Chapter 23
Silky smooth sax notes blare as Hunter opens the door to one of his favorite jazz clubs. Ushering me in, he slides his hand from the small of my back around my waist to rest on my stomach as he introduces me to an elderly man named Sammy.
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, young lady.
Hunter’s never brought a woman in before, you must be pretty special,” Sammy croons with a wink.
His powder-white hair is gelled in a combover, and his thick, wiry mustache is peppered with gray.
Cigar smoke and the scent of bourbon cling to him like a second skin, but he has a warm smile and an obvious fondness for Hunter, which makes me like him immediately.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” I shake his hand, and Sammy lifts my knuckles to his lips with another wink.
“If he gives you any trouble, you let me know and I’ll take care of him.”
Genuine laughter bubbles from my throat as Hunter waves him off and steers me away. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t ya? If you’re not careful, she’ll leave me for you and then you’ll be on my shit list.”
Sammy’s full-bodied chuckles bellow after us as Hunter winds through a sea of small, black-lacquered tables in front of a stage where a band plays a slow jazz number.
Pleated red silk drapes adorn the walls, with golden embellishments and antique frames of famous singers and jazz players—signatures and all—giving the club a timeless, prestigious vibe.
You wouldn’t know it just by looking at him, but I can see why Hunter loves this place. It’s undoubtedly him. He’s all cool charm and suave smiles as he shakes hands with multiple people, introducing me as his girlfriend as we move to our booth along the back wall.
Several men and women break into knowing smiles as soon as he says my name.
It makes me nervous and exalted, all at once.
Clearly, he talks about me here, and now that we’ve sort of slapped a label on what we are—still having a hard time with that one—they’re treating him like he’s come back from a treasure hunt with a chest full of gold.
They’re happy for him—for us. My moods may swing on a dime, but there’s no room here for anything other than delightfully happy and perfectly content.
“I told you I’d get you here one day.” His lips ghost the shell of my ear before pressing a kiss to my temple as he helps me up into the booth, which is situated on a platform nearly a foot higher than the main floor. Even in my favorite pair of Louboutins, it’s quite a step up.
“What on earth kind of design is this?”
Hunter lets out an excited laugh, and I swear if he’d worn his glasses tonight, he’d be pushing them up the bridge of his nose right now.
“It’s actually a neat concept. When they built the club it was just open space, and over time, they added the tables.
Years later, when they started doing dinner, they realized people along the back couldn’t see much through the crowd up front.
So they added the platform so the dinner patrons could enjoy the show, too. ”
Pure joy lights his face as he gestures, reminding me a little of when we first met and were just getting to know each other.
“I suppose that makes sense.” Picking up my menu, I browse the selections, noticing Hunter isn’t bothering to look at his. “Already know what you want?”
“I get the same thing every time. The roasted chicken is the best in the city. The chef uses a balsamic glaze that is to die for.” Hunter watches the stage like a kid seeing theme-park characters for the first time.
“Interesting. Perhaps Pepper and I should discuss your preferences regarding her species when we get home. As for my dinner, I think I’ll get the pork chop,” I razz with a playful lilt.
His whiskey gaze swings my way, full of devilish heat. “When we get home, huh?”
Warmth bleeds into my cheeks. “I was expecting to stay at your place tonight. I didn’t even think when I said it.”
“Don’t apologize, Little Rabbit. I love that you’re carrying my child and now calling my place home. I feel like I’ve won the lottery.” He flashes the sexy grin that always wrecks me, and I have to press my thighs together to relieve some of the mounting tension.
Would it be wrong to ask for another bathroom trip?
Maybe that can be our thing—bathroom sex.
That’s gonna be a great story to tell the baby.
“Hey kid, you were created in a bathroom at a bar and unfortunately had a front-row seat to your parents desecrating more of them during your stay in your mom’s belly. ”
At nearly sixteen weeks now, I’m horny as hell and Hunter is more than happy to oblige. I’m about to suggest it when a pretty red-headed waitress sashays up with bedroom eyes aimed squarely at my man.
“Hey, Hunt. Long time, no see. How’ve you been, handsome?” She flashes me the briefest smile before angling her body toward him, and a hot surge of anger zips down my esophagus like a cannonball into a pool of lava.
