The Hunted (Sleeping With Monsters Book 2) (3 page)

I made it to the top of the
hill through some sort of miracle, and found a small cabin with a wide porch.
Max unlocked the door and moved around inside lighting small oil lamps, and
then opened up the front door wider. “Come in.”

For a safehouse, it was
oddly well lived in, with a bed and a couch, table and chairs, all one room,
with a wood stove against one wall. It took me a moment to realize that it
wasn’t a safehouse, but his actual home, way the hell wherever we were at right
now in the woods.

Oh Vincent, baby, were you
so sure this was a good idea? How could you trust a man so much that I never
met?

“How long does he want
you safe, for?” Max asked, his back to me as he stoked the stove’s fire.

I licked my lips. Word wasn’t
out yet. Should I tell him? Was it safe? “I’m not sure,” I said, which was true
at least. He frowned.

“The water will be hot soon --
it’s safe to drink and wash with.” He pointed to a heating kettle. “I’m not set
up well for company. You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ll give
you a bit – I need to check on some things outside –“ he said, and left. I
noticed he didn’t take a flashlight.

I sat down on the edge of his
bed.
Great, Sam, now it’s just like you’re at safehouse summer camp.

I did have some decisions to
make. Sleep in the only outfit I had? Or change into the robe?

I pulled off my clothes and
tucked them back into my bag. I didn’t have any personal hygiene products with
me, but I splashed some water on a corner of the robe and used that to wipe my
face. I found a glass of his that didn’t look dirty and filled it with warm
water, sipping it like weak tea. Anything I could do to be doing something, not
to pause or think about where I was now, or what had happened earlier this night.
I paced, and found the room smaller with each turn. An hour later I was sitting
on the edge of the bed again, lost in my own thoughts, when I heard footsteps
outside the door.

I didn’t want him to talk to
me. I threw myself into bed and pretended to be asleep.

I heard him walk around the
cabin, blowing out the lights. And then, through half-closed eyes and the one
remaining light, I saw him lay down on the couch, fully clothed, watching both
me and the door.

Time passed slowly as crickets
sang outside. He wasn’t sleeping. And I was never going to sleep again if I
could help it. Without Vincent, what was the point? Scrabbling for a month here
until things blew over, and then what, become Sarah somehow? And do what with
my life – go become an elementary school teacher? I stirred restlessly in bed.
Any chance I’d had at a normal life had passed a long time ago – before
Vincent, before dancing, before foster care – when my parents had died and as
good as left me to the street. I wouldn’t know how to be normal if I’d tried. I
wasn’t even sure I wanted to be.

I waited another five minutes,
another thirty, and then I got out of bed and crossed the room to the couch.

“Hey,” I said, standing in
front of him in just my robe.

“Hey,” he said, not even pretending
I’d woken him up.

“I don’t want to be alone,” I
told him, looking down, one hand on the robe’s sash.

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice
low, and he watched the robe fall open.

I didn’t want to see his face,
because then it’d be too hard to not remember what’d happened – I knelt down as
he stood, not to take his cock into my mouth, but to face the old worn sofa,
spreading my legs, putting my face and chest into the cushions, giving the rest
of myself to him.

I was wet because it was
dangerous and a bad idea – the perfect ending to an unbearably fucked up night.

He made an appreciative sound
behind me, and I felt his hands touch me and fought not to jump away. This was
what I was good at, I knew it. This would fix things, not forever, but for one
brief moment in time –

I heard him kneel down and his
pants unzip, then felt him line himself up to push in, and heard him groan as
he got inside.

This. I felt him start to
thrust, like I was a different person, not even there, the part of me that’d
run away tonight lifting up, floating overhead, leaving behind just my fucking
body, the one I wanted him to roughly take. I moaned as he made his next
stroke, felt the push of his weight shove me, making my breasts pull against
the short nap of his couch. I spread my knees wider so he could get in deep,
deeper the better, the more I could forget.

He didn’t take liberties with
my body, or try to kiss me, it was as if he knew my pussy was the only place
I’d let him touch. 

“Just fuck me hard,” I
whispered.

