39. We Could Have Been Killed

Chapter 39

We Could Have Been Killed

MEGAN

A fter casually asking me why I don't want his extravagant gift, Hunter begins to walk away, so I trail after him.

"Why are you giving me diamonds? They're expensive. Where am I going to wear them? On the bus?"

I realize that I've followed him to his dimly lit bedroom when he picks up a large towel from the bed and rubs his hair with it, watching me the entire time. "They're for the art exhibition."

"It's far too extravagant of a gift." It's difficult to stand my ground when he looks so sinfully delicious. "I can't accept them."

I try to distract myself by looking around the bedroom, which looks like a luxurious hotel room rather than an average bedroom. There's a slanted skylight right over the bed and since it's just two hours to midnight, the moon is shining on his black bedsheets.

"You have a skylight in your bedroom?"

"Yeah, do you like them?"

"Everyone on the rooftop can see what you're doing."

"Everyone, like who? The rooftop is reserved for the inhabitant of the penthouse, which is me."

It must be nice.

"And are those Egyptian cotton?" I ask awkwardly about the sheets because I don't know what else to say at this moment. I feel so out of my element.

"Come here." He gestures with a crook of his finger.

Even as my brain screams at me to stay put, I find myself moving toward him.

"What?" I ask tentatively.

He suddenly hangs the wet towel around my neck, and when I grimace, he grins.

"Stay still."

"I'm not your towel rack," I complain, but I don't take it off because it smells exactly like him. His sudden smile throws me off guard.

"Why are you smiling like that?" I ask, feeling a little breathless, something tightening in my chest. The look in his eyes is gentle but alluring if that even makes sense. I want to close mine or make a run for it.

"Smiling like what?"

I swallow thickly.

"Stop looking at me like that. It's not fair."

Before I can take a step back, he lifts his hand and slides it into my hair.

"Well, then, next time, don't show up at my apartment looking so fuckable."

Fuckable? I think to myself incredulously. My hair is in a messy bun, I'm wearing Tweety bird pajamas, and I don't have a trace of makeup on my face.

"Are you going blind in your old age?" I ask facetiously, peering up at him.

His hand tightens in my hair in punishment as he growls, "I may be older than you, but I am far from an old man."

"Don't tell me you have a thing for Tweety?" My eyes squint. "Is that some kind of fetish?" I jest. "Of all the things to have a kink about."

"What?" He stares at me, baffled. "What're you going on about now?"

I pinch at one of the pictures of the yellow bird on my top, forcing him to look.

"This."

Hunter narrows his eyes at me. "You'll say just about anything that pops into your brain, won't you? I don't have a kink for some damn cartoon character. Just the woman wearing it."

I hate that I hang on to his every word. This man could sell sand in the desert.

"I don't want the dress or the diamonds," I enunciate, jumping back to the entire point of my coming up to his apartment.

"Well, too bad, Tweety." He shrugs, leaning down to brush his lips over mine. "I already bought them."

"Then you wear them!" I retort without thinking.

He chuckles against my mouth. "Are you sure you're not the one with the kink?"

He seems to be in a good mood for some reason, which confuses me even further. Most days, he's super serious, and then there are other times when he's pretty playful.

"I'm serious," I try to get my words out as he kisses me hungrily, his other hand reaching for his towel. "I didn't come here to–"

I go still when I see something move in my periphery. It's a shadow, breaking through the moonlight on the bed. For a moment, I think I just imagined it, but just as I turn my head to look at the bed more clearly, I see it again. Something is partially blocking the reflection of the moon.

This time, my eyes move toward the skylight.

"Megan?"

I see the dark figure, and then I see the heavy-looking gun aimed right at Hunter. I don't hesitate, my instincts kicking in as I shove him back, screaming, "Get out of the way!"

He stumbles backward, and I see the momentary surprise in his eyes before they turn sharp. The bullet ricochets off the floor and into the bed frame, which scares the hell out of me. I jump backward, falling onto the ground.

There's a brief silence, and I exhale, thinking that it's over. But the hail of bullets that begin, all of them targeted at Hunter, has my heart leaping out of my chest. Any person with half a brain would realize this had nothing to do with me and would run out of the room.

But I can't leave Hunter alone.

My brain and the adrenaline coursing through my body are working at cross purposes as I crawl towards the bedside table.

"Get out, Megan." Hunter snarls. "Now!"

However, I'm moving deeper into the room, my body cold with both fear and determination. I can't see what Hunter is doing right now, but I can hear movement. It sounds like he's finally got a hold of his gun. The bullets keep coming, however, which is why I'm crawling so close to the bed. Hopefully, I can crawl under it.

