Chapter 3

“I can crack walnuts with my arse thanks to Dr. Kegel and his sublime exercises,” Lori gloats, shaking his plump arse clad in a pair of very tight pink shorts—that leave nothing to the imagination—right in my face. His loose, gray t-shirt is torn in a few strategic places, and his silver toenail polish shines against the white kitchen tiles.

I push him unceremoniously aside, enjoying the stumbling of his slender body, before standing up and starting to roll my lilac yoga mat. When Ollie entered our family a few months ago, he brought along his little brother, Sully, and his bat-shit crazy bestie, Lori. Of course, I love both of them to death.

“Watch it, Red Beard!” Lori sashays his way to the kitchen counter where Sari is emptying a bag of tortilla chips into a bowl.

“You need to find him a new nickname.” Michael smirks at Lori while staring at my shaved cheeks a bit too intensely. Lori has a small problem remembering people’s names, or at least that’s the official story since he can definitely remember the nicknames he gifts people with.

But he’s a great yoga teacher. I can reach places with my body I never could before. And my hookups seem to deeply appreciate it.

Lori, or Gremlin—giving him a nickname was only fair—nods at Michael. “Challenge accepted, Bones.”

“Red Beard was cool, damn it!” Raymun Redbeard was a king-beyond-the-wall from Game of Thrones.

“An experiment would be interesting,” Sari mumbles around a chip.

“On Lori? He bites.” I fake gasp, earning a cute growl from Gremlin.

“An experiment will allow us to discover the number of walnuts and amount of time in which Lori can crack them,” Sari clarifies.

Michael is pouring iced tea into four glasses when he utters, “I hope that’s a joke. As a medical examiner, I’ve witnessed unthinkable crap. But I don’t ever, ever want to imagine Lori’s ass doing…anything.”

“Amen.” He bumps my gloved fist when I raise mine to his. I wish I could feel the light touch.

But wishes are like shiny icicles, if they break they can stab you right in the heart.

“And you’d be right! A close up of my arse in action deserves to be live.” Lori waves his hot pink fingernails toward a grimacing Michael and then opens a silver bag, taking out all the things necessary for a mani-pedi.

Through the window wall with its amazing view of downtown Chicago, the late morning sunlight stretches all around the penthouse’s living room. I have to say that Michael did a great job with Raph’s apartment. The deep green carpet in the living room, furry blankets on the sofa, old armchair, and other warm little touches here and there turned it into a home. In opposition to the clinical, psychopathic, almost empty space it had been before. Before Michael, the light blue wall and those three weird paintings—which I believe were made with blood—were the only proof that Raph is indeed human.

Not that my place is any better. I take a chip and drown it in hot salsa before tossing it in my mouth.

“Damn, Reacher, you’ll get smoke coming out of your dick if you keep gulping down that much hot salsa.” And Lori has found a new name to call me. The actor from the tv series is blond but hot, so I can’t complain.

I grab more chips. I can’t taste the corn, just a faint hint of salt and a slight tingle on my tongue from the hot salsa. But I enjoy the crunchy consistency, and I need to eat to survive. Even though most food is the equivalent of polystyrene to my taste buds.

“My dick is always on fire, little Gremlin.”

“All gremlins are little, you knob!” he promptly retorts. “Now take off those fingerless gloves and give me your hands.”

“Hard pass,” I grunt before grabbing another handful of chips. I don’t mind nail polish. It’s the touching part I dislike. I hate that my eyes can see the touch is happening, but I can’t fucking feel anything. It’s another reminder, a visual one, of how fucked up I am—not that I could ever forget that. A light touch is fine, a push, a bump, a brush, but a prolonged one is out of the question.

The physical contact avoidance is more of a habit than anything. It annoys me not to know if I’m being touched.

“I’ll do it.” Sari comes to my aid, placing his hands, fingers spread, on the counter before Lori can say another word. He’s the only one in the room aware of my condition. I know Raph hasn’t said anything to his husband because Michael has questions; I can see them in his eyes every time he glances at my gloves. But he hesitates. Probably out of some kind of empathetic respect since both our brains decided to defend themselves against those painful years. His dissociative mind made him suffer selective amnesia while mine turned most of my senses numb. I believe Michael’s brain handled things better.

“It’s not the day of your execution, Angel. Relax.” Lori shakes Sari’s rigid arms before placing his hands in a bowl full of water. “Where’s Super Model? I expected to see him here, attached to your hip.”

Sari answers Lori’s question with a shrug and a furtive dart of his eyes.

“Uri is…busy,” Michael replies, sensing Sari’s discomfort, but he’s crap at lying. His face is turned away from Lori, and his blond head is tilted down.

“In other words, Super Model is a mollycoddle tosser, and Angel here told him to sod off.” Lori dries one of Sari’s hands and starts massaging it with cream while I stuff my face with more chips and salsa.

Sari keeps silent, so I decide to change topic. “How come you’re not at work this morning?” Usually, we meet in the evening for his yoga lesson since Lori works during the day.

“I’m off,” he replies.

“To the usual corner?” I tease him.

He flips me off. “I needed a few days,” Lori answers nonchalantly.

“Is Gabe giving you a hard time?” Michael asks him. Lori working for my brother’s law firm is still weird. We never expected our brother to hire Gremlin.

He tsks. “I barely see him. I’m an assistant paralegal in a different department, on a much lower floor.” That explains it a little bit.

