words while her scent—raspberry and jasmine, with a smoky vanilla undertone—takes over my senses, and it’s all I can do not to blow my load like a teenager.
Her mouth brushes my neck. “It’s okay. It’s natural. Don’t worry about offending me. I’m flattered. And you’re easy on the eyes, which helps.”
A whoosh of air drains my lungs as she resumes her dance. “Take the stairs down the hall. A guy will tell you you’re lost. Ignore him. Say you’re looking for Gus. If he asks who sent you, tell him Larry—and that you wanna hit the jackpot. The rest is easy. Buy the shit and get out of here.”
My nails bite into my thighs—not just from restraint, but from the thought of what’s coming. There’s always the risk they’ll make me take a hit to prove I’m not a cop. But the last thing they want is doped-up guys harassing their girls.
As if reading my mind, she glances back, smirking. “Don’t worry. They won’t ask. They’re too stupid for that.”
She rolls her hips again, and this time I don’t stifle the groan. “Okay, now you’re just being mean.”
She laughs low and leans over me. “I have to make it look real.”
Sweat beads at my hairline. Fuck, I want to touch her. Grab her hips and drag her heat over me until she breaks.
“Meet me afterward.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
She freezes, then arches a brow. “Oh, honey. If you cave that fast, you’ll never make it.”
“There’s no way in hell I’d let any other woman get this close tonight.” I straighten, careful not to touch her, but it brings our faces closer as she lowers herself until our groins press together again. “Meet me later.” I nearly beg, the pleading tone causing her to blink.
“Why?” Her sexy lilt is genuinely filled with confusion as she cocks her head.
I lean closer, noses brushing. “Because I need to touch you. I need to know what your skin feels like under my fingertips.” My mouth skims her cheek, nudging her wig back so I can whisper, “And if you let me, I’d like to worship you on my knees.”
She takes a sharp breath and scrambles off my lap. We stare at each other as something silent passes between us. It was a bold request, though by the way her chest heaves, and her thighs press together, I don’t think I was completely off in thinking there’s chemistry between us.
This is the most alive I’ve felt in a long time, and that’s saying something, all things considered.
One moment, she looks like she’s considering it. The next, she grabs the discarded cash next to me and walks away without another word. I watch as she’s swallowed by the crowd. I don’t care about the money.
It’s the best three hundred bucks I’ve ever spent.
My only regret is that I didn’t get her name.
“Go home, Remington. You did good today. You can handle the rest of the paperwork tomorrow.” Sergeant Kressler’s deep baritone booms at my side.
My eyes never leave my computer as my fingers fly. “Thanks, Serge. I’m almost done. I’ll make sure it gets finished tonight.”
He claps my shoulder. “That’s my boy. See ya Monday, kid.”
It takes longer to finish the report than it should. My thoughts keep straying to the woman at the club. My body coming alive to the memory of her writhing over me, thinking about all the ways I’d like to take her under me.
Another hour passes before I’m able to print it out. By now, the lights in the office are low. Only a few guys sit at their desks. It’s that odd hour between the day and night shift where the whole place is eerie like a graveyard.
Turning to grab the papers from the printer, I whirl back around when a loud thud sounds behind me. Sitting square in the middle of the worn-down pedestal desk is a rolled stack of money. And when I look up, the hazel eyes I haven’t been able to forget are staring back.
“You know, I honestly thought about keeping it. But I decided you suffered enough through the dance.” Her voice is pure sex without the music muffling it.
I flash her my best smile, sitting back in my chair. “I’d hardly say I suffered.” I offer my hand. “Hunter Remington.”
“Bunny Jones.” She smiles and shakes it, a silky sheet of raven hair spilling over her shoulder as she leans in. She’s dressed in black from leggings to a leather jacket hanging off one bare shoulder over a crop top. “I get it now. The hunter is looking for a rabbit…”
“And did this particular rabbit get caught in the snare?” I take off my glasses and set them between us. I’m not a moron, I know I have no game. But considering the woman of my dreams sought me out even though she had no reason to, I have a little hope.
Bunny arches a brow and props a hip on my desk, leaning forward as her voice lilts, “This little rabbit never gets caught.” She winks and hops down, spinning on her stilettos—not the stripper ones—and saunters off. “See ya.”
I blink, releasing a laugh that follows after her. “Wait, that’s it?”
She stops and half turns with her hands on her hips, face lit up with amusement. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’”
My mouth hangs open while I search for something to say. I scrub a hand through my hair before putting my glasses back on to see her better. “I thought… that maybe…”
Bunny cocks her head, eyeing the other men in the room.
No one wants to be caught checking her out, their heads snapping back to their paperwork.
She sashays back, climbing on top of my desk as easily as she hauled herself onto the stripper platform earlier.
I freeze, caught off guard as she presses into my space and balances on her knees.
“What? Did you think I’d let you take me home and eat my pussy when I have absolutely no idea who you are? What type of woman do you think I am, Hunter?” Her question drips with honeyed sex, and the crudeness of her words has my cock springing to life behind my zipper.
Bunny is bold.
It makes me want to be, too.
I plant my palms on either side of her, rising slowly. She leans back as I hover over her, our lips a breath apart. “One who likes a man who can never get enough to eat.”
I dip my head to kiss her. I don’t give a fuck that there are coworkers who will no doubt be talking about this tomorrow. I don’t even care if it gets back to my sergeant.
After all, I’m networking.
Bunny giggles and slips away. “In your dreams, handsome.”
Then, quicker than I can comprehend, she spins and lowers herself with graceful fluidity, walking away without so much as another word.
This time I let her go, watching her swing her hips purposefully until she’s through the door and out of sight.
“Bunny…” I murmur her name like it’s a goddamn prayer. “Oh, Little Rabbit. Game on.”