He didn’t answer – he didn’t
need to.

His hips pounded into mine,
and I felt the length of him each time he rode in and out. I didn’t want to
close my eyes and I didn’t want to keep them open – I cupped my hands in front
of my face like I was at a horror movie, my fingers the only thing I could see.
His hands reached for my hips and pulled me back onto him, pinning himself, and
I felt my traitorous body stir. Times like these always felt like it was an
animal inside me, wanting what it wanted, not caring who it hurt. But I wanted
this now, for him to fuck the pain away, to fuck away the memories, I wanted to
come and for that moment not know anything or care – he held me tight to him
and I started, at long last, to fuck him back, feeling him stretch me. 

“No,” he whispered to himself,
hoarse, trying to hold on. Who knew when the last time he’d gotten fucked was,
living out here like a mountain man? I didn’t care. I was close, and I wanted
it, I needed it, no one deserved it more than me – I squirmed against him, his
thick cock stretching me wide --

He growled something
incoherent and then he threw me against the couch again and reached over both
of us to hold the back of it, fucking me wildly. I came around him with a gasp,
grabbing hold of the couch cushions, his cock keeping me trapped there.

“It’s okay,” I promised myself
and him. “It’s going to be all right.”

He made another sound,
agreeing, disagreeing, I didn’t care, and then he finished himself inside of
me.

Chapter Two

The phone rang.

It’d been so long since
I’d heard it, I thought I was imagining things. I sat up and rubbed a hand
across my face, as feelings long dormant woke. I kept my phone for only one
reason -- for one man. I crossed the room to it and picked it up, not willing
to admit how badly I was hoping it would be him.

It was a woman’s voice on the
far end. Of course it was. Vincent would never break and call me himself. For
seven years I’d been hoping – and he knew it. Goddamn him and his fucking
certainty. 

She sounded weak and scared.
Was that what Vincent was into nowadays? Or who? Maybe it was his sister, or a
cousin.

I wasn’t jealous, but I was
disappointed. I told her where I could pick her up. I had serious doubts about
her being able to safely get across town on her own.

“And destroy this number,” I
told her before I hung up.

I didn’t want anyone
who wasn’t Vincent calling me again. 

#

My eyes scanned until I found
him, the stranger who’d watched all of my recent fights. He was out of place
against the rest of the wild crowd, them in their colors and gang tattoos, him
in his suit, the calm in the center of the storm. I shouldn’t have read too
much into it -- fights brought out all kinds, money was money, and people liked
blood.

But it was fun to pretend that
he was there to watch me. Even when he brought women along, and they clung to
his side trying to keep his attention, I imagined I still felt the weight of
his gaze. 

A guy like that – he was an
alpha. Whether or not he knew it though….

I shook my head to get back in
the game. I needed to concentrate. I wasn’t scared of losing – I was scared of
winning too quickly. I had to focus on hiding my skill, pulling my punches, and
remember to take enough blows that the men who lost to me thought that I was as
human as they were. 

“You got this,” Javier said,
his hands on the front of my shirt, after wrapping my hands. “You got this.”

My gaze caught the stranger’s,
looking on calmly. He was alone tonight and he nodded noticing my attention. “I
got this,” I told Javier, and smiled wolfishly at
him.

We were the headlining fight
at the parking garage tonight, and I could see why. The man they brought in to
fight me was twice my size in every direction and incredibly sure of himself. I
recognized the scars he had from rougher brawls, and could read his history in
and out of prison in his elaborately shitty tattoos. The ten people who trailed
behind him had likely bailed him out of jail for the occasion and it seemed
they were eager for him to earn out.

We both stepped into the ring.
“I’m going to bite your nose off,” he threatened.

I didn’t bother to respond,
just stood out of reach and smiled.

“Go!” shouted the referee for
the match – the last thing he’d likely bother to say for the night – and the
fight began.

The Mountain waddled forward.
The wolf in me saw everywhere he was weak, the heat of the blood running near
the surface at neck and groin, the way he exposed his kidneys when he turned,
if I felt like running up and pummeling them – or chewing them out. The wolf
part of me liked kidneys,
bloody, warm and soft
– I pushed my wilder
side back. I needed him, but without the moon overhead, I was in control.

