15. Little Do They Know

Chapter 15

Little Do They Know

HUNTER

I don't say much of anything as Vaughn parks the car in front of what I suppose is Megan's apartment building. The building is run down, and the entire street only has two working streetlights. The last time I was in this decrepit neighborhood, I brazenly killed a man. It was a crime of passion, not intelligence, and almost did a lot of time for it. Luckily, I had a police chief in my pocket who made the whole thing go away for me.

After that unrestrained incident of violence, I promised myself that night that I would stay out of this neighborhood and never soil my hands with bodywork again. I would leave that for contract killers and other desperate souls. Of course, that promise to myself has gone up in smoke since I've met Megan. Steve had to be handled, and it had to be me to do it. The shit was personal.

I can see a few men loitering around and I internally roll my eyes to myself. This is going to be a problem. Their small group is across the street, gathered on the steps of a building, smoking and drinking as they watch us. I step out of the car, meeting their gaze. I can see them eyeing the expensive Bentley and when they walk over to us, I feel a hint of depraved amusement.

"That's a sleek ride you got," one of them comments, running his hand over the hood.

Here we go.

Megan is trying to get out of the car, but I block her path, casually standing in front of the open door. Vaughn gets out, too, looking formidable, standing next to the car with his arms crossed.

"It is," I agree.

The one who's talking, the leader of this ragtag group, I have to assume, has a mean look in his eyes and tattoos all over his face like some wannabe biker.

Unsightly.

"You should know better than to bring something like this in this neighborhood," he comments.

"Why?" I smile, my eyes tracking his every movement. "Do I have something to be worried about?"

Megan is trying to push past me and I put my hand on her shoulder, my hold firm, not allowing her to move.

The men sneer at me, and their leader grins, a disturbing look if you take his silver teeth into account, "Why don't you let me drive this baby around the block? I'll park it somewhere safe for you."

"Why don't you go back to where you were sitting, and I'll try not to dig your eyes out with my fingers?" I say lightly. "Does that seem like a fair deal?"

Megan flinches under my touch. The man's smile disappears, and I can see the ugliness underneath. He's quick to dig out a switchblade from his jacket's pocket, and I scoff at the sight of the tiny weapon.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Vaughn's body tense up, ready to spring into action. We've had many scuffles in our time, and the shit going on with his lady probably has him itching for a fight.

"Give me your wallet and the car keys!" The man brandishes the tiny weapon, and then he peers into the car, and his smile turns into a leer. "And I'll take that little girlfriend of yours too."

I was amused by this exchange at first, reminds me of old times, but when I feel Megan's hand clench the fabric of my pants at the man's words, an icy feeling settles over me. The man is still watching me, looking like he just struck the mother load, and his little group is watching in anticipation, clearly ready to jump at me and Vaughn at a moment's notice.

Little do they know.

I eat assholes like them for breakfast.

I exchange a brief look with Vaughn before quickly whipping out the gun, which I just shot Steve with. My first shot is aimed at the hand holding the knife, and the loud echo of the gunshot makes the men flinch. As their leader howls, clutching his hand in pain, I point the gun at his forehead, my tone eerily pleasant, "Why don't you repeat what you just said?"

It's clear from the expression on the faces of these corner boys that violence is second nature to them. However, they look taken aback because they hadn't expected it from me. All of them draw weapons of different forms and sizes on us, but only three of them are holding guns. It's the mouthy one clutching his hand who finally recognizes me, and his face grows white as a sheet.

"Fuck, you're–"

My next bullet lands in his shoulder, and he screams in agony, scrambling back. "Wait! I didn't know it was you. I'm sorry."

His cronies look to be a mixture of confused, angry, and scared.

"What're you saying, man?" One of them says to the guy I shot. "Why are you apologizing to this overdressed lunatic? He should go back to his own neighborhood. We got guns, too."

"Shut up, Brady!" The mouthy one howls, spittle flying from his mouth, his eyes wide with terror. "Let's go! Come on."

"Where are you going?" I ask, my gun still pointed at his forehead.

"Stop, Mr. Middleton!" Megan reprimands me through the open car door. I use the base of my foot to kick the door closed again.

"I thought you were going to look after my car… and the girl for me." I cock the gun and smile. Menace flowing through my veins at the thought of him even thinking about Megan. "Unless I was wrong?"

Even with two gunshots, the mouthy one is still able to respond. His fear of me is stronger than whatever pain he may be in. That's good.

"We'll guard it. I swear. Nobody will touch it. Or we can leave. Whatever you want."

He's stumbling over his words, and I study him for a moment longer before tucking my gun back in and saying, "Good."

I can hear his men mutter between themselves, but I'm not overly concerned.

Megan tries to dart out again as if she's in a rush to get away from me or into her apartment. I allow her to exit the car, but then I grab her carefully. I don't know the extent of her injuries yet, so I don't want her walking. It's a bad habit I've picked up lately, worrying about her safety.

I knew it was coming, but she struggles against me when I pick her up in a bridal hold. "Let me down!"

"Wait for me here, Vaughn. I won't be long."

"You sure about that?" His eyebrow raises.

