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She shrieks and starts to go ape-shit, kicking at my crotch and biting at my arm. “LET ME GO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!”
“No,” I growl. I throw her skinny ass into the front seat and Priscilla starts to claw at me. As I try to climb in behind her, planning to hold onto her arm until we take off driving, she pulls a can of Mase and sticks it in my face. I move so fast I'm out of the car before Priscilla can get her balance back; she tumbles out into the dirt.
As she gets to her feet, I try to grab her again, but she slaps me in the face, and I go reeling back.
“You can't win this, you stupid motherfucker. It's got roots you can't imagine, and you're the FBI's suspect number one. That's what I came to tell you!” She takes off into the lawn, her hair trailing behind her as she dashes to her Camaro. She stops mid-way. “You know, I am a little sorry, Hunter. Good men don't belong in prison.” She shrugs. “Guess that's what happens when you fuck hookers. Even virgin ones.”
“If you touch her, I will kill you slowly,” I warn.
She laughs, throwing back her head. “What a great idea.” She waves, and she's walking around her car—gone, and my opportunity is lost.
Chapter Thirty-Six
~ELIZABETH~
I wake up the next morning feeling like something is missing. I roll over in my cozy bed, and that's when I notice where I am. Holy crabcakes, I'm in Hunter's room! That makes me grin into the pillows. My smile slips a little when I realized I’m in it alone, and it goes away completely when I remember that today's the day I promised I would leave.
And I’m leaving a virgin.
I don’t want to leave, and not just because I still have my V-card. I don’t want to leave Hunter. He needs me right now—I feel certain he does. I roll over in the sheets, inhaling his scent, and I have to swallow back a sob. If I leave now, we might never spend this kind of time together again. And what about the trouble Hunter's in? Who's going to help him?
I go into my room, check to see if there's a text from Suri—there's not—and then I slide into a red dress and pin my hair back with red barrettes. I check my phone again, not quite ready to leave the room and set this day in motion. The clothes I slept in still smell like Hunter, so I bring them to my nose. How am I ever going to get over him? How will I forget any of this? Not just the experience with Hunter, but the dark story weaving itself around him. Sarabelle, Priscilla, the governor? I want to know more—for Cross's sake, and for Hunter’s—but I can’t ask.
I leave the room without zipping my bags. I inhale deeply when I reach the stairs, praying I'll smell breakfast—but there is nothing in the air except the smell of cleaner and hardwood. Where is Hunter? Is he even here?
I'm headed to his study, not sure exactly what I'll find. As soon as I reach the first floor, the doorbell rings. Doorbells at odd times remind me of the accidents my mom has had—accidents or incidents in which the cops showed up at our house. So hearing it now stops me in my tracks.
I look around.
It rings again.
I step over to the hallway that leads to Hunter's study. “Hunter?” I call. Surely a house like this has speakers in most rooms; in fact, I think I've seen them.
The doorbell rings again, and I step slowly to the glass panes surrounding the doors. Against my better judgment, I peek out. I'm shocked to find the person on the porch is Dr. Bernard. I clutch my stomach as my panic soars. She can only be here for me. Did something happen to my mother?
Without a second thought, I unlock the door and pull it open.
I'm holding my breath, bracing myself for her news, when she reaches her hand out to me like she wants to shake mine. Her face is curious, not grave.
“I'm surprised to find you here, Elizabeth. How are you?”
“I'm surprised to find you here,” I manage. I suck a deep breath in. “Are you here to see me?”
“Actually I'm not.” She smiles, a little awkward, but friendly. “Would you mind letting Hunter know I'm here?”
My stomach clenches—maybe because I can’t imagine why she’s here. “Uh…one second.” I shut the door in her face without even thinking of asking her in. As soon as I turn around, Hunter is there. He's wearing black jeans and a brown shirt, and he looks pissed off. Behind him are four other men, all beefy, with guns on their belts. They definitely don’t look like cops.
“Is that Elizabeth Bernard?” he asks, frowning.
“Yes. She says she wants to see you.”
He nods, looking kind of dazed. “I was in a meeting. I thought you would be sleeping.”
One of the men—they are all still standing in a row beside the stairs—tips a baseball cap at me, and I say, “That's okay. I only answered because I thought she was here for me.”
Hunter looks over his shoulder. “Dave, Jake, Gilly, why don't you wait for me in the kitchen. My chef, Bernita, is there. She can feed you.”
“I'll show you the way,” I offer, as Hunter opens the door.
