Chapter 88
Hunter
Married.
Fucking married.
I’ve moved past the shock of that.
But how the fuck, out of all the motherfucking possibilities in this world, is she married to my own bloody father?
The woman who occupies every waking thought. The bane of my existence. The addiction I can’t seem to shake.
She’s fucking married.
To my own father.
I drive my fist into the unconscious man’s face.
Again.
And again.
I don’t stop.
He’s already out cold. Might even be dead.
I don’t particularly give a shit.
In fact, the bastard dropped too quickly. One hit and he went limp.
Pathetic.
I made sure the man brought before me had committed an unforgivable sin for this exact reason.
Because my rage is too fucking big.
A few hits were never going to be enough.
The rapist deserved it.
And so much more. If anything, he got the easy way out.
This was supposed to calm me down, if only slightly.
Did it work?
Fuck no.
If anything, I’m even angrier now.
Angry at the bastard for dying too quickly, at Piper, my father, at myself.
Married.
Fucking married.
Married to my father.
My own bloody father.
Father.
Fuck that.
She’s mine.
He can’t have her.
And yet he does.
How?
Why?
Out of every woman in this world, why did it have to be her?
Too many bloody questions, and not a single answer in sight.
My fist freezes halfway through another punch as a thought slams into me.
The bruises.
I was so convinced they came from the husband.
Then there was Julian… that day at the academy.
But what if...
No.
No fucking way.
My stomach twists.
Did my own father put those bruises on her?
Did he put his hands on her?
“Fuck!” I roar.
He’s not violent.
At least not to my knowledge.
But then again, how much do I really know?
I haven’t lived at home in years. I’ve been shipped off to boarding school since I was about five, only returning for the holidays. Then, at eighteen, I had a house built for myself.
Fuck, I refuse to believe it.
I refuse.
But the possibility is there all the same.
A whisper at the back of my mind that refuses to shut up.
Perhaps it’s instinct.
Whatever it is, I can’t ignore it.
Because if he’s a monster hiding behind designer suits and impeccable manners, then I just left her alone with him.
I shove away from the body, turn on my heel and head for the stairs at a run.
A few seconds later, I’m behind the wheel when someone knocks on the driver’s window.
I look up and find Harry waiting outside.
I bring the window down.
Harry is officially my chief of staff, though in reality he handles just about everything I throw at him and never so much as raises an eyebrow.
“Make sure he’s burned. I don’t want a single trace left behind,” I say.
I don’t usually make a habit of killing people.
I leave that sort of thing to Isaak and Milo.
But I’m not exactly innocent myself.
I’ve killed before.
As I’ve said, I was born wrong in the head.
The difference is that I prefer a boxing ring. That’s where I beat every ounce of pent up rage from my system and silence the noise in my head.
After that, I can return to the carefully crafted illusion of control and perfection I present to the world.
That doesn’t mean I’m above putting someone in the ground if they’ve earned it.
I start the engine, paying no attention whatsoever to the blood covering my knuckles, and I tear through the city, straight to my father’s house.
I need answers.
And tonight, I’m getting them.
Why would a man marry a woman who could be his daughter?
Why keep it secret?
And why keep it from me?
I fucking hope he never laid a finger on her because it seems the thought of him hurting her is enough to make me consider killing my own father.
So I hope he doesn’t force my hand.
And all of this, for a woman who lied to me, one who deceived me from the very beginning.
But did she really?
Fuck if I know anymore.
I find myself here, caught between the only family I’ve ever had and my woman.
Or is she his?
Fuck it.
He. Can’t. Have. Her.
No one can.
I pull into the estate and the moment the car comes to a stop, I’m out and taking the stairs two at a time.
The instant I step inside, the silence envelops me, the house is dead quiet, with no voices from the staff, no footsteps carrying through the halls and no sign of movement anywhere.
My heart kicks against my ribs as though it’s afraid, which is absurd because I don’t get scared.
At least I didn’t before Piper.
She has a remarkable talent for turning my entire world upside down.
I head for the living room, and the moment I step inside, I stop dead in my tracks, unable to move or, for a second, even breathe.
That thing in my chest I’ve spent years insisting I don’t possess?
It’s trying to beat its way out.
If my ribs weren’t there to keep it contained, the bloody thing might succeed.
Piper is lying unconscious on the pristine marble floor. The white stone beneath her is stained red.
With her blood.
I cross the distance in seconds and drop to my knees beside her. My hand shakes as I brush the hair away from her face.
She’s covered in blood, and bruises and…
For one terrifying moment, all I can do is stare.
Fuck.
My fingers tremble as I reach for her pulse. I press them to her neck and hold my breath.
As I wait, I can feel something inside me begin to shut down.
This can’t be real.
It isn’t real.
It can’t be.
The seconds stretch into an eternity before I finally feel her pulse.
It’s so weak I almost miss it. But it’s there.
Thank fuck.
I need to get her to a hospital.
Now.
A shadow falls over us, and with effort, I lift my head. I drag my eyes away from her and stare into the face of a man I can no longer bring myself to call my father.
As I hold his eyes, a memory buried so deep in my fucked up head that I didn’t even know I still carried it resurfaces and hits me with such force that it drags me back to a place I haven’t seen in years.