Page 130 of Double Standards

“Hunter.” His name is a breath, a lifeline.

He eyes me with a softness I’ve never seen before, then his expression darkens, a scowl flicking to Noah. “What happened?” he growls.

“She was mugged,” Noah answers for me, steadying me with an arm.

“Who are you?” Hunter steps closer, sizing him up.

“Just a friend,” we both say at once.

Hunter doesn't look convinced. He holds out a hand. “Come on. I’ll take you back.”

“It’s all good. I can take it from here,” Noah replies, tugging me closer.

“Cassie?” Hunter’s voice is pure threat. He doesn’t want me with anyone but Axel’s people.

I gently peel away from Noah. “It’s okay, Noah,” I reassure, forcing calm into my voice. “I’m safe with Hunter.”

Noah hesitates before slipping a card into my hand. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you,” I whisper, clutching it.

“Stay safe,” he murmurs before walking away.

“Come on. I’m taking you to Axel.” Hunter’s already holding the door open, scowl etched deep.

I don’t argue. I can’t. I slide into the seat, still shaking. Still bleeding. Still alive.

“Can we go?” I urge as a cold chill settles over me. My gaze drifts to the sidewalk, to the alley. A shudder spirals up my spine. My throat burns. My jaw throbs. Every inch of my skin feels like it’s wearing the memory of Aiden’s grip.

Hunter pulls away from the curb, his car setting a pace I’m not ready for. The hum of the engine is the only sound between us, low and steady, but it echoes too loud in the space where words should be. I stare out the window, watching the world blur by, disconnected from it all—like I’m not really in my own body, like I left something behind in that alley and forgot to go back for it.

For a long time, Hunter doesn’t speak. He just drives, his jaw set tight, eyes locked on the road. His silence isn’t cold, though—it’s coiled, tense, like a thread pulled too tight and ready to snap. I know him well enough to recognize the storm building beneath that stillness. He’s not just angry. He’s furious. For me. For Axel. For whatever line just got crossed too far.

But I can’t speak either. I don’t trust my voice not to shake. I clutch my hands in my lap to stop them from trembling. They don’t listen.

Each street light that passes casts flickering shadows across my lap, and with every pulse of light, I remember the glint of the gun, the suffocating grip on my throat, the sharp crack of pain. My body still flinches like it’s bracing for another hit.

“Who was that guy?” Hunter eventually asks, breaking the unbearable silence.

“I told you, he’s a friend.”

“Just a friend?” He raises a brow. “How do you know him?”

I snap my gaze to his. Whatever he’s accusing me of, he can swallow it.

He must read my mind because he retreats carefully, diving a hand into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. “Your lip.”

The faint trace of blood spreads across my tongue when I slide it across my bottom lip. I’d the tiniest cut, but it draws out a gentle whimper. I draw in a shaky breath, taking the fabric between my fingers and dabbing lightly.

There’s a concerned look on HUnter’s face, like he personally blames himself. But this had nothing to do with him. This was all Daniels’ and his stupid reach for… I don’t know what the fuck it was. But it wasn’t thought out. “You should see the other guy,” I mumble, trying to lighten the mood.

“You know when Axel finds out who attacked you, he’ll go after them.” Hunter stops at a traffic light, the red glow highlighting his tired features. I know there’s something more going on, but he won’t tell me. I’m nobody to him. Just his friend’s…shit.I don’t know what we are.

I let that thought settle deep as we turn onto Axel’s street. His house rises between the terraces like a beacon—dark, imposing, almost haunted. A place that’s seen too much, held too many secrets.

Hunter rounds the car and opens my door. I take his offered hand, my fingers trembling in his grip. The cool night air bites at my skin, but it’s not the cold making me shake.

I don’t think I’m ready to face Axel. Not like this.