“So, what’s wrong?” Sari asks him, after choosing the milk white nail polish.

“The HR department suggested I take a couple of days for myself.”

“Why?” I ask slowly. “And you know I can easily discover the reason.”

Lori glares at me. “One of my bosses is a plonker, so I made my position clear.”

“How?” Michael frowns.

“His nose broke when it came in contact with the hard top of his desk,” he shamelessly explains. Lori is slender, lithe, and petite, but he can fucking fight and be quite vicious. I’ve seen him in action a couple of times, he’s like one of those dwarf venomous snakes: if he gets too close, you’re fucked.

“What did your boss say to you?” Sari’s wet hand lifts to cover his mouth.

Lori grabs it and starts drying it. “Nothing your innocent ears should be acquainted with, Angel.”

“And the firm didn’t fire you?” My tone has a hint of disbelief in it.

He shrugs. “They moved me to another department.”

“Why didn’t Gabe tell us?” Sari wonders out loud.

“He’s the big boss. He doesn’t care or have time for all the HR tosh.” Lori grabs a purple nail file and does what I can only describe as attacking Sari’s nails.

“He should,” Sari insists. “I bet if you tell him…”

“No. It’s done. My ex-boss has a high position in the firm. And I’m only a paralegal. I am rather self-destructive, but even I know when it’s best to let it go.” He carefully starts to apply the white polish.

If using the guy’s head as a basketball is Lori’s way of letting go, I can’t imagine what he’s capable of doing for revenge. I’m damn glad he’s on our team.

“I must have inflicted carnage in my past life. Maybe I was Cruella the puppy slayer or a dietitian,” he ponders. He looks unfazed by the event, but I suspect he’s just used to putting on a strong front.

“Or a gremlin,” I add, winking at him.

“Wanker,” he mutters. “Like?” he then asks Sari when he’s done with his nails. My brother smiles at him and nods enthusiastically, making his long black braid shift on his shoulder. “Wow.”

“Michael, you’re up.”

Sari slides off the stool to let Michael take his place at the kitchen counter while still staring dreamily at his hands.

“Why don’t you go back to study? You could reach a high position in the firm that way,” Michael tells Lori.

“Mmm, and have my own minions… Me likey. Ollie does make studying look like fun.”

After a long hiatus caused by family issues, Ollie went back to university a month ago. He already works with Rague at his construction and demolition company, but he wants to help him with the administrative side of the business too.

“I’m actually thinking about teaching at university level,” Michael suddenly says. “I went with Sari to a few symposia, and I found them stimulating and enlightening. You were amazing when…”

“I was?” Sari seems surprised. He doesn’t like to have all the attention on himself, but he gives speeches at universities and charities from time to time if it helps people to get acquainted with his and Raph’s work at Bear-Stone Labs, the research company they founded together.

“Of course! Your work is groundbreaking.” Michael is Sari’s biggest groupie.

“You’d be a great professor thanks to your enthusiasm, clarity, and comprehensibility, like when you describe new or ancient torture methods. Add to that the way you always keep up with new interesting medical techniques, and you’re the perfect candidate for a university teaching position.”

Sari is right. “Your torture fun facts are like small educational gems.” I nod.

It seems like Michael appreciates the sentiment. He pulls Sari to him for a tight hug while smiling big at me. I think I hear a muffled and emotional thank you.

I almost look away since hugs are a painful reminder of what I can’t have. But Lori’s purrs stop me. His curly head leans toward me. “Blimey, please tell me his hands are going to slide to Sari’s perky derriere while they snog…”

“I’m married, and Sari is my brother-in-law!” Michael scolds him, letting Sari go and ruining the nice porn fantasy that Lori was feeding me.

“I’m already on board with it, Bones, don’t need to give me more material.” Lori smirks at Michael.

“You’re nuts.”

“That will never change. And talking about changes…who’s the bloke?” Lori suddenly turns his laser-keen attention to me.

“What bloke…guy?” An image of a tall, thick, fresh glass of delicious cocoa pops in front of my eyes. Power-lifter thighs, massive biceps, sculpted shoulders. Three days have passed since I’ve seen him, and still, I can’t get a single little detail about him out of my mind.

“There’s always a guy with Rami,” Michael interjects.

I roll my broad shoulders back. “Are you implying that I’m a slut?” I love sex, and I’m single. And fucking is the nonviolent way to turn on all my senses. Sue me for enjoying myself.

“Bones is not implying anything. He”s saying it right to your face,” Lori unhelpfully says.

“You’re slutty and flirty and know how to have fun.” Michael shrugs unapologetically.

Yeah, I am kind of slutty.

“Is the bloke a secret? A perverted one? Devious?” With every word Lori leans more toward me—too close for comfort.

“If you want to talk about it, it will stay among us,” Sari assures me.

“Yeah, what happens here stays on YouTube.” Lori giggles at his lame joke.

“What the fuck? I don’t have a red room.” I’m not Uri. “I met him through…work.”

“The bloody kind or keyboard kind?” Michael asks, and Lori replies, “He meant Tinder.”

I send Gremlin a really? look. He tuts. “We’ve already established you’re a slutty hacker. And Tinder is great for a quickie.”

It is.“I said work, and you know my primary job is to create video games,” I bite out.

“Brad and Sully can’t stop talking about your last one.” Lori rolls his eyes. Sully, Ollie’s bro, and his best friend, Brad, are seventeen years old. Fifteen to thirty are usually my target buyers.