I let out a short scream, covering my ears with my hands when the sound of shattering glass fills the room. The rapid exchange of fire that ensues is deafening, and I force myself, trembling and all, to move. I have to get to the cell phone on the bedside table.

"I told you to get out, Megan!" Hunter roars as he returns fire, his voice furious and filled with a tinge of something that I can't really identify. However, hearing him gives me the courage to move faster.

I ignore the pain that the shattered glass is causing against my wrists. It scrapes along every exposed part of my body as I crawl across the floor, and I bite my cheek in pain. Reaching the table, I slide half of my body underneath the bed for cover as I dart up my hand and feel for the cell phone.

"What are you doing?" Hunter demands angrily.

Then I hear an empty click and fear he's out of ammunition. Unfortunately, the shooter on the roof seems to realize it, too. As the barrage of gunfire continues, I quickly fiddle with the phone, my fingers sliding and slipping over the screen because of the blood on my hands. I manage to find the flashlight application, and then I immediately roll over onto my back, flashing the shooter in the eyes.

I hear a cursing sound, and the shooting stops for a moment.

"Get out!" I yell at Hunter, who jumps over the bed, grabs me by the middle, and then carries me out of the room within a second. He doesn't even put me down, striding over to the coffee table in the living room and reaching under it. When he pulls out another handgun, I look horrified. There must be hidden guns all over this apartment.

"You don't plan on staying and fighting, do you? That guy is clearly trying to kill you. He's got some sort of bazooka or something. Call the police, and let's get out of here."

"If it were a bazooka, we'd both be dead. I need to call Lars and Parker. I'll get my phone."

I soon realize that I dropped his phone on the floor when he pulled me out, and my hands tighten on his arm.

"You can't go back in there. He'll kill you. What if he's in the apartment as we speak?" I whisper.

Hunter gives me a cold smile.

"We'd be dead already, and trust me, I'm not that easy to kill. Now, go do what I said."

Hunter's words are barely out of his mouth when the front door bursts open, and four men charge in, armed to the teeth. For a moment, I forgot that they were in the building, but Vaughn and Christian enter the apartment with Lars and Parker already behind them. Each man has a unique but grim expression on their face.

"The alarm tripped," Parker explains. That's how we got here so fast. "What the fuck happened?"

Parker notices my bloody arms. "You okay, Megan?"

Then Lars moves forward towards me, his eyes concerned. "Were you shot?"

I look at both of Hunter's loyal security guards blankly. I think I may be going into shock. Hunter suddenly tightens his hold before turning me around to face him.

"Wait, were you shot?"

"What?" I look at all the concerned male faces in the room. "No, it was the glass on the floor from... the skylight. Oh my God, the shooter was on the skylight," I whisper, as if the man who just unleashed a gazillion bullets into Hunter's bedroom would just be in the other room, eavesdropping. It just hits me that he must be either gone or dead because the shooting has stopped.

Lars gives me one last look before he and Parker rush inside the bedroom. "We'll check it out and get you some pants, boss."

"Shouldn't we call the police?" I say to Hunter, but he isn't listening. Instead, he has a strange expression on his face as he continues to study the cuts on my palms and arms.

"Hunter?" I ask again. "Shouldn't we – Wait, were you shot?" A hint of fear creeps into my heart. "Are you hurt?"

I can't control the way my eyes fill up, and the look on his face gets harder, and his voice is deep and gruff. "Stop crying. I'm fine."

"I'm not crying," I sniffle, wiping my tears with the backs of my hands and wincing at the movement as the shards of glass still stuck to my wrists move in deeper.

"Stop moving," he orders angrily. "Why don't you ever listen to me? I told you to get out of the apartment."

"And leave you there?"

"It's my job to keep you safe, Megan, or is having a man protect you a foreign concept?"

I think about what he just said. It's his job to protect me? Does he mean that as my boss or as something else?

"He's gone!" Lars's voice comes as he exits the room with Parker on his heels.

"Yeah, it's all clear, boss," Parker adds. "We'll go check the roof."

"I'll go with you," Christian says.

"I'll stay here," Vaughn adds.

I plop myself down to the floor of the living room as the adrenaline levels slowly subside in my bloodstream.

"Go put some clothes on, man," Vaughn tells Hunter. "I'll work on sweeping up some of that glass."

It's only then that I realize that Hunter lost his towel a long time ago and has been stark naked since the shooting started.

"Come," Hunter sticks out his hand, and I grab it. "Let's see about cleaning you up."

Then, the weight of everything that just transpired hits me like a ton of bricks.

We could have been killed.

And I fall apart.

Hunter sweeps me up in his arms and pulls me into his very tight, naked body, telling Vaughn as he carries me, "We're going to be a while. You got this?"

"Take care of her," he says. "I got you."