The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)(96)

Right because sure, I didn’t sleep with anyone else, but that hadn’t meant I wasn’t a dick to her a million other times.

Right because she had bigger fish to fry. Namely Junsu and Lana.

She got into her car. I had this idea to do what I’d threatened to do all those months ago, when I first came here to corner her—stand behind her car and stop her from leaving. I no longer believed she would run me over, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to be a self-serving piece of shit.

If she didn’t want to be with me, I couldn’t force her.

And that realization hit me like a ten-ton brick.

As soon as her car raced out of the parking lot, I took my phone out and texted her. Figured she’d be quick to lift my block once she knew I had information that could be useful to her regarding Lana and Junsu. Turned out, I was right.



Hunter: A few more weeks. Come on. For old times’ sake.

Sailor: Sorry. You don’t fit into my world anymore.

Hunter: I’m not a fucking loveseat, Sailor.

Hunter: Although…

Sailor: I know, I know, I can sit on your face anytime.

Hunter: Dick, too. <3

Sailor: Stop texting me.





Seven years ago



I raced through the thick of the woods, the moss and winter mud soft beneath my feet. My boots sank deeper into the muck with each step I took, and I fought against the weight of gravity, desperate to flee. Footsteps splashed fast and swift behind me. My heart smashed against my ribcage, like a prisoner shaking the bars. Let me out, it screamed.

It was a mistake—an awful, unfortunate mistake.

The dog wasn’t supposed to be there. The range had been completely empty before I drew the arrow, blindfolded and laughing.

And laughing.

And laughing.

And laughing.

The moment played in my head, over and over again. Fellow students asked if I could do it. I said I could. I knew I could. Someone wrapped their bandana over my eyes tightly. Then they put him there when I couldn’t see. Tied him to the target using ropes they stole from a nearby ranch. The helpless yelp was my first clue. The last breath he drew, crying as the arrow pinned him to the target. The blood across the bullseye. The chunks of his flesh. I ripped the bandana from my face, letting out a scream. All the others were laughing.

They called Lana. “Your dog,” they said. “She killed him.”

I ran faster when I thought about her face, her tears. I heard the sound of additional footsteps ricocheting through the tall trees. Boots. Splashes. Calls.

More people were coming.

My mother’s voice, shrill and panicked, echoed my name. “Sailor!”

I focused on the horizon, the tall pine trees and dark green wilderness. I had this idea in my head that my parents would stop loving me if they knew what I’d done.

My calves burned, my quads quivered, and tears blurred my vision. I stumbled over a thick log hidden by autumn leaves, flying to the ground, headfirst.

Mud filled my face, and my knees hit something hard. The hot, wet pain of a deep scrape and fresh blood sliced through my leg.

I coughed the dirt out of my mouth, but it clung to my tongue. My palms burned from trying—and failing—to soften the fall. Quickly, I gathered my limbs, the way you do scattered belongings, and stood up on shaky legs. I was about to turn around when I felt the tip of an arrow pressing against my spine. The person behind it, holding the bow and arrow, cornered me against an oak tree. My face was to the trunk. I was so scared I couldn’t breathe.

“He was my everything,” I heard her say, and my heart lurched and twisted, coiling into itself in dozens of knots that made it almost impossible for it to beat. Lana Alder had a small, jarring voice and a faint Swiss accent. “My uncle gave him to me when I moved here from Zurich. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t speak the language. It was just Spot and me. He was my best friend. You took away my best friend. I have no one now.”

She dug the arrow into my back. Even if she released it from her bow, she still wouldn’t have enough momentum to kill me. But she could put me in a wheelchair. Mom and Dad had made me watch a lot of documentaries about archery and the danger of it before they let me practice.

And you went and let people blindfold you and killed a dog.

I wanted to choke on the cold, damp mud still in my mouth. It tasted salty, bitter, and ashen. It began to rain, but the woods were so thick with trees, I barely felt it on my skin. The scent of petrichor rose to my nostrils, and for the first time since I was born, I wished I were dead.

Mom’s voice called for me again. Dad’s, too.

“I’m sorry,” I finally managed to croak. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see him. I was blindfolded. I had no idea. I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

What made things worse was I’d heard Lana had only agreed to come from New Mexico to camp in Massachusetts if she could bring Spot with her. That’s how much she wanted him here. They’d had to issue a bunch of permits for the mutt to walk around on the premises. I guessed whoever took care of him wasn’t paying enough attention.

My body felt stiff, like a salt statue, hard but easily dissolved. I was going to lurch and throw up the minute the shock subsided. My mother’s voice grew near. I knew she’d find me. We had this thing between us—one not all children had with their parents. It was a connection that felt like a part of me was still in her womb. We could sense each other from miles away. Every time Mom and I hugged, we called it recharging. We plastered our stomachs together in bed and said Bzzzz the way the phone did when you plugged it in. Then she’d tell me she was so glad I was her family, which was a beautiful thing to say, because it made me feel like she would have chosen me even if I weren’t hers.