Devil's Game (Reapers MC, #3)(23)

“Get on the f*cking bed, Em.”

Warmth bathed my ear and I could smell him all around. Because there’s something wrong with me, that turned me on.

“That sounds like a bad idea,” I said, trying not to sound nervous. I needed to get on the offense, take some control of the situation. “Let’s talk about this.”

“Talk away,” he muttered, bringing my hands around to the front of my body. He stepped forward, taking both of them in one big hand. I felt his heat behind me, his large body dwarfing and surrounding mine.

I also felt his cock again.

No f*cking way I could miss that giant thing digging into my lower back. Double shit. I needed a diversion.

“I don’t think you realize what’s happening,” I said quickly. “I know you want to find Toke. I get that—if someone attacked one of our club brothers, I’d be after him, too. But Toke stabbed me last weekend—”

Hunter froze, then I was moving through the air, lifted straight up against his chest as he carried me. He pushed me down, rolled me to my back, and straddled me all in one smooth move, pinning my arms up and over my head.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

“Explain how he hurt you,” he said, his voice grim and his eyes cold. “Now.”

I closed my eyes, trying to think.

Oh, I was at this party with all my friends and family, and then this guy I’m supposed to be able to trust got pissy for some reason (that I’m not allowed to know) and he cut me with a big, giant knife. Then my dad tried to shoot him, I got a few stitches, and now we’re all pretending it never happened.

Nope, nothing weird about that.

I’d planned to tell him it was an accident if we got far enough for him to find the bandage hiding under my top. Seemed believable enough to me, seeing as most people don’t go running around with random knife wounds. Not like it was particularly bad. Sure, it hurt a bit if I pulled at it, but it wasn’t exactly deep.

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out the best way to handle this. Toke definitely wasn’t my favorite person right now, but he was still a Reaper and this was our private business. I couldn’t give Hunter anything to use against the club. On other hand, I needed to keep him on my side, what with the not-wanting-to-end-up-dead-in-a-ditch issue.

“It was an accident,” I said slowly, which was sort of true. I was pretty sure Toke had no intention of cutting me, personally, when he’d unsheathed his knife. “We were just f*cking around at a party last weekend—”

“Fucking around?” he asked, eyes growing colder, which really shouldn’t have been possible, yet he still managed to pull it off. “What’s the story between you and Toke?”

“Nothing. Shit, nothing, okay? Although why the hell you would care I can’t imagine.”

“You have no idea what I care about.”

“And I could give a shit,” I muttered. “Do you want to hear the details or not?”

“Tell me the f*cking details.”

“We were at a party,” I started again. “It wasn’t that late or that crazy, although it was moving in that direction. I went to find my dad and say good night because Sophie and I were heading out. I was walking past a group of guys and then suddenly someone fell against me and his knife caught my rib cage. No big deal.”

Hunter dropped his hands to my sides, running his fingers lightly across the corset, searching for the wound. I gritted my teeth when he found it, refusing to acknowledge the twinge of pain. Something must’ve given it away, because he growled.

Growled.

Like a pissed-off wolf. No, like a whiny dog, I told myself firmly. One of those little yappy ones. Wolves kicked ass and Hunter didn’t. He was a giant, fake *.

Then his hands went to the front of the corset and started fumbling with the hooks. This was not okay. I grabbed his wrists, trying to jerk him away, but he ignored me completely. Seriously. He was so much stronger than me that I wasn’t sure he even noticed my protests.

“What the f*ck are you doing?”

“I need to see it,” he said. “You should’ve said something earlier. I could’ve hurt you in the bar. Why the hell didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

My jaw dropped.

“It’s none of your f*cking business,” I burst out. “None of it is. And don’t try telling me you care whether or not I’m hurt.”

My breasts popped free as the corset opened. I tried to cover myself, hating the sudden, horrible feeling of vulnerability.

“You are my business,” he told me, his voice grim. He didn’t pause to perv, either. Nope, his touch was impersonal—almost clinical—as he felt around the fresh, white bandage I’d put over it earlier.

“It’s not that big,” he said, looking almost surprised.

“No shit. I told you it wasn’t a big deal. About three inches long, and not even half an inch deep.”

“They take you to the hospital?”

“They took care of me,” I snapped. “They always take care of me. That’s why—if you want to live—you need to let me go and get yourself the hell out of town.”

He laughed, sounding almost like the old Liam, and then he turned his attention toward my breasts. I slapped my hands over them, but he caught my wrists and dragged them high over my head again. I struggled but it was pointless. His strength was effortless, and while he might not be bulky with muscles, his lean body was like steel.