Blindsight: Part Two (11 page)

“Shut up.” I swatted his chest before melting into his embrace again.
 

“I took care of myself just fine before you.” He placed a kiss on my forehead.
 

“That was before,” I murmured against his sweet lips. “What about now?”
 

“You’re right.” He sighed and pulled me into a bear hug with his arms wrapped around my shoulders, enclosing me in his tight embrace and making me feel protected like only he could. “I’ve got you, Princess.”

sixteen

Hunter left two hours after we arrived back in Chicago. I’d scalded myself in his bathroom shower until my skin was bright and burning, hoping to erase the chaos of the last few days.
 

And then I waited. I cleaned up his house, not that it needed much cleaning, and unpacked his bags, tossing dirty clothes into a pile and hanging the few he hadn’t worn while we were away. I stuffed my nose into the clean cotton and inhaled, the smell of his soap and the smoky scent of his skin calming my nerves. I fell back on the fluffy bed, landing next to my own bag to dig through it.
 

Hunter had packed well, bringing the few things I’d left at his house, some clothes, a hair brush, a bottle of lotion, shower items, and tampons.
 

I sighed and flipped the box in my hands and then ran the dates back in my head.

It’d been only weeks since we’d met. It felt like a lifetime. I knew this had been the last box of tampons I’d bought because I’d had to buy them specifically for the trip to Lisbon.
 

That made it…too long.
 

My eyes shot up as I tossed the offending box back in the bag.
 

No fucking way. I pushed the bag off the bed and gave it a kick. My hands went to my stomach. It churned and pulsed with bile. I’d been too wiped to eat this morning, not normally a problem I had, but more common of late. I'd attributed it to nerves and poor sleep, but what if it hadn’t been that at all? We hadn't used condoms, but I'd been on the pill for years. Maybe I wasn't the best at taking them regularly, but with all the hormones pumping through my system, how could one day here or there make a difference?
 

I shoved the bag under the bed in the hopes of forgetting about the possibility completely. If I didn’t look at it, it wasn’t there. It didn’t happen. It couldn’t. Stress was keeping my period at bay, that was all. It wasn't the first time life wreaked havoc on my system, and if anything was going to throw someone off kilter, it was an estranged husband with connections to a gang, right?

I sighed and tramped down the stairs, feeling better. I smiled as I fixed a cup of tea--Hunter had stocked his kitchen with a dozen varieties, ever thoughtful. I pulled a chai from the pack and brewed it, adding a generous dollop of honey before heading to the living room and my computer. I could keep myself busy with some work before my anxious nerves got the best of me and I was fidgeting, gazing out the front window, desperate to escape. How could he expect me to stay here, locked up?
 

Casting a sad look at my rapidly cooling tea, I decided it was time for something stronger. I found a bottle of Merlot in the pantry and was two glasses in and hitting Google News before I could think better of it. Pictures and videos splashed across the Tribune's website of the house Brant and I had shared. There were pictures of the arrest from a thousand different angles. I watched videos taken by bystanders of my husband's down-turned head, anger splayed across his dark brows, that had gone viral on Twitter with dozens of retweets and even more painful commentary from citizens who'd witnessed the raid on my typically peaceful street.

Apparently JW’s plan had been a little more than foiled at taking down my husband -- it’d been front-page news. The city was buzzing with talk of organized crime flooding the streets. I sat stupefied, pausing, fast-forwarding, and doing it all over again looking for familiar faces. Had JW even showed up? How had this all been orchestrated? Law enforcement had surely been through my house with a fine-toothed comb by now, but I was confident they hadn't found a single thing. I lived there, Brant didn't. Brant lived out of hotel rooms across the world. It was me on my hands and knees cleaning under beds and organizing file cabinets. If there was anything to be found there, I would have found it.

And then I felt terrible, the idea of my husband sitting in a jail cell wondering what his future held. Maybe I should go see him. But maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I held anger deep down that he’d thrown me into this. Anger because the newspaper articles had reported embezzlement to the tune of ten million dollars. Where had that money gone? Could they take our house? Suddenly my perspective became much clearer. None of that stuff was mine, all of it bought with stolen money, and apparently my instincts to find a better job and gain financial independence from Brant had been a good one. Thank God Hunter had come along, catching me in my fall in more ways than just one.
 

