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Finally, instead of something sexy or pretty, I pulled on my boyfriend jeans, a t-shirt with a cat wearing Harry Potter glasses on the front, and my Doc Martens. I wiped off my lip gloss and pulled my hair back into a ponytail.
I wasn't going to present myself as a piece of meat for Hunter to eat. If he didn't like it, he could send me home and find one of the pretty blonde bimbos he appeared to prefer.
About thirty minutes before I left, I got a text.
HUNTER: Bring your toothbrush.
I shook my head. He expected me to stay the night?
CELIA: I have class early in the morning.
HUNTER: My driver will take you to class.
I frowned and texted him back, angered that he was being so crass.
CELIA: You're really going to get your pound of flesh.
HUNTER: Three hundred hours, Celia. That's a lot of flesh I get to pound. James will be on the street at 10 so be ready. I'll be waiting.
I wanted to text back I HATE YOU or YOU'RE A SCUMBAG but I didn't, deciding that I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing me upset.
Besides, his reference to ‘pounding flesh’ made my own flesh throb just a bit too eagerly for my own comfort.
Did he know he'd have that effect on me? Or did he think he'd be punishing me for what he thought was my betrayal?
I decided I'd tell him the truth—that back when I’d told him I didn't want to see him again, it was because Spencer had threatened me and showed me those police photos and the police file on him and Sean. Maybe if he knew I didn’t really betray him—not really and not voluntarily—he'd feel differently about me and not make me be his sex toy.
I was determined to do just that. I'd confess that I had made it all up about Greg.
In truth, I thought Greg was a blowhard. A male slut. I wanted Hunter, not Greg, but I’d felt I had no choice. I felt I was doing the noble thing by making Hunter think I didn't really want him.
He left Boston and went away and that was a good thing. Unfortunately, it all fell apart when my bastard of a stepfather got his uncle arrested and his brother killed.
I knew Hunter would never forgive me for that, even if I had nothing to do with it.
I waited on the street outside the dorm building, my nightgown tucked away in my bag along with my toothbrush, and wondered what would happen.
When a black SUV drove up and parked on the street, I tried to swallow back my anxiety.
"Ms. Parker?" the middle-aged driver said when he saw me, tipping his driver's cap. "I'm James. Mr. Saint's driver."
"Yes," I said and forced a smile. "Hello."
James got out of the vehicle and came to the rear passenger door, opening it for me. "Please get in."
I slipped into the dark interior and fastened my seatbelt, my heart rate increasing as I imagined what lay ahead for me at Hunter's apartment.
We drove in silence through the streets of Cambridge to South Boston and the Burlington – a building with a lot of high priced apartments. The car drove into an underground parking area, and we parked in a slot close to the elevator.
James got out and opened my door, then escorted me upstairs, using a security card to get me into the building and up to the top floor.
When the elevator reached the twenty-first floor, I entered a narrow hallway that led to an ostentatious double door. Hunter must have the entire penthouse floor to himself.
While I waited for James to open the door, I thought how surprising it was that Hunter was living here instead of at the gym with his father. But I supposed that with his money and with moving up in the world of crime, he wanted to live the lifestyle.
It made me feel sad that he'd changed so much. What happened to the honorable Marine Corps officer who went off to defend America from foreign enemies? What happened to the man who wanted to take his family's business clean?
I couldn't accept that this was the same Hunter I used to know. That Hunter would never make me prostitute myself to pay off a debt that wasn't mine in the first place—but it seemed Hunter was no different from any other criminal out there after all.