“Is this guy a video game player?” Sari asks.

“No, I met him when I extracted a donor.”

Lori frowns. Being a new addition to the family side business and doesn’t know the whole procedurewell yet. But he’s eager to learn.

“He sedated the donor and brought them to the base,” Michael clarifies.

“Was the guy the victim?” Sari puts two and two together.

I give him a half nod. Half because after what I learned about him, Hunter Penn is definitely not a victim.

“White Knight syndrome…nice.” Lori claps his hands.

“Hardly. Hunter could have done it without me. He’s a P.I. A big bear of a P.I.” His bigger size is incredibly attractive to me. Smaller men are usually attracted to my brawn, and they want to be topped. But I prefer to bottom, and Hunter is the one my ass is impatiently after. And my dick. They’re getting demanding about it.

“You met a private investigator in the flesh. So exciting!” Michael’s love for old detective shows and movies is only topped by Uri’s. That’s why Uri is very skilled at torturing, he enjoys extracting clues and truths from the donors.

“Bears smell so good! It must be all that bloody hair.” Lori purrs again. How does he do that?

“I don’t know if he’s hairy, but he fucking smells amazing.” An echo of Hunter’s smoky scent travels inside my nostrils for a moment. But it disappears just as fast.

“BO is amazing?” Sari scrunches his nose.

“BO and sweat are two different things,” Michael tells him. “Was he interested in what you…offered?”

I pout my lips while thinking. “Not sure. But all he needs is a little nudge, and I’m working on it.”

“Nishmans, eh?” Lori sighs before excitedly jumping from his stool like a cricket on amphetamines. “Let’s stalk Magnum P.I.! I have two baseball bats in my car.”

“What?” Sari jerks back in shock.

“Why would we need baseball bats?” I ask him.

“Forward planning, of course.” He scoffs. “Ollie and I stalked Rague, and now they are ecstatic and fucking like rabbits. Aaand I have a new stalker playlist I want to debut,” Lori pleads with praying hands.

“Raph kind of stalked me…with Rague actually.” Michael reminds me how our family growth started.

“They thought you were Meg’s lover,” Sari offers.

Michael replies, “Who would be so stupid as to awaken Linda’s jealousy?”

Linda, my foster mother is bloodthirsty. She’s scary when she’s…plotting the demise of the poor fucker who crossed her path.

“I just realized how ironic his name is: Hunter…the P.I.” Michael snorts.

“Come on, I need some action, mates!” Lori suddenly whines.

“How about you do my hands?” Michael tells him, wiggling his fingers in front of him.

“Alright.” He strangely gives up. That was too easy. And in fact, after a minute into mani, he suggests, “I know you stalked him on the internet, already. Doing it in real life is the next step, Reacher.”

“I’ve seen you drive, Lori. You turn into a wild, deranged maniac behind the wheel. How did you get your license?” Lori is the worst driver in the whole history of driving. How he is still alive is a mystery no one will ever solve.

“I slept with the instructor.” He shrugs, lowering his eyes to Michael’s hands.

There’s a couple of understanding ahhs and a huff.

“Not on purpose! Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” He wrinkles his nose. Then lets Michael choose the nail polish color. Light green.

“How can you have sex with someone not on purpose?” Sari is seriously contemplating it, his eyebrows scrunched up above his big blue eyes.

“Did you fall asleep and accidentally got impaled on his cock?” Michael taunts Lori.

Gremlin makes a pondering sound. “Always found somnophilia sexy. But I sleepwalk at times. It could be a new kink, sleepwalkingphilia. Somnambulismphilia?”

“The right name would be ipnovasiphilia. In Greek ipnovasí means somnambulism and philia is love,” Sari offers.

“I need to post this. How do you spell that?” Lori grabs his phone from his small handbag while Sari obliges him.

“And no, there was no actual sleeping involved with the instructor. I didn’t know what he did for a living. We hooked up in a bar, and a month later, he recognized me from the passenger seat of the driving school car.”

“And he remembered you,” Michael states, waving his hands in the air to let the nail polish dry.

“What can I say, I’m unforgettable.” That’s for sure. Lori’s spit-firing, no-filter attitude and individualistic fashion style certainly leave a permanent impression in people’s brains.

“You must be memorable too if he gave you the license after seeing you drive,” I scoff.

“He gave me something else in the back of the driving school car. Twice,” Lori smirks mischievously, lifting two fingers to emphasize how many times he got fucked.

“I’ve never gotten a driver’s license. Maybe I should.” Sari’s cheeks have turned red.

“Aren’t you shagging that professor?” Lori asks him while tapping on his phone.

“Trent? We just had dinner together.”

“And dessert?” I wiggle my eyebrows at Sari. His cheeks have turned scarlet now. So something must have happened with the professor.

“Oh, I almost forgot! I made cookies.” I didn’t know Michael could cook. He jogs—almost skips—to the fridge, coming back with a plastic container full of what may have looked like chocolate chip cookies before Dr. Frankenstein decided to work on them.

“Biscuits for stalking time, che-eers!” Lori’s smile is a bit too bright as he grabs a blob-shaped burned cookie. Sari does it as well. Michael is looking at me expectantly, and since I don’t want to explain to him that I’m not going to be able to taste anything, I take one and toss it in my mouth. Some parts are hard to chew, others too soft, almost uncooked.