"Just watch the car." Smartass.

I glance over my shoulder at the corner boys who have now retreated a few feet away. It's as if they're waiting for my approval to get the mouthy one some help. I can see the recognition in one of their eyes when I give a simple head nod, and then they prop their friend up and start walking away.

"Keep still," I order a very wiggly Megan. "Or I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you inside."

"I can walk," she says defiantly, but at least she's no longer fighting me.

"Which floor?" I ask, ignoring her comment.

She hesitates but finally reveals, "Fifth floor, but there's no elevator."

"It's broken?"

Of course, it is.

"It's never worked." She shrugs as if a non-working elevator is par for the course when you live in west hell. "Look, it's a long climb. You should seriously let me down."

"I'm stronger than I look, and you're not that heavy."

"I didn't say I was," she grits her teeth. "It's just inconvenient, and I asked you before not to touch me. It seems you have a hard time understanding directions."

"And here I thought you were scared of me," I say lightly, carrying her up the steps. "But you're just holding a grudge." My hold on her grows tight as I watch her breasts sway with each step I take.

"Scared of you?" She sounds dismissive, but I can hear a hint of strain in her voice. "You had guns pointed at my head the first time I met you. I'm not holding a grudge. There's nothing to hold a grudge over. It would be stupid for me to hold a grudge against a man who can kill me at a moment's notice."

My body turns stiff at her words, and I stop walking, looking down at her. Her eyes turn away from me and I feel a flicker of anger within me.

"I've never once tried to harm you. If you're angry about what happened between us in the office, that's fine. However, I've done nothing to make you feel that you're in any danger around me."

It's true.

I've been unusually tolerant of Megan. Nobody has ever spoken to me the way she does or challenges me without hesitation. She's aware that there's a line, but she constantly flirts with crossing it. I've killed a man for less, but things are very different with her. I find her bravado, when facing me, almost amusing.

She doesn't say anything in response to my comment and continues to look anywhere but directly at me. Her whole eye contact avoidance thing irritates me, and I keep climbing.

Her apartment isn't hard to find since there are only three apartments on the fifth floor, but when we enter, I blink at the organized, colorful mess we walk into. I stand at the entrance, looking around, until I hear Megan clearing her throat.

"Is it possible to get the hell down now?"

Feeling a little intrigued by the organized chaos, I walk over to the couch a few feet away from me and gently lower a silent Megan onto it.

"You must be feeling better," I smirk.

In the light, her bruises look mottled, and I don't know why the sight of them angers me so much. She tries to get up, but my voice is hard as I snap, "Stay."

"I'm not a dog, Mr. Middleton," she bares her teeth at me. "This shit is getting old. Stop telling me to stay or sit. I'll do whatever I want in my damn house."

I've decided that an angry Megan is better than one with a dull look in her eyes. Mainly because every time I see that furious glitter in her beautiful eyes, I feel the urge to see how far I can push her. Perhaps because something about it always seems restrained, as if something still holds her back from going totally postal on me. Maybe common sense. Maybe something else.

"If I wanted that level of obedience from you, sweetheart, I'd just put you over my knee. And trust me, you'd enjoy it."

Her eyes widen, and her face flushes, but then she pretends to stick a finger down her throat as if what I said disgusted her. "Eww, what is wrong with you?"

"I've already had my tongue down your throat," I chuckle. "Let's not pretend that a good old-fashioned spanking wouldn't turn you on. Now, where's your first aid kit?"

My cell rings. It's Vaughn. I already know what he wants.

"Vaughn."

"Did your old ass arrive at your destination yet? I'm getting a little tired of sitting down here in the middle of a war zone."

"I've done worse for you."

"Like?"

"Like listen to you whine about your wife."

"You shot someone in the middle of the street. Someone had to have heard those shots and called the cops."

"No one is calling anyone in this neighborhood. You know that."

"I'm hanging up now. Just hurry the hell up, Hunt."

I turn my attention back to Megan, who looks displeased. I turn the deadbolt on her door to lock it before I ask, sitting down at the edge of her aged coffee table, "Where did they hurt you?"

"I can do this myself."

"Or I can start removing your clothes to find out." I look her square in the eyes. Seeing the blush crawl over her neck like that is always fascinating.

I can see the frustration on Megan's pretty face before she says stiffly, "Mostly my face and stomach."

"First aid kit?"

"Under the sink," she huffs.

I locate and open the box and raise a brow at the well-stocked kit. Not commenting, I take out the alcohol pads and bandages. "Why were you walking out in the middle of the city without your belongings like that?"

A hint of anger colors my words, but she looks away. "I was going home."

"Or were you throwing a tantrum?" I ask softly, my words a caressing blade.

She snorts a small derisive sound, and her gaze is sharp enough to wound when she turns it in my direction.

"Do you really think you're the first man in my life to tell me I'm worthless, Mr. Middleton? Don't give yourself that much credit. Do you think a few harsh words are going to make me sit in a corner and cry or wander into the city at night? Well, fuck you."

The fire is returning to her eyes, and that pleases me.

And apparently, it also pleases my dick.