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I’m in a dive bar with a dead body, and something is very wrong with my baby.
Hunter’s going to lose his shit when he hears about this.
Chapter 26
I’m Not Going To Ask You Twice
HUNTER
Inow completely understand why teenage boys play with their dicks so much. I can relate. With this kind of downtime on their hands, what the hell else are they supposed to do? I’ve been laying in this bed, it seems like, for months, twiddling my thumbs in between half-ass physical therapy sessions.
Physical fucking therapy.
Talk about a hustle.
All they do every day is make me walk around, check my balance, and lift light-ass hand weights. I can’t believe they get paid for that shit. I worked out harder back when I was a scrawny thirteen-year-old, hoping to be recruited by the organization. The best therapy for me would be to simply get back to my life, especially my woman.
Megan is all I need.
She’s mine.
And while she’s always at the center of my thoughts, for some reason, she is taking up a significant amount ofmy consciousness tonight. Fuck, I miss her luscious ass and infectious smile. Everything in my life is always better when she’s around.
It’s way too late at night for me to call and check on her, but I have an excuse. She’s carrying my child, which makes her more of a target than she’s ever been, and regular check-ins help me sleep at night.
So…I text her.
Me: How’s my baby?
While I anxiously await her response, I do random leg stretches in bed. Anything to speed up the process of getting out of this hell hole. After several repetitions, I slowly rise to get up to pee. Everything feels ache, not because I was shot but because all I’m required to do in this place between sessions is lay like broccoli. It’s infuriating and frankly counterproductive.
I check the time.
At this point in the evening, Megan should be in the penthouse by now, meticulously lotioning her skin after a long shower. Her cell phone usually sits on a dresser at her side of the bed or is parked on a charging station. I wonder if she’s seen my text yet.
She’s probably exhausted, but my gut tells me something is not quite right. And I trust my gut. It’s gotten me out of more precarious situations than I can count over the years.
I call Lars to make sure he’s dropped her off at the apartment building, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. Then I call Vaughn. Same thing. Next, I call Christian. Ditto. Finally, I call Lena. When she answers, the tone of her voice makes my chest tighten.
“Hunter?”
“What’s wrong?” I say, skipping the formalities of a greeting. “Why is no one picking up their phones?”
“It’s Megan.”
“What about her?” I skip a breath, fearing the very worst.
“Something with the baby.”
“Where is she?”
I slowly stand and head toward the closet of my room. I need my street clothes so I can get the fuck out of here. I need to get to her now. She’s probably petrified.
Hell, so am I.
Ever since Megan told me she was pregnant, I’ve been flip-flopping between polar opposite emotions. On one hand, I’m elated that the woman I love is giving birth to a human being that the two of us created. But on the other, I worry that all we’ve done is create another moving target for my enemies. If Johnathan was alive, he’d laugh in my face and tell me how soft I’ve become.
He’d be right.