My eyes scanned the top news stories before landing on the title of one --
Wife of Embezzler Missing.
I clicked on the link, a sense of foreboding filling my chest as my eyes darted down the page. A grainy picture of Brant and I from college accompanied the text filled with speculation on my whereabouts. The media was on the hunt to find me, sensationalizing the story with drama and innuendo, even admitting that while the FBI did not consider me a person of interest, I would be questioned in the future to help aid the investigation.
 

The article further went on to suggest maybe I'd known of the raid ahead of time, was either involved with the FBI, or rushing to cover up my own tracks and had disappeared with the embezzled money. My heart lodged in my throat when I read the last paragraph, it claimed a source close to John Ellis Walker was hunting for me for his own internal investigation into the criminal organization. I slammed my laptop closed as my stomach twisted and rolled. I darted to the first floor bathroom and shoved my head in the toilet. JW was on a manhunt for me. I had become his target.
 

I woke nuzzled into the leather of Hunter's couch a short while later.

I padded down the hallway, glancing from room to room, looking for him. I searched through the eerie silence of the first floor, then headed up the sweeping staircase and walked softly to his master, finding the door ajar.
 

With the lights out and the blinds closed, the room was cast in shadow. “Hunter?” I called quietly, finding the walk-in closet light on. I turned the corner to find him on his knees, shoving clothes and paperwork into multiple duffels.
 

My eyes cast around the floor, he had my few things torn out too.
 

“Hunter, what’s going on?” I said louder this time. I finally broke past his concentration and he laid eyes on me for the first time.
 

They were angry and bloodshot, more intense than I’d ever seen them, not like Hunter at all. This was a creature, a feral animal looking up at me. “Pack your shit, we’re leaving,” he grunted and then shoved more clothes into a duffel without even looking at what they were.
 

“What are you talking about?” I dropped to my knees and lunged across him, stopping his arms with my own and clutching at his broad shoulders beneath the cotton of his shirt.
 

“We’re leaving tonight. We can’t wait. I don’t trust JW, not for a fucking second. I never should have,” he growled and then rammed clothes in with more force.
 

This was a Hunter that scared me.
 

“I
―
I can’t just leave again. Brant’s in jail. I'm sure the Feds will want to speak to me, and there’s my mom
―
I can’t just leave.” I stumbled searching for any excuse.
 

“Too bad, Princess. Too fucking bad, but we don’t have a choice anymore. JW thinks someone flipped,” Hunter said. “He's determined to get the rat.” His eyes finally glanced up to mine. “He thinks it's you.”

My mind blitzed and a thousand and one thoughts rushed my brain. “But I didn't! How could he think that?” Panic laced my voice and shook my body.

“In his mind, there are only two people that had the means.” Hunter looked up sadly. “Us.”
 

“What do we do? How can we prove it wasn't-"

“We can't do anything. I've told him it wasn't. I
know
it wasn't, but I'm not sure if he believes me.” He paused and his eyes softened for a moment then. “He wants us to do a job for him.”

“What?!" I shrieked as my heart hammered. 

"He thinks it will prove loyalty. I told him absolutely not. No way would I put you in harm's way, no matter how easy the job.”

"What did he want us to do?” I ventured to ask.
 

Hunter's gaze burned up the space between us. “Smuggling cash overseas,” he finally admitted. “He knows I have the ability to cross customs, no red flags on my record. We travel so much, he fucking wanted me to put my own shit on the line for him!” Hunter roared, sounding every part the caged animal JW treated him like.
 

“What did he say when you told him no?" I whispered, afraid of the answer.

"Nothing." Hunter looked back at the floor.
 

"What do you mean nothing?" My heart hammering in my ears nearly drowned out all else except for the slow breaths of the man across from me.

"Just a look.” Hunter shook his head. “The look that says it's been decided."