I make a fake noise of enjoyment that pushes a happy yay! out of Michael’s mouth. Lori sends me a puzzled look while giving his cookie a hesitant, teeny-tiny bite. His eyes widen, and he rapidly replaces his horrified expression with a quivering close-mouthed smile.

“It’s the dog’s bollocks!” he mumbles to a breathless Michael. We all frown at him in confusion. “It means it’s great!” Lori explains, making Michael beam like a disco ball before turning to hear Sari’s opinion.

“It actually tastes like a dog’s balls,” Lori whispers my way.

I shrug, grabbing another crunchy-looking blob. Barely having a sense of taste can come in handy sometimes. I kind of miss my beard, tugging on it helped me think, but not having to check for crumbs after eating makes up for it.

I see Lori wrapping his cookie in a tissue and quickly sliding it into the waste bin while Michael is not looking. “Ollie is quite busy lately, so I appointed you as my temporary bestie,” he then declares in some kind of official tone, turning my way.

Ollie is busy helping Rague with his…problem, while also studying and keeping an eye on his brother’s recovery. Lori must feel a bit left out.

“And what am I?” Michael pouts.

“Bully Boy, also known as your-hubby-bangs-you-all-the-time, which is hot to hear, but he never leaves you alone,” Lori tells him. “I need a wingman when I go clubbing!”

“I’m alone now,” Michael tries to retort, but Gremlin is right, Raph rarely leaves his husband alone and would kill anybody who tried to touch him in a club. Psychopaths cannot love, but whatever Raph feels for Michael is the closest thing to love there is—with obsession, possession, and co-dependency in the mix. But hey, whatever works as long as they’re happy.

“I’ll give it five more minutes before he comes through that elevator,” I say.

“I bet you ten bucks that it’ll be ten minutes,” Lori says.

“Fifteen.” Sari places the money on the counter.

“You and your stupid bets!” Michael throws his hands in the air.

“Before Bully Boy breaks through that elevator, tell us all about the magical Magnum P.I. who made you mow that bush on your face!” Lori places his chin on his laced fingers, staring at me expectantly.

“Hunter, that’s such a cool name for a P.I.,” Michael repeats dreamily.

“Hell and damnation! I have the perfect song from my revisited stalker playlist.” Lori taps excitedly on his phone.

Revisited?Michael mouths my way.

“Private Eye” by Hall and Oates starts playing, and a small smile tilts my lips.

“Hunter Penn. Mmm, nice website.” Lori’s words turn my eyes on him once again. “And hello, oversized, lick-worthy, porno-dream of a specimen. His picture makes all my appendages point at him.”

Michael and Sari gather behind him to stare at his phone, and they both nod in agreement. I don’t need to; I’ve already checked the shit out of it and more.

Michael snaps his fingers. “Let’s check his socials.”

“He’s not on any social media,” I say.

“No Instagram? No posts?” Lori sounds perplexed.

“I think he doesn’t like them,” I let them know.

“Odd but not impossible. Raph hates them too,” Michael says.

“A misanthrope?” Sari proposes, and Lori follows with, “How old is this guy?” He gazes at Hunter’s picture. “Plastic surgery can take off a few years, you know?”

“Maybe, and no. He knows how to use socials, he does it under false identities to attract the people he’s investigating.”

“The trust of the innocent is the liar’s most useful tool,” Sari reads from Hunter’s home page.

“I bet I can tell you the exact size of his tool…humongous.” Lori licks his lips, and I’ve had enough.

“Are you done?” I grunt, annoyed.

“Jealous?” Lori asks in an even more annoying girl’s voice.

“Fuck off, Gremlin.”

“Hey! Don’t worry, I’m not into…”

“Devastatingly handsome men? Who can melt you with a single look? Who make your blood boil?” I felt irked when I imagined Hunter interested in Lori, and now I find myself personally affronted that Lori doesn’t find him attractive enough. That’s fucking crazy. Even for me.

I even dreamed about him last night. His pupils were blown, his dark hand was on my white skin, his hard, hot body pressed against mine. I could feel it, taste it, smell it. My dick throbbed, and I rubbed it against his thick, enormous cock. It speared my hole and fucked it with abandon. He snarled, making my balls pulse with lust. “Come,” he ordered. And fuck, I did. Woke up covered in my jizz.

I notice that they are all looking at me with googly eyes. It makes me feel exposed in some way. What’s with them?

“You’re beautiful” by James Blunt is playing now. I’ve never heard this song from a stalker point of view, but the obsession is there. And it makes me actually realize that I might feel more than intrigued by Hunter. It’s only because I want to test that gigantic tool before my blue balls fall off, though.

If the mountain won’t go to Muhammad… “It’s time to use the big guns.” I sigh.

“Let’s send him a fake, I-want-to-hire-you email,” Lori suggests.

“That’s not what I had in mind.”

Michael ignores me. “Yes! Let’s go with the classic: ‘I think my boyfriend is cheating on me.’”

“He probably gets a large amount of those, there’s a risk he’ll trash it,” Sari shoots the idea down.

“We’ll lure him in with a nice hunk of change, and if that isn’t enough, a picture of my tight arse.” Lori’s ridiculous offer makes me walk to my messenger bag and grab my phone.

“No.” I growl.

“Oh, I see, you don’t want him to fall in love with my assets. Clever.”

“Shut up!” Would some duct tape on Lori’s mouth do the trick? No, he’d probably gnaw his way through it.

