10. Hunter

TEN

HUNTER

I shouldn't be surprised when I walk into my office a little later to find my phone and instead find my father sitting at my desk.

You don't put off Benjamin Brigham. Once I knew he knew where I was, it was only a matter of time.

Now's the time, I guess.

The only thing making this reunion at all positive is that Ella's in the room too, and she claps with a bright smile when I enter.

"Hunter, since you won't go to Dad, I decided to bring Dad to you!" She looks so eager, so innocent in her efforts to bring us together that I can't be mad at her. I walk over to her, giving her a brief hug.

"All good, Ellie. Give us a minute?" I say gently.

Her eyes twinkle and she practically skips to the door.

"Absolutely-tutely! I'm gonna raid your kitchen, H. Toodles!" And then she's gone.

"Hello, Father," I say with all the formality I can muster. "Thank you for coming to visit. Shall I prepare a room for you in the master wing?"

He smirks, his eyes narrowing .

"Son," he says. "It's about time you've chosen to return."

After stopping to flick on the fireplace, I sit in the wingback chair across from him. It's not cold outside, but the chill in the air is from the man sitting across from me.

"What do you need?"

There's a decanter on my desk that wasn't there before.

"I think it's time we catch up and talk about what's happened in your absence. Things have been busy." He taps his finger on the whiskey tumbler in his right hand.

It's incredible how a person who shows so much cruelty can be so relaxed. So unbothered.

I sit back in my chair, mirroring his lazy pose. He lets out a dull laugh.

"Cut the shit, Hunter," he says suddenly, not moving an inch. "It's time you started taking responsibility for your duties to this family."

Fire licks up my calves and thighs, and the muscles in my back and stomach clench at the mention of responsibility. The burns marring my body pulse in memory.

"What responsibilities? I have done my part, and I want nothing to do with you," I say, trying my damnedest to control the amount of venom in my voice.

He acts as if I said nothing, lifting the glass to his mouth and taking a slow sip.

"You are Hunter Brigham. No matter how much you may detest your name, and no matter how much you fuck around Europe or Asia or Central America, the reality is you are a Brigham. You've been given wealth, status, protection," he drawls as he taps the glass again. "I've given you time to sow your wild oats. But that time ends now. Welcome back, son. It's a pity it's under such terrible circumstances." His eyes lock on mine.

"Maiya. That was you," I say.

He gives me a closed-lipped smile. "I didn't do anything to your whore, Hunter." He shrugs, unaffected. "She made her own choices."

Another slow sip.

"Let me guess, you just gave her the options to choose from. Right?" The tension in my jaw starts to thump, matching the agitated thud of each of my heartbeats.

For not the first time, I contemplate ending my father's worthless life. I could slit his throat and dance in his blood as his life spills all over the hand-knotted Persian rug.

Why don't I?

Right. Because I'm weak. Because ultimately, when it was time to stand up against him, I did nothing. And then I ran away.

"My son was there for days with her dead body. Why? What did you get out of getting rid of Maiya?" I don't expect him to give me a straight answer.

"You are so damn dramatic, Hunter," he says, looking bored at this line of questioning. "But I'll bite. You needed a little bit of a wake-up call. And I know you have a soft spot for that child of yours."

"Ever heard of an email?"

More silence as he takes a leisurely sip.

"What do you want from me?"

"It's not what I want, Hunter. It's what you will do." He places the glass on the marble coaster next to him. "Your days of gallivanting around the world are over. You will stay here, in Amelia Manor. I'll do you the favor of not requiring you to stay at Brigham Estate. You're welcome." He tilts his head toward me as if to say, Aren't I the greatest?

He continues. "You will stop this idiocy of ignoring my phone calls." He sits silently, and I nod, as expected.

"And congratulations. You're getting married to Blair Winthrope."

I choke on my spit. "What?" I cough and try to reconcile my father's words .

"I was quite clear, Hunter," he snaps.

"For what reason do you need me to marry anyone , particularly Blair Winthrope?"

This is so far from what I expected him to demand from me. I'd met Blair a few times over the years. Fundraisers, the country club, and other places where young people are seen but not heard. It's been well over a decade since I last saw her. She and her father attended a banquet in Manhattan that I happened to go to. My memory recalls her as tall and thin, with red hair and a perfect face that could only be from the end of a surgeon's knife.