My insides go molten as she brushes a hand down his arm, cooling only slightly when he shifts deeper into his seat to create distance between them. Reaching across the table for my hand, he smooths his thumb over my knuckles as he introduces us.
“Sophie, this is my girlfriend, Bunny. Bunny, Sophie.” His eyes stay on me, warm smile, relaxed posture. And yet, I can’t help feeling he’s relishing this a little.
How many times did he show up and interrupt my dates? How many times did I mention loudly, within his vicinity, where I’d be? It was always a game between us, but the game was never fair. I held all the pieces and Hunter just played by my rules.
Fuck, I’m such a selfish bitch.
Sophie straightens and steps back, umber eyes wide as her head whips my way, tight red curls flying. She laughs nervously. “Bunny! Wow, I almost didn’t think you existed. It’s nice to meet you.”
Turning my hand in Hunter’s, I lace our fingers together, my other hand drifting to my stomach the way pregnant women absentmindedly do.
Flashing her a sweet-but-derisive smile, I reply, “Jazz really isn’t my thing, but the baby is fond of Daddy’s favorite music, so I figured I’d oblige them both tonight. ”
I may as well be a dog pissing on its territory—bared fangs, raised hackles—as the blood drains from Sophie’s face. For a brief second I wonder if something ever happened between her and Hunter.
One look at him tells me that’s an irrevocable no.
“Oh! C–congratulations!” Sophie looks mortified. “I need to go check on my other tables, but, uh, I’ll have Katie come take your order.”
As she scurries off, I angle a brow at Hunter, who’s failing miserably to keep his laughter contained. “Oh, how the tables have turned. Was I this amusing when I’d interrupt your dates?”
“Comical,” I say dryly before dropping my voice to a purr. “But I much preferred when you’d have your way with me afterward.”
“Oh, trust me, Bunny. I plan on doing very naughty things to you when we get home. But first, you’re going to sit there like a good little rabbit and enjoy the music and the food—even if you do get the pork chop.
Then we’re going to dance, and you’re going to be lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree with lust the entire night just thinking about all the ways I’m going to make you come later. ”
He says it so nonchalantly, like he’s detailing our work itinerary instead of getting me hot and bothered.
“Or you could fuck me in the bathroom again.” I flash my best, most enticing smile. It doesn’t work.
Hunter’s eyes go wide with mock astonishment as he presses a hand to his chest. “These are hallowed halls! How dare you suggest such a thing, you harlot.”
A stab of disappointment pierces my gut, even as I laugh.
Another waitress—this one far more respectful—takes our order, and gratitude sweeps through me when he orders mocktails for both of us instead of just me.
“If you can’t drink, then I won’t either. Simple.” Hunter shrugs like it’s nothing.
We keep it light for a while—work (I’m banned from any undercover assignments), and holiday plans (Thanksgiving upstate at his parents’ with Dove and Wrenley).
When our food arrives—yes, I did order the pork chop—the tension shifts to a topic we’ve avoided, though it should be at the top of our list.
“Have you received any more letters?” he asks after a bite of perfectly succulent chicken breast. I’ve eaten more off his plate than he has. He wasn’t lying when he said it’s the best. He even offered to switch when my meal didn’t compare, even though he won’t touch the pork.
“No.” I swirl my fork through the mashed potatoes. “I think whoever’s sending them noticed the new addition to the security system.”
It’s been radio silence since Hunter installed a Ring camera the night we found out I was pregnant. And I’ve been funneling all my stabby tendencies into whatever meat I’m cooking for dinner instead of any new victims.
I meant what I told Dove. One more big kill, and then I’ll be done. The Shadow Siren will retire, and I’ll focus on being the best mother I can be… something I never had growing up.
Eventually, once baby bean is in school, I’ll look into other ways to help domestically abused women.
“I swear that thing goes off every five seconds.” Hunter pushes his plate back, jerking his chin at the rest of the chicken and giving me a silent okay to finish. “My battery keeps draining from how many times it alerts me any time there’s so much as a breeze.”
“You don’t have to have the alerts on your phone, you know. It is my house.”
“And you’re my girl carrying my child.”
Our conversation dies as a beautiful woman with old-Hollywood starlet hair and bright red lipstick appears from the curtain behind the stage. As the band starts a song, Hunter’s hand appears in my line of sight.
“Dance with me.”