“I could go see him incognito with a cool disguise, which means a trip to the thrift store and a fake ID, maybe a wig?—”

Michael cuts him off, “Lori, we need a plausible story first, then an Extreme Makeover.”

“It’s good to always think ahead in case something goes pear-shaped. But okay. I got it. We can tell him that the mascot of the…Chicago football team has gone missing, and since the players are very superstitious, he needs to find the bloody dolphin—bear ASAP.”

“That’s the storyline for Ace Ventura.” Michael shakes his head with a hint of exasperation.

“What’s that?” Sari asks. He doesn’t get out much unless it is related to his work. I don’t know how Lori convinced him to come to his yoga classes. But I’m glad to see Sari relax.

“Stop this nonsense and just…let the grown-up with the best tight ass work.” I give them a stern look. “Serena, how’s the Hunter Bear case going?” I tap on my bracelet—a new gadget I’ve started to use to communicate more easily with Serena—which has a small speaker connected to my AI assistant so everybody in the room can hear her.

“Cool!” Lori tries to imitate the deep voice on movie trailers as he sits on the sofa. “The Hunter Bear snooping is on.”

“Just a moment, Daddy,” Serena promptly answers, making Lori whistle.

“Oh, Daddy Rami. So sweet.” Michael wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye.

I curl my lips over my teeth at him. I need to get back at him somehow…without getting killed by Raph in the process.

“Although fucking with Reacher is always entertaining, I want to keep going with the stalking part. So we need more hors d’oeuvres, Bones.” Then Lori quickly adds, “Something out of a package please.”

Michael looks at him with narrowed eyes, but Gremlin throws him an innocent smile and keeps going, “Siri, play song seven on the revisited stalker playlist.”

“‘Hungry Like a Wolf’ by Duran Duran playing now,” Siri’s voice resounds in the room before the early eighties electronic pop tune starts.

Lori moves his lithe torso to the music, bumping Sari’s shoulder to invite him to dance with him. Shockingly, my brother does it, and not in a timid, stiff way. Sari follows with sinuous smoothness every move Lori makes. I didn’t know he could dance like this—or at all.

“You should definitely come clubbing with us, Angel.”

Sari smiles while Michael places some crudités, dips, and a pack of pretzels on the coffee table. “I want to come to!”

“I’ll take you, babe.” Raph walks out of the elevator directly into the penthouse and goes straight to a smiling Michael. They exchange a PG-13 kiss and then sit one on top of the other on the armchair.

“Fourteen minutes and fifty-two seconds. I won.” Sari walks back to the kitchen and grabs the bet money we left on the counter.

“I have a new development in the Hunter Bear case,” Serena suddenly says.

“Potential donor?” Raph asks, using his uninterested tone.

“He wishes Magnum P.I. would donate some fluids,” Lori teases.

Oh, he will.“Tell me everything, Serena.”

From my crouched position behind a four-foot fence, I’m keeping an eye on the old townhouse and small backyard where Malcom Bindy, a low-life drug dealer supposedly is. August’s phone contained Malcom’s name as his next hit. I’m pretty sure it has no connection to Phoenix, but being the meticulous and scrupulous person I am, I came to check him out—and to use this situation as bait.

“He’s arrived,” Serena’s voice resounds clearly in my ear. And he bit! Hunter Bear is here. My body starts filling with fire and excitement. My lips curl up.

I can’t believe I’ve been stalked. I feel strangely flattered.

Lori fucking screamed like a banshee when Serena let us know this morning that Grizzly has been following me. For almost two days. I have to say, Hunter Penn is good at his job. I didn”t notice his tailing. I know he’s a skilled P.I. with a ninety-eight percent success rate, but I’m surprised he’s capable of being almost invisible with his oversized body.

“Where?” I ask her.

“Two blocks east, he’s getting off his motorcycle. Soon I will lose sight of him, there aren’t other cameras around this area.”

“Expand the search. There’re a couple of parked cars, check if they have dash cams.”

“One, but it only operates with the car’s ignition system. I’ll look for moving cars passing by.” Atta girl!

I’m suddenly energized at the thought of seeing him.

And I can’t remain still much longer. I’ve surveyed the quiet, creepy neighborhood. Not many people living here or cars driving by.

I wait a few more minutes to be sure Hunter is close enough and has a clear view…of me. Then I straighten up, take a couple of steps, and smoothly vault over the fence, placing my hand on the flat top and pushing into it as my legs swing to the other side.

I studied the blueprint of the house before coming here. The best point of entry is through the exterior basement door. The chain is rusty; a pair of tongs, and I’d be in. But that’s too easy. I’d rather try the open glass door on the second floor. Showing my parkour skills to a certain grizzly makes that decision very easy.

I run toward the house, and using the momentum, I jump on the brick wall and climb Spiderman style. Just a few steps before twisting my body to the right to grab onto the metal rail of the small balcony with both gloved hands. I fluidly pull myself up, corded arms popping, and haul my feet up to the rail. I ease myself silently onto the balcony with the perfect mix of force and agility and push myself flat to the wall, only peeking for a second inside the room through the open glass door. It’s empty, and I slowly walk in. Apart from an unmade single bed, the room is bare, musty, and dirty.

I reach the ajar door across the room and pause. There are no noises coming from inside the house.

“Hunter Penn is entering the house at the front door.” Serena must have found a cam.