He gives me another closed-lipped smile. "Blair and her family present an interesting opportunity for me. So you will marry her. And I need you to give me heirs. Not defective accidents that should have been aborted."

"You would do well to never speak about my son again," I spit at him.

He rolls his eyes, and I swallow against the band of rage that's choking off my air supply.

"If you don't want to marry, you have free choice. Do what you want."

A trap.

"Say whatever you're going to say, Father."

"You're so busy with your company. It would be a shame if that were to go under."

I arch a brow at him. "The FDA?" I ask in a flat tone.

"No one wants a cure for cancer," he says.

"Tell that to the people who are dying from it."

He waves off my words.

"Nonetheless, I can do some interesting things with this new opportunity with the Winthropes," he says.

"Care to share with the class?"

He appears to think about it for a moment before saying, "Nah. "

"Motherfucker," I grumble under my breath, clasping my hands together behind my neck.

"Think of it this way, you'll get to start over again. Build a family the right way from the start," Father says brightly.

"What the fuck do you mean by that," I say in a low, dangerous tone.

Father's smile is slow, derisive. "I'm sure you know what I mean, Hunter."

Dread drops in my stomach like an anvil.

August. He's talking about August. Hurting him, getting rid of him.

Never. Never again will August get caught up in my father's bullshit.

I could kick him out right now, tell him to fuck off and run away with August, hell, with Ella too. But the reality is, there's nowhere I can go that Benjamin Brigham won't be able to find me. And when he does…

I have to play this smart. I know as soon as I bring in Leo, he'll have Max following the threads of this conversation so we can get a step ahead of my father.

Somehow.

…How?

Until I have a plan, I have to keep August safe.

"Fine," I say. I don't have to voice the words, but I do anyway. "I'll do it."

"Excellent," he says with no heat.

Father gets up from the chair and glides over to me. "I'll be in touch, son. In the meantime, keep this," he rears back, giving me an open-handed slap across the face with my phone in the same palm, pressing it into my skull, "nearby."

The ring on his pinky glints against the flames—a heavy gold band centered with an onyx eye surrounded with intricate geometric shapes. It's a flashy, outdated choice for a man who considers himself a fashion icon. But I've never seen my father without it .

My cheek pulses. Not from his slap but from the memory of that same ring cutting into my flesh with the force of his strikes. There weren't many times that he would choose his fists over any other torture device, but his delight came from making me bleed, however he managed to do so.

And with that final order, he leaves the room.

I sit silently for several minutes, staring at the flames.

Helplessness threatens to drag me under as a simple thought rings true: my father knows no boundaries. There's nothing his power cannot achieve.

When am I going to stop letting him control me?

I run a hand down my face.

The fire overheats me, burning my eyes the longer I stare at it. So when a knock sounds at the office door a few minutes after my father's departure, it's for the best. Any longer and I likely would have damaged my corneas.

"Was that who I thought that was?" Leo's incredulous voice comes from behind me, and I sigh heavily before turning to meet his gaze.

"Yep. Benjamin Brigham in the flesh."

"So he finally decided to show himself." Leo moves to take over the seat my father vacated, loosening his tie at the same time.

"Ella brought him over. She thinks I'm mean to him." My lips start to go numb, and I turn to face the fire once more.

Leo makes an indelicate sound. "When are you going to stop hiding the truth from her?" Leo presses, his voice laced with anger.

"What's with all the questions, Leonardo?" I shoot back. I catch it when he raises an eyebrow in reply.

There's so much to what I just learned that I don't know where to begin sharing. I groan for a solid three seconds before adding, "Guess who's getting married."

Leo lets out a choked sound, sputtering for a moment before rasping out, "Certainly not you? "

I nod grimly.

"Fuck! That's fucked. But wait, why are you…"

I give Leo a hard look, telegraphing that the answer is obvious.

"He's basically holding BwP hostage," I reply.

"Ah. So the FDA was him."

"Yep," I say, rubbing my temple.

Leo grunts, a short, frustrated sound. "We can get around him. You don't have to do this, H."

"But I do," I croak. "He's also threatened August. He was behind Maiya's death."

Leo explodes out of his chair.

"I shouldn't be surprised, and yet… shit ," he presses.

He paces across the room, putting his hands on his waist as he moves from one side of the room to the other. A flurry of tense Spanish streams from his mouth.

