Page 21 of Hunted by Them (Primal Desires #1)

SAGE

I woke up in the hotel with a headache that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with my ex.

The coffee didn’t help either. Only one thought cut through the throbbing.

Connor did this, and the cops didn’t give a shit.

He was part of that old boys’ club. His father was friends with the mayor and a bunch of other rich people who paid to get out of trouble.

I pictured them sitting around and laughing about how Connor showed me before they sipped brandy and smoked cigars, and I… I couldn’t let that happen.

Parking the car in the lot at the police station, I got out and marched to the door. The place smelled like burned coffee and laminated forms, not what I was expecting. I’d called ahead and was told to arrive for ten on the dot if I wanted to speak to Officer Grady, and there he was at the counter.

He seemed like a decent guy, but he wore a tired smile that said this conversation wouldn’t end the way anyone wanted. Not a good start.

“Ms. Harlow.” He gestured me toward a plastic chair in the empty waiting room. “I’m glad you called. I wanted to let you know that we have logged your report, and we’re increasing patrols in your area.”

“Patrols? I know who did it. I told you Connor Keating did this. Did you arrest him? At least speak to him?”

“Who?”

That was a bullshit question.

“You know who.” I leaned forward. “Connor Keating,” I repeated. “My ex-boyfriend. I gave you all of this information yesterday.”

Grady opened his little notebook and flipped through the pages. “Oh yes, I see it here. Another officer went to speak to him, but Connor claims he was at work and then went out to dinner. We don’t have sufficient evidence to press charges at this time.”

My laugh came out sharp. “What about the photo? My face was torn in half like he was leaving behind a calling card? He’s obsessed and sloppy.”

“A torn photo shows anger,” he said, mildly. “But not who tore it up. It could’ve been you for all we know. As for prints…if Mr. Keating had been in your apartment before, his fingerprints wouldn’t be dispositive. Shared items, shared surfaces.”

I stared at him. “You’re telling me he can rip up my home like a rabid raccoon, stalk me at my work, and your answer is, he might have touched things in the past?”

“I’m telling you that right now, there isn’t enough proof to take to a DA. If we find video evidence, a witness, or an admission of guilt, then we have something. Right now…we only have your word against his, and your neighbors saw nothing.”

“He’s not going to stand on the sidewalk and confess for your convenience,” I snapped, shaking my head. “He destroyed almost everything I own. I don’t believe this.”

Grady’s look was sympathetic, but unmoved. “Document everything. Change your locks. Consider a restraining order. If he contacts you, call us, but other than that, our hands are tied. I really wish I had better news.”

It was the gentlest dismissal I’d ever heard. I stood before I said something I couldn’t take back and thanked him with a frosty politeness.

Outside, the morning was too bright. I sat in my car with my hands on the wheel and stared at my reflection in the mirrored glass of the station windows. I looked like a crazed woman. Even my hair was standing out like it couldn’t just lie down and take this. I wanted to scream.

Instead, I opened my apps, clicked on Maps, and typed in Westview Country Club.

If the law didn’t have a spine, then I would.

The country club smelled like old money and fresh grass cut within an inch of its life.

Jumping out of the car, I stared up at the ostentatious building that Connor had forced me to attend dozens of times.

Everything, from family gatherings to when his boys brought their significant others for a day of couples golf.

Gag.

I marched up the stone steps, past the lush gardens, and yanked open the door that a giant could walk through. The lobby displayed perfectly clean carpets and oil paintings of men who were important here, and had probably never apologized or taken accountability for anything.

I stomped across the floor, and every head swivelled like they were shocked the doors even allowed someone like me…a commoner…to enter.

“Welcome to Westview…” the desk attendant began, then took in my face and my posture and decided to skip the script. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling with all my teeth. “Connor Keating. What tee? And don’t bother saying he’s not here, because his car is in the parking lot.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, Miss…”

“Harlow.” I placed my palms on the counter. “He’s expecting me. He’ll be playing with clients. You can radio someone or you can point, but I’m going to find him.”

The young man beside her looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “Uh, Mr. Keating’s foursome went off the north course…they should be at tee five by now, I think.”

“Perfect,” I said, pointing at him. “Now that is real customer service. Thank you.”

I didn’t wait to see if they would send someone to escort me.

