I peel my hands off the wheel, open the car door, and step barefoot onto the cold gravel.
The porch light flickers, and I walk toward the door.
I hope I’m right about Hunter Sterling.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
HUNTER
Song- Burning Down,Alex Warren
Wyatt is in bed. Rex curled up beside him, chin on his ankle, one ear twitching in his sleep.
My brothers are in the barn office, going over the police documents. Ace already pinned up a map to the wall like this is a war room. Because it is.
And I’m here on my own in the living room. Nursing a whiskey in the dark, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace like they might rearrange themselves into an answer.
Part of me wants to get out there and tear this case apart with my bare hands. But I know I have to play the game. Do this the right way. Because someone out there is watching. Waiting for me to slip up.
And I won’t.
I hear the car before I see it. An engine approaching on the gravel, headlights sweeping across the front windows.
I set my glass down and stand. Could be Reese. Could be my cousins coming back. But the hairs on the back of my neck are already standing, so I grab my gun from the side table and head to the front door.
By the time I open it, she’s there.
Standing at the bottom of the porch steps. Barefoot on my gravel. No jacket. No shoes. Her hair tangled around her face, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold her own body together.
Even in the dim glow of the porch light, I can see the blood. It’s smeared on her face. On her hands.
Her tears.
She doesn’t say a word at first. She just looks up at me. And I have never seen a person look so completely shattered while still standing upright.
“I know you told me to stay away. To forget you ever existed.” Her voice splinters on the last word. “But, Hunter… I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve got nowhere to go, and I need you.”
I don’t hesitate.
I set the gun on the bench by the door, and I’m down those steps before my brain has caught up with my legs. I wrap my arms around her carefully. Not too tight, not yet, because I don’t know where she’s hurt. I pull her against my chest, and I hold her. I hold her like she’s my entire world.
And she breaks.
Sobs that come from somewhere so deep they shake her entire body. I feel her pain. Her hurt. All of it. And I want to take it all from her.
Her fingers claw into the fabric of my shirt, and she presses her face against me.
I stroke her hair. Press my lips to the top of her head. Hold her. Trying to do what I can to make her feel safe.
“I’ve got you, firefly. I’ve got you.” I say it over and over. Until the sobs slow to shudders and the shudders fade to trembling, and she’s just breathing against me.
When I pull back to look at her, I cup her cheek with my hand.
She flinches. At the lightest touch. The gentlest press of my palm against her skin.
She fucking flinches.
Rage consumes me. It floods through my bloodstream like gasoline catching a spark so violent I have to lock every muscle in my body to keep from shaking with it.