Page 40 of Hunt Me

CHAPTER 10

Bristol

Whap. Whap. Whap.

With every savage hit of my boxing glove against the bag, I pictured Mr. Jenkins’ face.

Granted, I wasn’t certain if I was angrier with him or just annoyed with my father. The more I’d thought about it, the more I realized my dad knew everyone in town. This was his first stint as being mayor, but he’d served on several city-wide committees over the years.

To say my father was influential was like stating the Pope was Catholic.

Maybe I was overthinking things, but it would appear my father’s rather unyielding reputation had prevented me from getting hired. Either way, I wasn’t a happy girl. Soon, I’d need to make some tough decisions.

Whap. Whap. Whap.

Three more brutal hits. I threw my arms down, cursing under my breath.

Another day of bullshit.

Another day of being turned down.

What was worse was that another firm had confirmed they were hesitant to hire me because of my father and his position. The nice yet plastic employee director hadn’t come out directly making such a bold statement, but I could certainly read between the lines.

I’d been blacklisted.

Why? Was my father some bad seed or were they worried I was working some hidden agenda? Maybe his thoughts on a special commission had already leaked. It didn’t really matter at this point. I had few options and my irritation was exploding off the charts.

Then there were the nagging thoughts and emotions about Mikhail and his family that I couldn’t get rid of. My father was definitely planning on targeting the Dmitriyev regime. While waiting to pay for my groceries, I’d noticed Mikhail was on the cover of the premier Las Vegas magazine, the one that highlighted all aspects of wealth and power, glitz and glamor.

He’d appeared even sexier than two nights before. Photographed in his office, he’d looked completely at ease with being the target of attention. Even more impressive than the picture had been the caption.

The Power Behind Revitalization in Las Vegas

That said it all, including how highly respected he was.

Just glancing at the article for all of three minutes had provided me with a decent understanding of the Dmitriyev holdings. The family members, including an uncle and cousins, were considered some of the richest and most powerful men in the world.

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing yet one more image of the man to pop into my mind.

There was definite bad blood between my father and Mikhail’s family. Did I even want to learn why?

Nope.

Would my father do something so despicable as to try to control my life? Maybe I was just looking for someone to blame. Maybe both my father and my professor were right. I was too squeaky clean. Was that really such a bad thing?

I swung in a full circle, using an axe kick against the thick canvas. Then I issued several brutal punches before taking several strides away from the swinging bag.

While I paced, I grumbled, which was what I’d been doing for thirty minutes. I was on fire tonight, working up a tremendous sweat, yet the anger wasn’t subsiding, instead seething inside.

With a brutal grunt, I kicked the bag again, only to swing around and slam my foot into the center. The chain holding the bag in place creaked from the force.

I stomped my foot like some kid throwing a tantrum and started pacing again as I rolled my arm across my forehead. Perspiration continued to trickle down both sides of my face.The exertion wasn’t relieving the pressure. Maybe I needed to switch tactics and suck down a glass of wine or three.

Binge watchingThe Last of Usmight be on the agenda.

Just before I was ready to rip the laces on my boxing gloves with my teeth, I threw another battery of brutal punches, all the while wishing the bag was some corrupt shithead who’d dared cross my path. One professor had dared warn me I was too good for the law. I’d resisted laughing in his face mostly because I couldn’t understand his sentiment. How could anyone be too good?

Now I had a better understanding of his warning.