Shattered King(92)

I nodded numbly. “I know.”

He climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. “Come here, Lulu.”

I stayed frozen to the spot.

The muscle in his jaw jumped, eyes locked on me, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. This was how it was done. I’d seen Pierce do it many times. In his world, Hunter’s world, it was just part of the job. My stomach twisted and I spun away, running to the living room. Suddenly the enclosed space of the bathroom felt suffocating.

The thought of Hunter hurting someone like that? I reached for the back of the couch. I hated it. It took a level of ruthlessness, an unhealthy ability to disconnect from your emotions—both things I associated with my stepfather. I wasn’t stupid. I knew Hunter was capable of a lot of things, things I wouldn’t like. I knew not everything he did was aboveboard, or even legal—but in making the decision to stay with him, I’d chosen to ignore it. I’d refused to think about what Hunter did for his job, and now I’d been confronted with it, in a way I couldn’t hide from.

Logically, I knew he was nothing like Pierce, but I’d never wanted to believe Hunter was capable of something like that.

I heard him coming and shot toward the kitchen. I didn’t know why I was running, just that right then I needed to. I got as far as the breakfast bar when his arms snaked around my waist and I was hoisted up and spun around. He sat me on the bar, crowding me, arms caging me in. His closeness forced my legs open, so they hugged his hips, the damp towel rough against my inner thighs.

He stared down at me, expression hard, pissed. “I told you not to run from me.”

“Is he . . . ?” Dead. I couldn’t finish the sentence out loud.

The muscle in his cheek ticked and his blue gaze got darker, harder.

He shook his head, a subtle movement.

“I didn’t think that . . . I . . .” Again, I couldn’t finish. We both knew I was lying through my teeth.

“I don’t have a normal nine-to-five. Sometimes I need to use force to get what I want. Tonight was one of those nights. That’s something you’re gonna have to get used to. This is my life, my job.” He continued to stare at me. Waiting for me to say something.

“Do you beat people often?” Like that mattered, like occasionally beating or fighting with “bad people” was okay.

“No.”

I shivered. Two thoughts shouted the loudest in my head. “You could get hurt.”

“I could get hurt,” he confirmed.

And the reason I thought I couldn’t stay, the reason I’d planned to leave. “What if your job follows you home?” To my son.

His jaw ticked. “I won’t let it.”

Shit. I sucked in my lip and bit down, eyes closing for several long seconds, trying to process. He touched my chin, silently telling me to look at him.

“Babe, my job is high risk, you know that, which is why we are careful. We do not run into any situation blind. We do our homework. We have each other’s backs. And we sure as fuck don’t bring it home. It won’t touch you or Josh.”

This terrified me. He was trying to reassure me, but careful would never be careful enough, not for me. His line of business involved going after and, occasionally, working with really bad guys. And sometimes, he beat people to a pulp for information. No matter how he tried to convince me otherwise—he made enemies. He just . . . did.

I wanted to believe him, but I refused to put my son in danger. I didn’t want him to get attached to a man who could piss off the wrong person and wind up badly hurt or worse.

If anything happened to Hunter, to Josh . . .

If I lost either one of them . . .

I shook my head, gripping his shirt at his waist. “You can’t get hurt.” I couldn’t say it out loud, my biggest fear. I couldn’t say the word. “You have to promise me, you won’t get hurt. You have to promise me this won’t touch our son.”

I don’t know what that made me, that I could get past the fact he’d just beaten someone to extract information, that I’d decided in that moment, that I could live with it, that I’d believe his promises, as long as that meant keeping what we had.

But what I couldn’t live with was losing him or my son.

His hands moved to either side of my throat, using his thumbs to tip my chin up. “Lulu . . .”

“Promise me.”

He searched my face, and though he didn’t say it, I knew he could see the fear, the desperation in my eyes.

“I promise,” he rasped.

I collapsed against him, squeezing my eyes closed.

We stayed like that for a while, until finally, I lifted my head. “Did you get the information you needed?” I whispered.