The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)(91)

It was only when I was fifteen blocks from the club that I dared peek over my shoulder. The paparazzi were nowhere in sight. They’d already gotten what they were looking for—a scandal they could spin a million different ways and juicy photos that’d get tongues wagging.

I stopped at a traffic light, pressing my hands to my knees, panting. As soon as I regulated my breath, I took my phone out. Ten missed calls from Junsu. Twelve from Mom. Two from Dad. Four between Sam, Emmabelle, and Persy. Thirty-one from Hunter. My battery was dying.

I hit the dial button and called Mom back.

“Hey, Mom, can you pick me up?” I tried to keep my voice as casual as I could, even though I knew she knew something was up. She wouldn’t call me so many times for nothing. Some of the pictures must have had already hit the websites as the news broke.

All I heard was a sniff on the other line, and then, “On my way.”




Later that night, the gossip sites added a convoluted story to the pictures of me storming out of the club and Hunter chasing me half-naked. As I suspected, the headlines ranged from “Hunk Dumps Archer Sailor Brennan for Bombshell Lana Alder” to “Billionaire’s Son (yes, the one with the sex tape!) Caught Cheating on Olympic Hottie.”

There was even one story claiming an insider insisted Hunter and I were in an arranged relationship to keep him out of trouble. I had no doubt who’d orchestrated the entire thing: Lana. The minute she found out I lived with him, she went after him and put this entire nightmare in motion. The only thing I still couldn’t figure out was how she found out who I lived with. Who gave her the info?

“I mean, they did call you a hottie.” Emmabelle passed me a tub of ice cream, snatching the phone from my hand so I couldn’t read more speculations about my relationship with Hunter. Belle, Persy, and Aisling were all perched in my childhood bedroom on my old bed, which my parents had dragged back from storage when news of Hunter and Lana started making the rounds. Mom floated in and out of my room periodically, offering milkshakes, cookies, and ice cream. Not only was I heartbroken, but now I would likely die prematurely of type two diabetes.

“They also referred to you as an Olympic athlete,” Aisling pointed out sheepishly, munching on her lower lip.

It was probably weird for her to be here, being the sister of the offender, but she kept a straight face and didn’t try to defend him.

“So, are you going to tell us Hunter’s charges?” Emmabelle poked my ribs. “Are we talking breaking the contract and screwing you over with his dad, which is infuriating, albeit redeemable, or is it…more?”

I was washed with sympathetic gazes. Although my friends had practically witnessed my fooling around with Hunter, I’d never confirmed my relationship with him, and they’d never pushed.

Feeling my throat working, I began to pick invisible lint from the blanket on top of my crossed legs. I felt guilty for not confiding in them sooner. I never kept anything from my friends.

“Are you asking if we were together?” I cleared my throat.

The tub of ice cream was transferred into Persy’s hand when Belle realized I wasn’t going to eat any.

“We’re asking if you’re in love,” Persy said gently, squeezing my thigh.

“And byproduct, if we need to go there and kick his ass.” Emmabelle flexed her nonexistent bicep. “Don’t worry, Aisling. You’re excused from the task.”

“Oh, I’ll be the one aiming straight for his genitals to show where my loyalty lies.” Aisling’s eyes flared.

We all burst out in laughter. Even me.

Aisling shook her head and patted my leg. “I will never forget the day you brought me into your circle.”

“I know, but blood is thicker than water,” I croaked.

“That may be, but loyalty is thicker than blood,” Aisling replied. “We’re a team now. A pack. The Boston Belles.”

The room fell silent. The new nickname rolled nicely off her tongue. It rang true and sweet. I smiled again, mainly to make my friends feel like they were getting somewhere with their attempts to console me.

“So?” Emmabelle turned the conversation back to me. “Are you in love with the well-endowed sex-tape prince?”

It was so like her to find his sex tape and watch it on repeat.

“Yeah,” I answered quietly, surprising even myself. “God, I am. Crap.”

“Crap,” they echoed in unison.

“Indeed,” Belle added helpfully.

She covered me with her body, draping over me like a second blanket. Persy hugged me from one side, the ice cream tub still in her hand, freezing the back of my head, and Aisling climbed the bed and hugged me from the other side. My friends engulfed me from all directions.

I felt loved. So loved, I couldn’t help but wonder how the man I hated so much right now was doing.

Hunter didn’t have friends here.

No support group.

Good, I thought. Let him rot in hell and feel the weight of the consequences of his actions.




The morning after, I paid a visit to Gerald Fitzpatrick at his home office. It was buttcrack o’clock, but I wanted to get it out of the way before I started training. Also, coming into his office and risking facing Hunter was my idea of hell.

Dad had picked up my car and belongings from Hunter’s apartment the night before. I didn’t ask him if he saw my ex-roommate, but he mentioned Hunter had tried calling me several times. Several was ninety-six, to be exact, including some text messages trying to coax me to listen to him. At some point Hunter had texted that he was outside my parents’ building. He’d waited there for four hours by the time stamp of his text messages.