Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Hunter
Well, that was a surprise.
I t’s inconceivable why one person would have this many screens and computing power. She’s one woman—a brilliant, complicated, scary woman—but still only one person. I don’t care how fucking good she is, this is nuts.
I contemplated acknowledging and following her very clear fuck off and leave me alone vibes, but I have a gut feeling that if I leave her to her own devices, I won’t ever see her again. Not because, like her nickname, she can disappear willingly, but I fear the demons on her trail are more than she can handle. I can’t have that on my conscience. Not again. I have long since stopped ignoring my gut when someone is in trouble, particularly a woman who doesn’t have a support network to fall back on. The barren penthouse has a lot of stuff, but no life. Easier to leave. Easier to run. My eyes settle down the hall, knowing she’s already planning her escape. Perhaps she is my redemption; an opportunity to heal a deep wound I thought would never mend.
She’s almost silent as she moves around her bedroom, packing the bare minimum. I have several properties we could hide in until we figure this shit out, but the more I analyze the threat level, the more I realize staying in one close to the Reapers is best. We’d only be an hour’s drive from Fox and Honor, it’s the most defensible property I have, and with the MC nearby, we’d have heavy-duty, well-trained backup should we need it. And I have a feeling we are going to need it. There is strength in numbers, something Eleanor has not experienced before. She hasn’t been candid about why and what she’s gotten herself into, but I’m not stupid. I might not be an analyst, I might not be as smart as her, but the mask she wears is flimsy at best. Superficially, people see her as cold. Detached. Unbothered. Clinical. If they stopped and paused for a minute to look beneath the surface, they would witness the massive storm surging against her battered defenses. The problem is, if she doesn’t find an outlet, a safe space to release all her pent-up emotion, it will break her.
An almost imperceptible hiss has the hair on the back on my neck standing on end. I move on silent feet and catch the heavy reinforced door before it snaps closed. My eyes widen as I step inside the room she refused to allow me in, finding her standing in the center of the large space devoid of furniture. A sex room would have been less surprising than whatever the fuck this is.
She turns on her heel, and her eyes tighten, panic hidden behind the fury. “Get out.”
I drag my gaze back to the chaos covering every single space of the walls. I can’t even tell what color they are painted. There are documents, photos, sticky notes, and lines of black string pinned between them. A map of America covers one of the walls, with notes and numbers scrawled all over it. There is shipping information, plane schedules, and a line of photos including some very rich and influential people. People the Reapers have been eyeing for a business deal I need to burn.
In the center of the largest wall is a blown up but grainy photo of one of the men from the club. The man that chased her is also there, but clearly isn’t the target. The guy that pushed her into the alley features in photos scattered around the room, but he’s always in the background. He’s connected, but not worthy of her wrath. Who is he? Spinning slowly on my heel, I ignore the ball of fury behind me and take in the years of careful stalking and researching. This is like gazing at the physical representation of her brain; the information, the connections, the ability to piece together a puzzle only one percent of the population could even attempt.
“Can’t you follow a simple instruction?” she snaps.
“This is who you are tracking?” I glance over my shoulder, my brows drawing together. “Why?”
She huffs as she gives up trying to make me vacate the room. “That man,” she whips her hand out, pointing at the grainy photo, “is Jonathan Walker. He’s a cult leader and trafficker, responsible for countless disappearances. Daughters. Sons. Sisters. Brothers. Fathers. Mothers.”
I don’t miss the hitch in her voice over the word mothers, but now isn’t the time to pry. I take a step toward her, not touching her but allowing my heat to radiate at her back. Come on, Eleanor, lean on me. Take a chance.
“This is why you should run far, far away from me, Hunter,” she whispers. “This is my path—to prevent more people from falling into his hands. I’ll do whatever is necessary to destroy him, even if it costs me my life.”
It’s personal. Did he take her mother? That’s enough for a single-minded vendetta. “Then consider me forewarned and forearmed. I am making the decision to help you with my eyes wide open.”
Her hands fist at her sides. There’s that storm. Let it out, Eleanor. She drags in a deep breath and unclenches her hands. It’s almost eerie how much control she has over the emotions she’s got locked up tight.
“Christopher is one of his highest profile customers. I tracked him to the club in Miami, and I dressed and behaved in the exact manner which would entice him to drag me into the dark.”
“That’s the guy who chased you?” I check.