"So you see why I have to see this through." I rest my head against the back of my chair, lolling to the side to observe his agitated steps. I'm tired. So tired.

"There might be something…" Leo says once he stops moving.

I hum, indicating for him to continue.

"Something interesting happened to me last night." He's curiously calm now.

"Did you pick up a girl and she let you put your monster dick in her ass on the first try?" I guess.

He rolls his eyes. "No," he says dryly. "I met a new potential friend."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Misha Hroshko was in VIP at Krush last night. He sat down in my section for a talk."

Both eyebrows are raised now. "No shit?"

"Yep," he says. "He didn't say much, just that we had a mutual friend of a friend and that he'd be in touch to discuss opportunities soon. "

I blow out a breath. "That's not cryptic as fuck," I mutter.

Misha Hroshko is like the Ukrainian boogeyman. The average person wouldn't know Misha by name, especially here in America, but he's the type of silent ruler that everyone should fear. Misha is the leader of the Mafiya, the Ukrainian organized crime unit that currently has a stronghold on imports and exports through the Black Sea.

Many years ago, I saw him at Isla Cara. He was nearly always silent, never partaking in the drugs or the girls from what I could tell.

The fact that he was so different from the other men who were there, so reserved and separated, confused my teenage brain. It scared me if I'm honest.

"I think it's about your father," Leo says in an even lower voice. "I think he's got his eyes on him too."

I pause, processing his words. "I mean, it only makes sense," I add.

The fact that he randomly showed up in Leo's section isn't benign. It's worrisome.

"Regardless, he wants something from us. Or you," I finish.

Leo nods.

"I think it's better to figure out what he wants sooner rather than later," Leo says. "And maybe he can help."

I zone back in, realizing I'm nodding.

"Set up the meeting," I tell Leo.

He nods in confirmation. "Done deal."

Leo stays with me in my office for a few more minutes before heading out for the night. He is staying in one of the guest cottages not too far from the main house.

He invited me over for a drink or three, but I declined.

Now, I'm back in silence. Just me and the dying fire.

I am so, so fucked.

My recipe for success against my father has been through classic avoidance. I haven't had to deal with his high-handed plans for the last several years because I've always been somewhere else, leaving an ocean and at least half a continent between us.

But now, he's got me here.

If it were just BwP he wanted to screw over, I'd let him. In a heartbeat. But he has his eyes on August. And I will protect my son no matter the cost.

I close my eyes and focus on blocking my mental tirade. Breathing deeply, the lingering smell of whiskey transforms into the scent of roses. Umber hair with soft curls passes into my field of vision. Winter left it curly for her first day working. I see her lips. I see her eyes. I revel in her presence.

I've never been around a woman like her—one who honors her vulnerability and yet is so strong and resolute in how she moves through this world. She intrigues me. I'm curious about her.

I'm more than curious. I'm…infatuated.

The pressing weight of the silent room fills the empty space in my ears, amplifying into a persistent buzz. Everything feels so out of control. I feel out of control.

I lean forward with my head in my hands.

"I hate this," I hiss out loud. But obviously, no one is here to care.

I pull out my phone, staring at the blank screen for several heavy moments before unlocking it. I'd uploaded Winter's contact information after she left. Doing so took me a full ten minutes of contemplation.

Now, I'm grateful I did it.

I don't allow myself to stop. I pull up her info and fire off a message.

I may not be able to control my father, or BwP, or whether August will hate me forever.

But I can control seeing Winter.

Somewhere along the line, the lust that I so clearly feel when I think about her got an added layer: I like her. I want to know more.

I've been with a lot of women and I started fucking way before I ever should have.

You know what that was.

I screw my eyes shut at the thought, focusing on seeing Winter's face in my mind's eye. In the fantasy, she's dancing in the rose garden where I used to spend so much time with my mother.

Her soft smile calls me in; her eyes are open and guileless.

I allow myself to dive into the fantasy for one, two, three breaths.

And then, I shut her out.

My father left his whiskey glass on the side table, and I finally unlock my joints to walk over to the abandoned tumbler. Only a single square ice cube remains, mostly melted in the time I've sat in the room.

I raise the vessel to the light, staring at the fractals that cast as I do so. Each perspective shows a different picture. It's a simple kind of beautiful.

Channeling the frantic energy born from my impotence in this situation, I use all my force to rocket the Baccarat crystal toward the fire, shattering it into a thousand pieces.