Chapter 102
Hunter
I thought killing my father would make me feel something.
It doesn’t.
If anything, it feels like a task that simply needed doing.
The removal of a piece of scum from the face of the earth.
How dare he lay a hand on my woman and continue breathing?
As though I would ever allow that.
I didn’t.
Then there was my mother.
That part fucked me up more than I care to admit.
I was already damaged before she died.
Afterwards, I became something worse. The problem was that I never understood why.
Now justice has been served.
I finally have clarity. About what really happened. About Piper’s place in all of it.
The damn marriage.
But I still need to go home and talk to her. I need to understand exactly what her father did to her.
How he forced her into this.
Then I have to finish what I’ve started so nothing stands between us.
I need to ensure everything proceeds according to plan. The Syndicate, the government, the press.
My father’s tragic funeral.
Once I step inside the house, I immediately notice the tension amongst the staff.
I didn’t check the surveillance cameras on the drive back.
I should have.
Because something isn’t right.
“Harry.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s going on?”
“Miss Piper…”
“Speak,” I snap when he takes too long.
“She insisted on returning.”
My stomach drops.
“Returning where?”
I don’t like that I have to drag the information out of him. I like even less that he failed to inform me sooner. Preferably during the fucking drive back to the estate.
“The academy.”
My eyes narrow.
“Why wasn’t I informed as soon as she requested it?”
“You were otherwise occupied, sir.”
“Never.” I step into his space. “Never fucking use that excuse when it comes to her.”
His expression remains neutral.
“You ever do that again, you’re dead.”
“Understood.”
I turn towards the door, Harry close behind.
I get into the back of the car as he takes the wheel.
“Why the hell would you let her leave in the middle of the night?”
“It’s morning, sir.”
I pull out my phone.
Right.
The absurdly long January nights.
I spent longer in that damned basement than intended.
I grit my teeth.
What possessed her to think leaving was a good idea?
And without me.
Without so much as informing me.
She’s my woman. Why the hell does she think she can simply get up and leave?
And I’m supposed to what?
Let her?
Not a fucking chance.
Over my dead body.
And even then, probably not.
The irritating part is that I made mistakes.
A sentence I loathe admitting, but true nonetheless.
She never lied to me about the fact that she couldn’t fully give herself to us. That she was hiding something.
I knew she was reluctant to be with me, to be seen with me.
And I ignored every warning.
Every boundary she tried to put in place.
I tore through all of them and inserted myself into her life.
She should have told me, because I would have dealt with it.
Perhaps, in some people’s eyes, the way I reacted was wrong.
But there is no proper way to react when you discover your woman is married.
Married to your father, no less.
That sort of thing tends to fuck with a man’s head.
I shove the thoughts aside as we pull up at the airstrip.
My private jet already waits on the runway.
I have a mountain of problems to deal with here in London.
They’ll have to wait.
I need to chase her.
As I always do when it comes to this girl.