The pro shop had a bucket of balls and a rack of clubs just lying out like candy on display.

I snatched the balls and a seven-iron, then walked out onto the emerald green grass.

One thing this place was known for was the grounds maintenance.

I had to admit, the place looked as perfectly fake as those who played here.

I should have had a plan beyond straight-up rage. I didn’t. Rage worked fine.

The north course rolled out in gentle hills, but it was a ways to the fifth tee. A golf cart that didn’t seem to have anyone using it was just sitting there, prime for the taking. So, I did.

My hair blew out behind me as I whizzed along the path and nodded to those heading the other way like I belonged.

I’d never belonged, that was the joke. Now I wondered how many times Connor sat around with his friends ogling the beer cart girls and laughing about what fools their girlfriends or wives were.

I wondered if there had been more than one girl.

Had it happened here or at his work? Or had he just taken them back to his apartment, not caring if I stopped by?

With each blade of grass I passed, the more enraged I became, and then there he was.

Tanned arms, smug posture, and white smile cranked to impress the executives.

Three men in polos lined up to clap him on the back after he took his shot.

It would have been so tidy if the police had just been able to do their damn jobs.

But one thing I’d learned over and over again was that this world was not fair.

It was tilted and stacked against ninety-five percent of us.

Well, now the police would deal with my aftermath.

I stopped about thirty yards away and climbed out of the cart as the next guy set up to take his shot.

Dropping the basket of balls on the ground, they rolled out, giving me a nice dozen to start.

The sudden clatter on the paved walkway had their heads pivoting in my direction.

Connor lifted his hand, trying to shield his eyes from the sun that was directly behind me.

I set my feet.

“Hey, asshole,” I shouted.

His smile froze, then slid sideways. “Sage?”

I took a breath, smirked, and swung.

I hadn’t golfed in months, but fury was the best coach. The ball smacked into his shoulder with a meaty thwock . He yelped and staggered.

The startled clients stared at Connor. One laughed, sounding a bit confused.

I squared up with another ball and swung again. This one hit him lower in the gut, and he howled, bending over. He turned as he held his stomach, and I took my third shot, which hit him in the ass. Connor yelped like a little dog and danced away like the green was on fire.

“What the hell, Sage,” he shouted, voice pitching high. “Security!”

“Security’s busy,” I hollered, rolling a fourth ball closer. “Not enough evidence? You were at work and then dinner? That’s what you told them.”

“It’s the truth,” he yelled back, holding out his hand like that would stop me.

“You don’t know the meaning of the word!”

The fifth shot clipped his kneecap. He cursed so creatively that two geese flew off. He managed to get out of the way of the sixth ball, and it ricocheted off the golf cart, sending his clients diving for cover.

“You think you can break into my apartment and trash it, then get away with it?” My breathing was heavy as I swung again, and this time the ball knocked over a bag of clubs.

“You think you can cheat on me, stalk me, and then tear through my life like a toddler with scissors, and the rules won’t apply because your watch costs more than my car? ”

“This is insane!” Connor yelled, half-bent, using a wedge as a cane. “She’s unhinged.”

I turned on the clients. “Gentlemen, a free pro tip. Connor doesn’t take rejection well, so if you decide to use him, then be prepared to be tied to him forever, or he will fuck your wife and then break into your house and redecorate with a bat.

He’ll slice up your family photos and act like you’re the crazy one. Buyer beware.”

“Miss,” one of them began, hands up, corporate-smile-on. “Why don’t we?—”

“Talk about this? Be reasonable? I’m done being reasonable with men who only hear the word no when it’s convenient.” I let another ball fly. It missed Connor’s calf by a kiss and bounced off a sand rake.

He decided retreating wasn’t working. He half-jogged, half-limped toward me, waving off his clients.

“Go ahead,” he called over his shoulder, voice strained. “I’ll catch up.”

“Oh, you’ll catch something,” I muttered, and marched toward the golf cart. I hopped in and managed to get it turned around, but not before Connor grabbed the back and hung on like a fucking monkey. “Let go.”

“No, you’re acting insane, Sage.”

“I’m the one acting insane? At least I didn’t take a baseball bat to your car…at least, not yet.”

“Knock this shit off. I didn’t do anything.”