The front door? Ballsy. I like it. “Only one body heat signature on the first floor. Not moving. Heart rate stable.” Sleeping, perhaps?

“Got it. Let me know if that changes,” I order her.

“Will do.”

I slide into the corridor and check the other room. It’s rank, the air stale. The ratty furniture is covered in what look like rodent bites. The small television is ancient and broken, with a thick layer of dust on it.

I turn down the hallway, at the top of the stairs, my feet halt when I see a shadow moving slowly on the first floor. Large brown boots enter my line of vision followed by a pair of strong thighs and a wide chest before Hunter’s rugged face comes into view as well. Fuck, he’s so damn handsome. And ripped.

And mine for the taking.

I take a step back and let the evening shadow hide me. He turns left and keeps going while I soundlessly descend the carpeted stairs and follow him.

When only three feet of distance is between us, I ask, “Looking for me?”

He stiffens and sucks in a breath. I feel kind of proud of myself. I’m sure it’s not easy to take this grizzly by surprise.

He slowly turns to face me. His deep eyes are guarded, studying me as if I am a predator ready to capture him. And I feel like one. I spent hours going over our previous exchange, trying to discern how his mind works, studying whatever I could find about him—and it was deliciously darker than I expected. That only gave me more reasons to be attracted to him.

I see the moment he recognizes me; his eyes widen almost imperceptibly and fall on my shaved cheeks. Does he like my beard-less face? Is he happy to see me? I can’t tell from his unreadable expression.

He’s so massive. I forgot how big his shoulders are. I suddenly feel the uncontrollable need to run my hands up his glorious biceps and squeeze his strong pecs. Would they be covered in curls or just peppered by them?

I’m undressing him with my eyes again. Oops.

I force my gaze back to his face. I have to tilt my head back to do it. If he is puzzled by this turn of events, he hides it well behind an unfazed mask.

He abruptly grabs my shirt and shoves me against the wall. Adrenaline starts pumping into my veins. I grin and lift my hands, showing him I’m unarmed.

“Why are you following me, Ramiel?” he hisses in my face, and poof! my briefs melt along withmy inhibitions.

“While not against stalking, I’m not the stalker here.” I tsk a couple of times, just to let my words sink in. “You were watching me at the male strip club as you talked to the owner. Did he offer you a job? Stripper or bodyguard?” I don’t let him reply. But either a full-body check or a private dance from him sounds glorious to me. “Then there you were near the supermarket. How could you remain outside when there’s an aisle filled with artificially flavored chips right there? Also, I wouldn’t have renounced my prize at the Bingo parlor like you did, but I have to admit, old Irene spitting her false teeth out in excitement at winning was priceless. Unless…your presence in all these places was purely coincidental. But wait, you don’t believe in coincidences, or God.” My smirk is quite supercilious, but I cannot help it.

His jaw tics as he keeps staring. I know I crossed the line a bit, but I dig that stern look on him. Having all his attention solely on me, the intensity of his gaze studying my every facial movement, makes me finally understand the saying aboutbutterflies in the belly. I have a swarm of them causing a damn storm inside me.

His expression turns wary. “You knew. You…lured me here.” His other hand moves against the wall a few inches from my face.

“Aren’t you impressed yet?” I let out a mocking chuckle. “I thought you were a smart guy, but you seem very confused by this.” His fist tightens on my collar while his other hand grabs my wrist and pins it to the wall.

Yes!The idea of him having his way with me against a hard surface makes my body suddenly awaken, faster than usual. My senses are filling in the gaps rapidly, and I start to feel his long fingers curling around my wrist, his hot body slightly touching mine, his minty breath on my face. His scent hits me, smoky, rich, and male, setting those butterflies’ wings on fire.

There’s no way Hunter is bad at fucking. Not when everything he does exudes power, fluidity, and heat. So much heat.

“I’m not the one backed against a wall.” He emphasizes his words by pushing his body more firmly against me while my free gloved hand falls on his wool sweater-clad, slightly round belly. He doesn’t try to suck it in, which means he’s confident in his skin. And that is another big turn-on for me.

My smile broadens. I lean my head closer to him, and at the same time, push my interested dick into his thigh. A grunt escapes him, and my cock hardens. Well, I’m fucking human, and he’s not bad looking. The fucking opposite. That big, juicy mouth…I want to taste it. Now that my beard is gone, I can thoroughly enjoy it sans hairy obstacles. I slick my lower lip, and when I catch him following the movement of my tongue, I bite into the soft skin, feeling smug as fuck.

“Is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?” I tease him. I know there’s a pistol under his jacket, but what I’m talking about is the biggie in his pants…a fucking bazooka pushing against my belly.

Taking advantage of his moment of distraction, I quickly cock my arm back, letting my hand smack the inside of his wrist hard enough to make him release my shirt, and then I press my forearm forcibly against his neck. Using his body weight against him, I spin him back against the wall and reverse our starting position.

He’s bigger than me and stronger but doesn’t try to push me away. Whatever the reason, I don’t care. I just want to keep feeling. I grab his big hand and lift it near his face—imitating his previous act—stroking the calloused center of his palm with my pinky while my lower body forcefully grinds into his.

He’s getting harder and even bigger against my abdomen. Fuck yes!

“Who’s the one pinned now?” I whisper darkly into his ear. The smooth skin of his neck is such a temptation, I have to grit my teeth against it. But I can’t stop wondering what he would taste like. Salty? Sweet? Musky?

