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He repeated, “Five years.”
“I didn’t think they took them in so young.”
“Junior prospects aren’t a new thing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you wouldn’t have let me do it. You’d have looked at me like you’re looking at me now. You’d have told me I didn’t need it—”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
My shock morphed into horror. “Did they brainwash you to think that way?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“You’ve been a Warlord biker this entire time?” But I didn’t let him answer as I steamrolled with, “What trouble are you in? What did those guys want?”
This time Hunter’s face fell, and he glanced at me, retorting, “I have no idea what that was, Skye. I’ve never seen them before. I stripped them bare, I looked them over—they had no markings, no tattoos to tell me who they might be associated with. They weren’t after me.”
But I couldn’t look at him anymore. I stared out the window instead, feeling a heavy dread form in the pit of my stomach. He was a Warlord. Part of an outlaw motorcycle club since he was a kid—a fucking kid.
“You don’t believe me,” he remarked now, his voice flat. “You think they were after me.”
“I didn’t say that,” I replied.
“You’re thinking it.”
I ran a hand over my face, feeling so painfully exhausted. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was Leo’s dad, I don’t know.”
“His dad’s more powerful than you think.”
I sighed. “I know.”
“You do?”
I wasn’t born under a rock. I wasn’t thick, either—I mean, I had my moments, sure, but I knew from the start that Leo’s family were different. They were way too powerful to be legit.
“Leo’s mom tried to kill me, remember?” I replied, tiredly. “And then I was silenced about it—”
“But you still don’t know,” Hunter cut in, tone harsh, “how powerful that man is.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I do.”
“Then why aren’t you more horrified about Leo?”
“I am horrified,” I returned swiftly. “I just didn’t think you were pulled in the opposite way—”
“Then you were ignorant,” he retorted. “The truth was in front of you, Skye, and you turned away from it every time.”
I supposed I did. How many times had I had a conversation with myself about Hunter’s disappearances? How many times had I asked myself why he was there that day of the shooting out front of Warlord territory? On a deeper level, I knew.
I had always known.
I glanced at him now, at his guarded expression. He was still bare chested, though he’d grabbed a plain tee and thrown it on the seat. The sunlight was in full force now, and I could see his skin clearly. He had a black eye, a busted lip, and the blood splatter was flaky now and dark. His chest was the same. Blood and dirt and soil.
“What happened?” I whispered, almost afraid to know exactly.
