Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Eleanor
Squats don’t have shit on a motorcycle.
P ain. It’s a concept I struggle with due to my abnormally high threshold, often to the detriment of my health. I even broke my nose once without realizing it. I’m not the kind of girl that skips leg day, but right now, I have aches in places I’ve never experienced before. Hours of having my legs wrapped around a man on the back of a bike has my thighs seizing. The painkillers I picked up at the airport aren’t helping, which is why I am restless as I lay my seat back on the plane. Hunter arches a brow from his seat next to me. Color me surprised when he didn’t bat an eyelid at paying for first-class fare. I thought I would have had at least the flight to devise a plan to elude him, but being part of an MC is clearly more lucrative than I assumed. I add researching that to my list, right after I wipe any trail of my past from my apartment.
Then, I need to shake my Hunter-shaped shadow. I curl on my side and grimace at the sting between my legs. Who knew riding a motorcycle for hours would chafe the sensitive flesh between your legs? Now I understand, not just from a road rash perspective, why riders wear protective gear. Hunter’s gaze snaps to me. “You still sore?”
“What do you think, asshole?”
His lips twitch. “I could massage your?—”
“Stop.”
“Arms.”
I blink. “What?”
“I’m really good with my hands.”
“I bet you are.”
He reaches for my hand and encases it inside of his. I open my mouth to protest, quickly shutting it when he puts pressure on my palm, and a low moan escapes from inside my throat. He rotates his thumb in firm circles, and my eyes flutter closed. That feels fucking amazing.
The flight attendant stops between us, causing Hunter to release my hand. I stifle a sigh at the loss of contact, then pause as I examine the fact I actually want contact from Hunter. That’s new.
The guy sighs with a faraway look in his eyes. “Aww, what are you two love birds planning in the Windy city?”
I frown at him. Love birds? How did he get that from our interaction?
Hunter smothers a laugh and reaches for my hand again. I stare in disbelief as he grips it tight and brushes his lips against the back. Warm, soft, gorgeous lips. I swallow the uncomfortable and unusual lump in my throat. It must be the shock of seeing my mother’s murderer and my brother. That’s the only logical explanation why I am hyper focused on the location of Hunter’s lips and how they feel.
“We’re heading home. Long weekend in the Florida sunshine.” Hunter shoots me a look.
Right. Better to act like a couple should Christopher come looking for a single woman. At least I ditched the wig and exchanged the bandage dress for comfortable ripped jeans and a T-shirt. I swallow thickly when I remember the way Hunter’s gaze grew hotter against my skin when I emerged from the restroom dressed like this.
“What did you get up to in the sunny state? Disney? Beaches? Space Center?”
Hunter graces the flight attendant with a heart-dropping smile. “I confess to wanting her sole attention on me and me alone. I don’t want to compete with other men, because when she dresses to kill, my girl is lethal. Best to keep her naked and at my mercy.”
The flight attendant sighs like he’s witnessed a proposal. When I dress to kill, I normally achieve it—not naked, but bloody. Perhaps being naked would be preferable as there would be less clean up.
I lean over and graze my lips along Hunter’s cheek before reaching his ear. “Too far, Hunter. Too. Far.”
“I’ll grab you both some snacks to finish off your romantic weekend. Ah, young love.”
The flight attendant can’t be more than a few years older than me. Definitely younger than Hunter. He moves to the front of the plane where they keep the goodies, humming quietly to himself with a small smile on his face. So odd. Hunter fiddles with the screen in front of him, putting on a rerun of a comedy show, without using headphones. Ever the military man, ready for combat. You can’t rob yourself of one of your key senses if you are going to be fully aware of your surroundings. Trust me to catch the attention of a man skilled in the nuances of human behavior.
Objectively, he’s very fucking pretty. Gray eyes, dark hair, a wild strength thrumming under his tanned tattooed skin. His eyelashes would make a runway model weep. But it’s not the outside that is dangerous. It’s his determination, his keen awareness of me, his single-minded focus on his quarry. For a hot minute, when we were brought together to take down Honor’s awful now deceased husband, I considered a rumble in the sheets with him. He wouldn’t be different from anyone else though, and that thought makes me despair. Experience says men who look like Hunter rely on their looks to ensnare a woman. They don’t put any effort into pleasing them because it took no effort to get them. They believe a snap of their nimble fingers can bring about an orgasm.
His persistence in pursuing me is born from the belief that any woman would be smart enough to jump at the opportunity to be with him. He doesn’t know who he’s chasing, though. There are a million women waiting for his attention, women who embody perfection, who don’t bear scars, both physical and mental. Stripped bare, with the horrific story my skin tells, he would be repulsed, and that’s not a rejection I’m interested in receiving. Men like Hunter value flawlessness. I can never live up to that, and Hunter looking at me with disgust would cut too deep.
“Don’t you get stopped by security with your pink friend?” Hunter asks.
