Page 9 of Hunted

She did. She could see that whatever they did to her was going to hurt—a lot—and in the end it was possible that she’d tell them what they wanted to know.

Sanchez grabbed her hair again, forcing her to look at him. “Pay attention.”

He turned her head to the side. There was a wooden table across the room, with her vest and everything from her pockets spread out on it. “Where in this shit is the antidote hidden? We know it’s not still on you.”

She didn’t really want to think about how they’d found that out. Hopefully not by strip-searching her? Because there was no reason for her keep an antidote she intended to use quickly stuffed up her privates.

Mikey’s mind was racing. She could take a lot of pain—all shifters could. But everybody had their limits. Was it worth it, holding out? She’d lost Dobe—letting him die out of stubbornness would make her a murderer. She wasn’t going to get Gunn’s location. And really, what good would that have done her, in the end?

She already knew the answer to the most important question she’d planned to ask him. He’d never really cared about her. And she wouldn’t have killed him, really. Probably. All she would have done was break herself for good, looking into his eyes and seeing the indifference there.

It was better if she never saw him again.

But if she gave them the antidote, Dobe would recover and they’d have vital information that would help them kidnap a little girl. She couldn’t let that happen.

She looked around the room at the four men ranged against her. If her stubbornness was going to be the death of her—like her dad always said it would be—at least she could take a kidnapper with her.

Sanchez raised his hand to hit her again—and the door burst open. A man’s figure filled the doorway. “Did you get it yet?”

The voice hit Michelangela like a knife in the gut.

Dobe Harrelson had led her to Gunn after all.

And now she was his captive.

Chapter 5

Gunn stared down at the woman in the chair—bound and helpless and smelling like something foul, with her hair plastered to her head by dirty water.

And defiance blazing out of eyes that were all too familiar.

Mikey?

Only his lips moved—he was too gut-punched to say it out loud. It couldn’t be her. She wasn’t even a bounty hunter, for fuck’s sake.

But it was her. Except—she was like a distilled, razor-sharp version of her former self. Thinner than he remembered, her high cheekbones like blades. Her humor and easy confidence seemed gone, replaced by a wild restless energy, like her wolf was on the edge of control. Under the filth, her scent was the same but different, hotter and wilder.

Gunn’s carefully constructed world slowly blew up in his face. For one eternal minute he couldn’t even speak. His bicep tattoo burned like fire.

Then he realized how much danger she was in. If anyone here found out how closely she was tied to the Enforcers… He had to get the antidote and get her out.

“Boss?” someone said. He didn’t even know who—all his attention was on her.

“Clear the room.” His voice was harsh and ragged—it didn’t even sound like his.

Nobody moved.

“I said, clear the room.” This time his voice cracked like a whip. “And turn everything off. No mikes. No cameras. Boomer, make sure.”

There was grumbling and muttering as they went out and shut the door, but he’d already stopped paying attention. All he could see was the woman sitting in front of him, tied to the chair, blood clotting on her lip where someone had hit her.

They hurt her. Kill them, his wolf snarled, all the old possessiveness rising up in him.

No. She wasn’t his to protect. She could never be his. Her just being here could destroy them all.

“What the fucking hell are you doing here?” he rasped.

She raised her chin, still furious and defiant. There was no fear in Michelangela Connors. “I came to kill you,” she said.