What the hell, I tilt my head back and bite his chin hard, letting the tip of my tongue have a quick tidbit. He tastes like fucking sin. Succulent and decadent.

He tenses but still doesn’t do anything to fight me.

Every nerve in my body is electrified, and I want to ride this feeling-wave so badly.

His eyes are laser-focused on me as his strong hand slides under my jacket, down my back, and toward my ass. He pauses a moment when his fingers bump against the knife I have tied to my side and then goes back to trailing down. I’m a second away from finally discovering what it will be like to be groped by the bodacious bear when his merciless fingers curl around my belt loops instead.

To pull me away? Keep me in place?

Serena’s next words are like a bucket of cold water on my lusty fog. “Body heat moving toward you.”

I swear under my breath and pull back, letting him go. It takes him a second too long to release his hold on my pants, but he does. The more distance I put between us, the more my body turns numb again. I fucking hate this part, but I’ve learned to live with it.

“Sorry, Grizzly, we have company.” I wink at him.

“How do you…? Watch o—!” His words are covered by a strong cracking sound. And when I look down, a piece of a broken board lies near my shoe and a faint ache is spreading through my left shoulder.

I spin to look at the lanky guy holding the broken piece of wood. He looks young, in his twenties, wearing a long hoodie and loose pants.

Shaggy black hair.

Black eyes.

Pretty average.

It’s Malcom Bindy.

“Did you just hit me with a rotten piece of board?” I hiss at him.

“What we-were you do-ing to him?” he slurs at me. Is he drunk? And did he really imply I was hurting the taller and bigger man?

“Do I need to carve an erotic sketch on your forehead with my knife to make you understand?” I take a step his way. His eyes dart from me to Hunter, and he suddenly backs away, stumbling and falling, hitting his head hard on the doorframe.

His unconscious body lying on the dirty floor makes me blow out a long, exasperated breath.

“You scared him,” I scold Grizzly.

“I did?” He raises a dubious black eyebrow.

I check Malcom’s pulse. “He’s breathing and high as a kite.” His blown pupils confirm my theory. “Let’s put him in that armchair.” I point at the green one in the room on the right.

“What do you want from him?”

Hunter hauls him up on his shoulder and drops him on the armchair without my help. He’s built, but I’d bet that mostly hard work created all that power. His biceps and shoulders bulge out of the tight black jacket as his thick thighs seem to want to tear through the worn-out jeans. He looks like one of those ancient bronze statues, but on steroids.

“Just to ask a few questions.” Hoping Malcom will be able to answer them. My eyes fall on several beer and liquor bottles and the bags of what look like cocaine and pills piled up on the long table near the flat screen TV—he must have tried the merchandise.

There are crates along the walls. Three guns and a couple of rifles are lying on an open one. After a quick inspection, I notice that the serial numbers have been removed. “Are you sure you want to stick around, Hunter Bear?” I point at the illegal stuff.

“How the fuck do you know my name?” he growls, supporting my grizzly nickname.

“You know mine, and I know yours. It’s only fair.” His unimpressed stare lets me know he doesn’t like my reply. “Did you know that polar bears are actually black? They have dark skin under all that white fur.”

His lips twitch. Is he trying to stifle a smile? Malcom chooses that moment to moan. His eyes are glassy, and he has a half smile on his face.

I grab my phone and start taking a video. “Oh, look what we have here, illegal guns, drugs, more drugs, and a tripping idiot. You’ve been a very bad boy, Malcom.”

He swings up from the armchair in a pathetic attempt to grab my phone, but because of his inebriated state, he starts to sway one way and then the other. I shove the idiot, and he falls back like a sack of potatoes.

“I bet the police would love to see this.” I stop the video and pocket my phone.

He snorts. Damn. How many drugs did he sample? Did he drink those empty bottles of alcohol by himself?

“Who is he?” Hunter asks, looking at the guy.

“Malcom Bindy, twenty-five years old. Went missing when he was sixteen. He’s a small dealer with an addiction to cocaine.”

“Is there a reason why you want to question him?” Hunter’s gaze is on me, searching for answers. But this is not the right time.

“Yes,” I reply simply.

Malcom is looking at Hunter with confused eyes. “What-what are you doing here?” His expression has turned frightened now.

“See? It’s you he’s afraid of.” I told him so.

“He’s out of his mind,” Hunter mutters before moving away and disappearing down the hall.

Malcolm starts giggling. Yeah, Grizzly is probably right.

“Do you know why there’s a target on your head?” I ask him, but he’s too fascinated by the rings on his fingers and the cheap bracelet around his wrist. I slap him hard on the face and crouch down to look him in the eye. “Do you know August Baker?”

Malcolm seems to think about it. “No. August,” he pronounces the name, using what I can only assume is a German accent. Then he laughs.

“Au-guuust! August!” His laughter soon takes on a hysterical edge. He doesn’t look bothered by the fact that two big men are interrogating him. Well, now only me. Where did my grizzly go?

“Serena, let me know if Hunter Bear leaves the house.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Darling, please stop calling me that.” My voice has taken on a pleading tone.

“But you created me, therefore you are my daddy, aren’t you?” Her reasoning has no faults, but…

“Who the fuck are you talking to?”

I spin around, and there”s Hunter, big, dark, and sexy. It’s amazing how my brain cannot do his magnificence justice. Every time I see him again, I realize how lousy my memory is.

“My AI.”