I blink, realizing I have been staring at him while I remind myself why I would never let a man, especially one like him, in.
“Occasionally. They are usually more embarrassed than me.” Correction, they are always more embarrassed than me. I don’t blink at the sight of sex toys while most grown men recoil in the face of a vibrator that can do the job they can’t, and do it consistently well.
His lips twitch as the flight attendant returns with a basket full of snacks. A bright pink paper heart lines the back. “We were meant to have some newlyweds onboard, but they were a no show, so we thought we’d donate their goodie basket to the most romantic couple on board.”
Hunter grins, thanking the flight attendant with a cheeky wink at me.
Save me now.
Three hours later, after too much sugar and fatty carbs, we arrive outside my apartment. I own a penthouse in an affluent neighborhood with restricted access. It’s not about flaunting wealth, it’s about not asking for trouble and valuing privacy when you are a highly sought after and dangerous hacker. It’s about no one raising an eyebrow at the bandwidth you command for a residential property or the various expensive and heavy packages arriving regularly from tech companies. I side-eye Hunter, the only visitor to my apartment I’ve ever had that isn’t bearing takeout or tech. This is my domain, and it makes my skin itch having anyone inside it. I push my key into the door, and Hunter moves in front of me, blocking the entrance to my home.
“What are you doing?” I hiss as I run through six different possible ways to incapacitate the big biker, all of which he can probably see coming.
“I’ll go first, in case they beat us here.”
Oh. Fair. I can handle myself, but I’m no match for the half a dozen men I assume are coming for me, whether under Jonathan or Christopher’s order. I grit my teeth against the need to tell him not to touch anything as he presses the handle down and swings the heavy door open before entering it like I’ve seen military personnel do a thousand times before. I was never on the front line as my skills lie in tech, the ability to make sense of mass information, and forming plans. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t witness how a highly skilled team covers an unknown room with methodical skill and precision to ensure the safety of the group.
Hunter stalks around the open plan living area, arching a brow at the half of the room covered in wires and technology as I wait until he gives me the all clear. I mentally catalog everything I can see from the doorway with a grimace. That’s only part of the equipment I need to move into storage to not arouse suspicion should I be tracked here.
He disappears down the short hallway and investigates the bathroom and guest bedroom before spilling into my bedroom. My eyes roll to the ceiling at the sound of drawers opening. I’m pretty sure assassins aren’t hiding in my dresser.
He returns to the hallway and pushes down on the handle to the final room. It doesn’t move. I fold my arms and brace for the argument I feel building within him. His gaze drops to the keypad next to the door, and his body stiffens once he realizes it’s a retinal scanner. A smirk threatens to break my composure. Fingerprints are too easy to fake nowadays. Eyeballs are more difficult. Not impossible, but they need a little more finesse.
“I need to check that room.”
I shake my head. “No, you don’t. No one broke in there. I would have been alerted.”
His forehead crumples. “What the hell do you have in that room?”
“It’s private.”
“Eleanor,” he drawls, his Southern accent doing funny things to my tummy.
Wait. He knows my real name? “How do you know my name?”
He tilts his head like he’s trying to figure me out. “Quid pro quo, Clarice.”
Wonderful. We’ve reached the point of movie quotes in this relationship. Wait, what? No. That sounds romantic. Alliance? Friendship? Forced proximity? I need an expert here.
“I’m not telling you what’s in that room.” I do, however, need to get rid of him so I can deal with it.
“Is it a sex room? Do you have a sex swing in there? St. Andrew’s cross? Show me. You can’t shock me.”
Doubtful. I have a thousand memories that would shock him to his core. Men like Hunter have experienced the horrors of war and know evil lurks in their backyards, but nobody can imagine the world Jonathan created unless they have lived it. Men will sell their souls for a chance to commit unspeakable acts to women without consequences.
“I’ll grab some boxes. Can you pack the computing equipment inside them? I have a company arriving in an hour to take them to storage.”
“After you show me this room.”
“Not happening, Hunter.”
I move to the small pantry off the kitchen and drag out the heavy-duty packing boxes and tape for this exact eventuality. I knew the closer I got to Jonathan, the more likely the need to escape to an off-grid location would be. I spin with them in my arms, trying not to wince at the soreness in my arms. And legs. And other places. My body fucking hurts, and I hate it.
It takes everything in me to not jump or squeak as I bump into Hunter directly behind me. He grabs the boxes and pulls them from my hands.
“I can do that. You need to pack a bag. Once that company collects, we need to get out of here.”
I don’t battle the we portion of his statement. A phone rings, echoing in the large expanse of my apartment. Hunter puts the boxes on the counter and slides his cell out of his pocket.
“I have her,” he says by way of greeting. My shoulders tense, unease slithering through me. I was hoping to avoid the lecture a little longer. He sets his phone on the counter, grabs the boxes, and gives me a challenging look. “On speaker now.”