Egged on by his companions,
the Mountain swung. I jumped back just in time intentionally, felt the abrasion
of his passing hand, imagined how many ribs it would have broken if it landed.
I had to do this dance every time, otherwise no one would bet against me, and Javier
and I wouldn’t get a good cut. I acted scared and confused while I was neither,
taking a step back out of the fight like I was reconsidering my options. The
Mountain shouted, his men cheered, and he tried to rush me.

The only thing I was afraid of
was getting trapped inside those arms. I danced aside, landed a blow on his
flank –
delicious kidneys
, my wolf whispered, ignored – that was more of
a love tap than a punch.

He wheeled himself around to
face me slowly, like a tank. The tendons of his heels and knees sang to me, so
nice to
chew and snap
– he raised one fist up, and this would be the one
that I would have to take – I braced my torso while making the rest of myself
soft, to roll far away, and have time to regather and survive.

It landed in my stomach. I
buckled around it, taking it in, letting his energy send me sprawling across
the ring – but not out of it. I wasn’t defaulting. I got to all fours, gasping,
and the Mountain raced in to take his advantage, kicking out – but I caught his
leg and snapped it crisply –
marrow!
– wrenching his ankle past where it
should be, and he teetered on his good foot, still trying to stomp me with his
injured one.

And now it was too late.

I rose, kicking out his other
knee with a crunch, then elbowed the soft space between his armpit and ribs as
he sank, one giant hand of his reaching for me to take me down like a drowning
man. I shoved it in front of me, and hyperextended his elbow. He bellowed in
anger – and fear. I knew the sound well. After that – I let my wolf come out a
little.

Shouts and screams rose
from him and all around us – his buddies from jail, those who’d made bets, Javier
leaning in, shouting directions at me. And among all the yelling, echoed by the
cement of the parking garage all around us, just one quiet man. Watching me.
Completely undisturbed.

I glanced at the referee as
the Mountain sank, three limbs down and bloody. He nodded.

“It’s over!” he announced,
using his loudest voice.

“No man, he can keep on
fighting!” his friends declared. But the referee knew better – plus the
Mountain’s last good hand was desperately patting the floor.

One of his friends
rushed in. “Come on, man, get up!” He leapt into the ring to shake the
Mountain’s shoulders. “Get up! Or tap me in!”

“One man, one fight, once a
week,” I said. Those were my rules. If I fought more often than that my secret
might get out.

“I can take you –“ he yelled
at me.

“You’re welcome to try – next
week. Talk to Javier.”

I turned my back on him
because I knew it was insulting – and I knew he’d have to try. I felt the blow
coming the second he released it and stepped aside, leaving him stumbling
forward. I pushed his back, and watched him fall on the ground, cutting his
chin on the asphalt.

Blood!
my wolf shouted.
“Next week. If you have the balls for it.”

The rest of his friends were
swarming the Mountain. I had no idea how they were going to get him out of here
until a van rolled up, and they started shoving him inside, a man to each
injured limb. The disappointed crowd continued to disperse while the controlled
man whispered something to Javier, who nodded, and returned to me with a frown.

“Vincent wants to meet you. He
works for the family. You want to meet him?”

So the man had a name after
all. “Why not?” Inside of me somewhere a wolf crouched down, swinging its tail.

Reduced to running playground
errands, Javier took my message back. The shouts and whoops of those leaving
the fight echoed from the parking lot’s other floors, leaving us in quiet as Javier
brought him to my side.

Vincent stood straight in
front of me, looking me up and down. “I want five minutes alone with him,” he
told Javier.

“You break him, you buy
him,” my coach said, before leaning over to spit. “He breaks you, you’re on
your fucking own.”

“Understood.”

Javier looked to me one
last time to check in. He knew the stranger wanted something from me, though he
didn’t know what that was. He was nervous on my behalf, because the family was
bad news – and on his behalf because I was the last fighter he had running.