He frowns, and I find it so fucking hot. How can a frown be hot? Now that I think about it, Mr. T was one of my favorite jerk-off fantasies when I was a teen. Good times. I’m in serious need of revisiting my adolescent crushes.

“Malcom is out. Did you find anything interesting in the other rooms?”

He shakes his head, and I start moving toward the ajar front door.

“Let’s grab a coffee,” I propose, but his next word halts my steps.

“Why?” He sounds suspicious.

“Well, don’t make me feel like I’m drop-dead fucking gorgeous!” I sarcastically respond, looking back at him.

“Two people…” It’s all I hear from Serena before the front door suddenly bursts open and two men wearing black ski masks, dark clothes, and combat boots rush in. The first one comes at me holding in each fist a tiger claw three blade knife—Wolverine claws, I prefer to call them. The weapon slashes the air a few inches from my chest as I bend my torso backward to avoid it. He comes at me with his other hand, this time tearing the sleeve of my leather coat. I feel a light sting as the blades graze my skin, and my senses are switched on by the adrenaline pumping inside of me.

“This is my Morpheus coat, you moron!” I scowl at him. Morpheus. Another old crush. I kind of see a pattern here.

On his next attack, I evade the man’s claws, twisting my body to the side, and after taking hold of his thick wrist, I shove the blades into the wall. He pulls on his hand in an attempt to unstick them from the white plaster, leaving himself completely defenseless. Big mistake.

A well-placed kick breaks his kneecap, making him grunt and his leg almost give out. He finally lets go of the blades in the wall as he tries to keep his balance, putting his weight on his right leg. I deliver a left hook to his side while my right slides his sweaty ski mask off, then my left delivers another hard punch under his chin that forces him back.

I send a quick glance Hunter’s way. He has the other guy in a headlock, choking him.

“Ready to tell me who you are and why you kicked the door down when it was already open, Jean-Claude?” I ask the fucker panting in front of me.

He’s unsurprisingly the reticent type and doesn’t give me an answer. But he glances Hunter’s way before turning his attention to me. I know he isn’t going to talk, but that glance told me everything I wanted to know. There’s no point in keeping him alive.

Also, he stinks. “The deodorant you’re using is definitely not working. If you even use any, Pepé Le Pew.”

He spits some blood on the floor and glares at me. No sense of humor or hygiene. Need to ask Sari if that has some grounds for an experiment.

He pushes away from the wall and swings his clawed hand at me again, urging me to move backward. But in his condition, the movement lacks precision, and it’s easy to evade. I grab his forearm as I shove him hard, using my bigger bulk. I force his hand near his throat, his claws drawing a few drops of blood.

“Tell Satan I’ll keep ’em coming,” I utter before piercing his throat with his own weapon and letting him go. His eyes widen as he takes a step back and then collapses stiffly on the floor.

I turn to find a slightly heavy-breathing Hunter staring at me. I can see fire in his eyes, but I don’t know if it’s caused by the fight or something else. His guy is lying face down on the floor. Hunter’s big boot lifts from the guy’s broken neck—I bet he only had to stomp on it once. So fucking hot.

“Okay?” I ask him. He nods, seemingly unaffected by the situation. His eyes run quickly down my body as if he’s checking for injuries and pause on the cut on my shoulder. That makes an unfamiliar, not sexual feeling spread in my guts.

Grizzly turns the dead body over and takes the mask off the guy.

My merciless succubus is at it again, and soon, my just acquired senses disappear. Still, I have a matter at hand to take care of.

I take a picture of the dead dudes’ faces and ask Serena if she can find a match in the database. “Check ex-military as well.” Their buzz cuts and the way they fought screamed Marines to me—in addition to their boots andfashion style.

“What are you into?” Hunter growls.

“They weren’t here for me, Grizzly.”

“Malcom?”

“Maybe. This one,” I point at Pepé, “seemed to really like you. But I’m not sure. Need to dig more. How about you tell me everything that can be related to this over a coffee?”

“Who are you? Apart from a rich game developer?” he asks, instead of accepting my invitation.

“Aww, you really checked me out? I’m honored.” I wink at him.

When Serena starts talking, I activate the speaker on my bracelet. “Jim Sears and Morris Frank, ex-Navy.” Navy not Marines, close enough. “Dishonorably discharged on suspicion of espionage. They were mercenaries accepting jobs on the dark web.”

“Do they have any connection to Malcom Bindy?” Hunter asks, leaning his body toward my wrist. So cute.

“Serena, check that and also if there’s any link with August Baker.”

“The guy you kidnapped? What does he have to do with this?” He points at the dead mercenaries. “The hell is going on? Since I met you, I’ve been attacked four times.”

“Like your life was all roses before!” I send him a firm look that dares him to refute it.

“Are you always this…”

“Fabulous? Gorgeous? Magnificent?” I offer him some adjectives that would fit perfectly my marvelous self.

“Annoyingly evasive?” His gruff voice and unwavering gaze make my dick twitch, uncaring of his words.

“I do my best, Grizzly.” I give him a big smile. “Look, I’ll tell you what I know, but not here.”

“Fine, but let’s do it quickly,” my bear relents. He turns and strides off without waiting for me. Hunter is a step away from giving it to me. He just doesn’t know it yet.

I send a quick text to Uri, telling him to come here and take care of the bodies since he owes me big, and to keep an eye on Malcom. I need to interrogate him when he’s sane again.