“Ghost, are you okay?” Fox snaps.
“I am. But you need to learn how to tell time.”
“You triggered a tracker I didn’t even know you had, or I had access to, and you expected me to chill my beans while we figured out if you were in trouble? Fuck off, Ghost. Not happening.”
I’m not used to people giving a shit about me. Uncle Steven loves me in his own way, although I think there’s lingering resentment that Mama died getting me out. Gail is paid to care, even if she tells me her friendship outside our sessions is genuine. Fox, however, I’ve known for a long time. Through work initially, then through the charitable organization he fronts with Honor. It’s important work, often too close to what makes my heart hurt.
“Even if I had left immediately, I never would have made it to you in two hours.”
I figured, but I know they have a vast network of folks helping them. However, I didn’t consider I’d be rescued by the one man I’ve successfully avoided.
“You scared us,” Honor chimes in. My eyes flutter closed. I don’t want to be responsible for scaring anyone. “And if you think we won’t come to your aid immediately, you are undervaluing our friendship. Who else am I going to play online with? Have movie parties with?”
“Your husband is a good bet.”
“Please,” she scoffs. “Fox can’t play like us; he’s not even on our level.”
True.
“She’s neglecting the very important fact that she is still in danger,” Hunter inserts from across the room.
“I’m dealing with it,” I snap. This right here is why I don’t have friends. They judge, they cajole, they manipulate, and make you question every goddamn decision.
Hunter snorts as he begins building the boxes.
“What threat?” Fox demands, all business, as if he has rights to my personal information.
He doesn’t. None of them do.
“Ghost, help us help you,” Honor says softly. “I know you want to hunker down and cut everyone else out. It’s a safety behavior, and I understand it. No one is saying you can’t look after yourself, but you have friends, support, people who care. Lean on us.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and grind my teeth together. What is the harm in telling them? They become entangled in my vendetta? I study the phone, watching the clock slowly tick up. Honor and Fox are too high profile to be taken by Jonathan. I glance at the behemoth stalking me. Hunter isn’t, but I can’t seem to shake him. I grimace, upset that I care, even a little, that he stays safe.
“I’ve been tracking a sex trafficking ring which has ties to high profile, very rich, very well respected individuals.”
Silence coats the room as Hunter freezes.
“Why?” Fox asks.
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and close my eyes. “It’s personal.”
“How?” Hunter demands.
“Fox, Hunter, stop it,” Honor snaps. “She told you enough. We can assess the danger and make a plan without understanding the complex reasons why Ghost is hunting this organization.”
My eyes fly open, thankful Honor has kept the dogs at bay. For now . “I am packing a bag, then I’ll be gone. I’ll be in touch once I figure out where I’m heading, but it’s probably best if you don’t know.”
“Like hell you are disappearing into the wind,” Hunter mutters to himself. “I have a place,” he says loud enough for us all to hear.
I shake my head, not even entertaining his suggestion. “No.”
“Do any of those men know who you really are?” Hunter asks.
James’s face flashes in my mind, and my blood runs cold. Fuck. How much can I trust my brother?
“That’s what I thought,” Hunter finishes, the usual mirth missing from his eyes.
“Ghost, go with Hunter, even if it’s temporary while we figure out a way to protect you,” Fox says.
I shake my head. “No. The more people involved, the greater the risk of being found. You and I both?—”
“You remember that favor you owe me?” Honor states.
“No.”
“Really? It involved?—”
“I mean, no, now is not the time to call in that favor.”
“You don’t get to put restrictions on favors, Ghost,” Honor chides.
Silence hangs between the four of us. Hunter stares me down, the boxes half assembled and abandoned at his feet.
“Fine.”
“Good. It’s settled.”
“No. I will assess Hunter’s accommodation and decide for myself if it’s comparable to where I have in mind.”
“That’s fine. If it’s not, we can both go wherever you are thinking.” He meets my eyes, refusing to back down. “But it will be.”
I highly doubt that. “Don’t you have a life? A job? A club to help run?”
“Most of which can be done remotely.”
“You can’t manage a bunch of unruly bikers remotely.”
“Your perception of my MC is inaccurate,” Hunter says as he pulls wires from computers and shoves them into the boxes. I eyeball his hands as he twists them without care. It will take me ages to detangle them, but I understand we don’t have the time to label everything and place it in the original packaging.
“Keep us informed,” Fox demands. “Speak later.”
The phone beeps, signaling the end of the call, the whir of hard drive fans the only sound. I glare at Hunter, who sports a very smug grin. Joke’s on him. I don’t play well with others. I am alone for a very good reason. Spinning on my heel, I stalk toward my room, already mentally packing what essentials I’ll need. Pity he has to learn the hard way why that is. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch his eye before quietly shutting, and locking, the door behind me. Hold on to your leathers, Hunter. You’re about to get a lesson in why you should leave ghosts alone.