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Chapter 1
~Hunter~
Someone once told me that life gets easier as you get older. That as your children age, you settle into a nice rhythm in the day-to-day, worry less, enjoy more.
Whoever said that is a fucking liar. Or never had kids.
I’ve been a single dad for fifteen years. Not once in that time has it been easy.
“Where the hell is she?” I mutter as I finally sit for the evening, ready to enjoy a beer and a basketball game.
Rachel, the apple of my eye, said she’d be at her friend Kyla’s house for the night. But when I open the app on my phone to track her phone—an app she doesn’t know I added to her device—it tells me that she’s not at Kyla’s house at all.
“Maybe they went for ice cream.” I sigh, already sure in my gut that they didn’t just innocently go out for dessert.
Rachel’s always been a good girl, but since she hit puberty a couple of years ago, she’s made it her mission in life to test my patience.
Hell, I retired from fighting so I could be around more, gone less. Sure, at thirty-six, my body was starting to suffer from the constant poundings, but fighting is all I know. I’ve been in the ring since I was younger than my daughter.
It’s not about the millions of dollars that come in from every fight, or the sponsorships. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the attention or celebrity—much to my publicist’s dismay.
It’s about the rush of being in that ring with another man, the skill it takes to outwit and outmatch him.
Training for and being in the ring is my drug.
But age and responsibilities dictated that I walk away. That, and the very real possibility that it could kill me.
Fucking head injuries.
If it weren’t for Rachel, I would have continued fighting until I died in the ring.
The only thing I love more than the sport is my daughter. She’s the priority. She used to come with me when I traveled and then stayed behind with my parents when it became too much for her, and she needed to be in school.
But now she’s too much for my parents, and I can’t have a kid who’s getting into trouble.
I don’t want her to be like me.
So, as I stare at the blinking red dot on my phone and will it to move, I sigh.
I need to go find my daughter.
I set the untouched beer on the kitchen counter, grab my keys, and leave my Seattle home in search of the one person on this planet that makes me want to yank my hair out.
According to the map, she’s about ten miles from home, in a neighborhood that I know is residential. And when I slow my Rolls Royce in front of the brownstone, I scowl.
It looks like something out of an eighties movie. A whole bunch of cars line the street, and the music coming from the building can probably be heard all the way downtown at the Space Needle.
The fact that there aren’t cops here is shocking.
I double-park the car, and when I climb out, I point to a kid who’s leaning against his Honda, trying to charm a girl.
“You.”
He looks my way. “Yeah?”
“See this car?”
His eyes widen when he glances at my sleek, black Rolls. “Yeah. Nice ride, dude.”
“If even one speck of dust is on it when I come out of that house, you’re the one I’m going to kill for it. Got it?”
“Sure.” He swallows and then narrows his eyes at me. “Hey, you’re Hunter Meyers. The fighter.”
“That’s right. And if anyone dicks with my car, we’ll have a problem.”
He just nods. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Good.”
It’s a hot summer night in Seattle. The windows of the house are wide-open. Along with the blaring hip-hop music leaking out, there are laughs and cheers, a girl’s squeals.
They’re having a hell of a time.
I’m going to kill her.
I stalk right inside, my eyes narrowed and scanning the sea of kids. Jesus, nobody here can be over the age of seventeen. Red Solo cups litter every surface, and I’m immediately taken back to my misspent youth.
But this time, it’s my daughter, and I know what happens at parties like this.
Hell, no.
I move quickly, skimming faces. No Rachel.
But when I glance down, the red dot is still here, at this location.
She has to be here.
I climb the stairs and start opening doors. Thankfully, the rooms are empty. I haven’t seen anyone losing their virginity.
But when I open the door at the end of the hallway and flip on the light, my worst fears are on full display, right before me.
“Oh, my God.” Rachel’s face pales as I see red. “Dad, what are you doing here?”
“You. Shut it.” I glare at her and turn my wrath on Derek, the nineteen-year-old kid from the gym I practically live at. The same gym Rachel comes to after school. “You’ll meet me at the gym at eight a.m., or I’ll come find you.”