“He is.” Her voice carries no emotion. No fear. No remorse.
“And the third guy?”
Her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she expels an unsteady breath. “The boy my mother was pregnant with when Jonathan inducted her into his world. My older brother, James.”
Older? Meaning she was born into the cruel chaotic world run by this man. What the hell has she been through? How did she escape?
“He instantly recognized me tonight. Jonathan didn’t, but James warned me Christopher would come hunting for me. I can’t have this shit here.” Her eyes dance around the room, unable to look away from Jonathan’s picture for long. “If they find it, they will connect the dots, and everything I have worked toward will be lost. My brother’s life will be forfeit, and my mother’s sacrifice will have been for nothing.”
Guilt. It’s a powerful motivator, but one which leads us to make stupid decisions that end up costing lives. I move to her side, careful to leave enough space so she doesn’t feel like I’m crowding or rushing her, even though I am. “Take photos, then tear it down. Leave them no clues.”
“I already have photos.”
A smirk lifts the corner of my lips. Of course she does. As she stands frozen in the middle of the room, her shoulders sag as if the weight of the world sits on them, and she’s weary of the constant pressure. I give her a minute to process the tightening noose around her life, feeling a similar one coiling around my chest.
“Now, Eleanor, we have shit to do if you want to escape here without a confrontation.”
She licks her lips, nods her head, then steps forward and tears the middle of the display down. I go back to her kitchen and find a roll of black garbage bags. Fifteen minutes is all it takes for us to eradicate the evidence of what I’m sure was years of research and intelligence. No, not eradicated. Moved. Protected.
There’s a knock at the door as we pile the twenty-three bags into the kitchen. I freeze. I don’t have any weapons. Eleanor rolls her eyes before she peers through the tiny hole. She opens the door before I have a chance to stop her, and the storage company spills into the room. I eyeball the guys as she directs them to the boxes and bags, and they are gone within five minutes. I clear up a few bits of cardboard, making sure there’s no trace this apartment looked any different to the sleek singleton penthouse it represents now.
“You packed a bag?” I check, even though I watched her do it. “Make sure you have everything you can’t live without. I’m not sure when you will be back, but we can order basic stuff to my place.”
“Yes, I have everything. Oh wait, hang on.” She darts back into her bedroom. A few drawers open and slam before she appears with an extra duffle bag. It looks heavy.
“Let me get that,” I mutter, reaching out for it. She jerks her hand away.
“I’m quite capable of carrying my own luggage, Hunter. If you want a princess to rescue, you can go back to Texas and your Reapers.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Being a gentleman isn’t a sign of me thinking you are weak. It’s a testament to my manners, not a dig at your strength.”
She nods at the small suitcase she packed and left next to my own light bag by the front door. “You can take that.”
My gaze drops to the bag clutched in her hand. What have you got in there? She quirks a brow, daring me to push. I don’t. Not right now. I won the battle having her come with me. Quitting while I’m ahead seems to be the motto for today.
She smirks like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, then moves for the door. Someone knocks, and she freezes before dropping her hand and darting a look over her shoulder. “I’m not expecting anyone else,” she whispers.
“No friends?”
She shakes her head. Right.
“Family?”
Another shake.
“No one has my address. No one apart from my favorite takeout places.”
“Grace…” a masculine voice taunts through the wood.
Who the fuck is Grace? Maybe they have the wrong address?
Eleanor’s shoulders stiffen. Oh. Fuck. Not the wrong address.
“That was so quick,” she whispers.
“I know you are in there, pretty girl. You ran out before we had a chance to really get to know you.”
We? Clearly this is the shit Christopher who thought he could take her light and break her. But who else is out there with him? Jonathan? Her brother?
She takes a step away from the door, a slight tremor running through her body. I move past and check outside. Sure enough, the asshole is there, seemingly alone. Fucking doubtful. Plus, the “we” gave him away. I glance around the doorframe, my mind moving at light speed. She should have a camera outside.
“I packed the equipment away. Stupid, so fucking stupid,” she whispers.
Oh. She does have cameras, but no way of viewing them.
“Let me answer it,” I encourage.
She shakes her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. He will kill you. No questions. No hesitation. These men are monsters, Hunter.”
My grin makes her eyes widen. “Monsters come in all shapes and sizes, Eleanor. Some are made to be hunted, others do the hunting. Guess which I am?”