"Been decided? What's been decided?"

"I have to do it." 

"Hunter you don't have to do anything. You have a career. He can't ask you to give up everything for him. If you get caught--” My eyes widened at the thought of Hunter's hands in cuffs and being hauled away.
 

"He can and he is. Unless we leave."

“Hunter, no..." I trailed off, watching his eyes whirl with desperate thoughts.

“I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Whatever it takes--that's why we're leaving. We'll go off the grid. We'll take pictures and live in paradise." He stood and placed a punishing kiss on my lips before heading into his master bedroom to dig through the nightstand. Pain punched me in the gut when I saw the glint of gunmetal and watched as Hunter shoved the gun in his waistband.

My mind whirred as I stood rooted in terror. I sucked in painfully tight breaths as my stomach tossed and turned and I felt hot tears pricking my eyelids. I spun and darted into the bathroom, bending over the porcelain again.
 

“What the fuck, are you okay?” Hunter was behind me a second later and pulling hair from my neck, his warm palms smoothing my shoulders as I heaved into the bowl, but my stomach was empty. There was nothing more to purge.
 

I shook my head in response to him, before pulling a towel down from the rack and wiping at my lips. “I can’t just leave,” I mumbled again, just the thought of running causing bile to rise.
 

“I’ll buy you new shit, whatever you need—clothes, shoes, bags--but we have to leave, Princess. At least for a while. I’m sorry.” His hands smoothed my hair between his fingers and actually helped to soothe me.
 

“It’s not about that. You keep upheaving me, I can’t catch my bearings with you…”
 

He placed a soft kiss at the hollow of my neck before carrying me to his fluffy bed, promising to bring me water and a cool towel. My brain whirred with the nightmare of it all. I wasn’t even sure if I was allowed to leave because of Brant’s pending investigation. I brought up that point when Hunter returned.

“You can leave. Just tell them you’re available for any questions they may have. You’re not related to any of the criminal stuff.”

“But the house? What about the house? What if he bought it with dirty money? Can I even sell it? What the fuck am I supposed to do?” I sobbed and felt another sharp cramp split my insides again. “And god, why do I keep getting sick, there’s nothing in my stomach!” I screamed in utter frustration.
 

Hunter settled at my side again, whispering in my ear and stroking my hair. “It’s nerves, baby. I’m so fucking sorry I’m at fault for all of this, but we’re going to get out of it, and then it’s just you and me,” he hummed.
 

He draped a damp cloth across my head and then fed me sips of the water before urging me to rest. I fell into a sleep wracked with nightmares and anxiety, proving it no more an escape than reality had been.

seventeen

I woke the following morning with a pounding headache and a million texts from my mother.
 

I groaned as the bright light of morning split the curtains, then rolled over to find Hunter asleep next to me, one heavy forearm blocking the sunlight from his eyes as he laid overtop the covers. Next to the bed was a clean garbage can, bottled water, and a cold, wet rag. Hunter had taken care of me all night. I’d vaguely remembered him applying cool compresses and kneading at the sore muscles of my shoulders as I’d held myself over the toilet.
 

My gaze traveled across the room, ready to dash for the bathroom, when my eyes landed on the mess of bags spewing from his walk-in.
 

We were supposed to leave last night and it was my fault we hadn't. Through the fog of dehydration and sickness that marred my memory, I recalled him tucking me into bed and forcing a few sips of water down my throat. “We'll leave first thing in the morning, you can sleep this off and then we'll be on the road. I can't even think about put you in a car feeling like this," he'd murmured, getting me settled. My mind too thick to make sense of the implications of his words, I'd lain back on the pillow and pressed my hands to my stomach, desperate to not be so sick, unwilling to believe what was probably the case. If I'd only known then that the morning would be too late. 

“Fuck,” I whispered and checked the clock. It was only seven a.m., maybe we could still leave this morning without worry. And then I spotted the dark circles under Hunter's eyes and the deep breaths pushing past his full lips. He was exhausted. He could use at least a few more hours before he got behind the wheel.