Page 34 of Hunting Brooklyn (Stalkers in the Woods #5)
Chapter Nineteen
Brooklyn
W e make our way toward the main lodge down the path and into the cold.
It’s dark, but somehow Slade knows here he’s going.
He holds my hand, his grip firm but not possessive, like he’s reminding me there is no running now.
Our boots snap the frozen gravel, and the wind slices the tips of my ears; I tuck my chin into the collar of his sweater—technically mine now, the way all things become a kind of shared property between predator and prey.
The main lodge is nothing like I expected. It’s half resort, half cathedral, with stone chimneys braced against the mountain’s flank and windows lit gold in the growing dark. There’s laughter inside, too loud and real to be threatening, but my pulse jumps anyway.
I pause on the steps, brushing an imaginary fleck of dirt from my jeans, and take a breath like I’m about to dive underwater. Slade squeezes my hand, harder this time.
“Ready?” he says, in the voice that once terrified me but now sounds almost like care.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been ready for anything in my life,” I say. “But let’s go.”
He opens the door, and we step into the bright, humming warmth.
It takes exactly one second for the room to stop and turn.
They’re all here, arranged around a fireplace big enough to roast a goat whole.
On the far side, Noah sprawls in a low armchair, arms draped wide, his dark hair a perfect architectural mess.
Next to him, a woman with severe blue eyes and a beautiful elegance (Cassidy, I remember now from Slade showing me pictures of the crew before we left) perches on the arm.
Her smile is enough to warm me from the inside out.
There’s a long table against the windows, where two women and a giant—Creed, if I were to guess from his back—hold court.
The first woman is petite, with hair like a tangle of red autumn and a cautious, clever face: Harbor, the writer.
Next to her, a curvy girl with a tattoo sleeve half-hidden by a pink fuzzy sweater— Gianna, I think—bounces her leg under the table like a violin string about to snap.
Julianna sits beside Gianna, stiff and stately even as she laughs at some private joke.
All harsh lines, black bob, the posture of someone who is calm and collected.
And then there’s Knox, rising to his full, terrifying height, a glass of whiskey in one hand, nodding at Kairo.
The silence is total, then starts to break apart in tiny cracks.
“Holy shit, Slade,” Kairo says, eyes flicking over me with an appraisal that sends a shiver up my spine. Harbor smacks him on the arm and whispers to be nice . “You actually brought her.”
He means me, of course.
“Wow,” Gianna blurts, and before anyone else can speak, she’s up and jogging across the rug, arms open wide. “You’re so much cuter than in your picture!”
There’s a picture?
Before I can dodge, she’s got me in a hug.
She smells like vanilla and too much energy, her cheek pressed to mine for exactly as long as it takes to break the concept of personal space.
She pulls back, inspects me, then tugs at the fox charm around my neck.
“God, I love this. Very on-brand. Come on, I wanna introduce you. Oh, I’m Gianna.
Nice to meet you Brooklyn. Haven’t heard much about you, but I’m soooo excited to meet you. ”
I glance back at Slade, who is already being dragged away by Kairo and Creed for a manly summit at the bar. I am, for the first time, truly alone among the wolves.
Gianna steers me toward the hearth, where Cassidy and Harbor have made space. Cassidy’s eyes are appraising, but she is all smiled. She gives my outfit a once-over, lingers on the necklace, and says, “I see Slade’s been dressing you.”
“Only because he kidnapped me and didn’t give me time to pack,” I say, before I remember to be polite.
Cassidy lets out a genuine bark of laughter. “That tracks.”
Harbor’s smile is more reserved, but there’s a warmth to it that feels like a secret handshake. “Welcome,” she says, voice softer than the others. “We were all a little worried you’d never come up.”
I shrug. “I tried not to, but it turns out my willpower is, uh… limited.”
“That’s all of us,” Harbor says, and lifts her mug in a salute.
From the bar, Kairo calls out, “Careful, Brooklyn, these girls will have you spilling your secrets before dessert.”
Julianna, who’s appeared at my elbow like a stylish ghost, cuts in with a perfectly timed, “Or she’ll have yours, if you’re not careful. Business women are notorious for finding things out.”
She offers me her hand—cool, dry, exactly the right pressure—and says, “Julianna. I’m told you’re very bright.”
I stammer something about not being equipped to take over my father’s business, but she just smiles and says, “You will be.” It sounds less like a compliment and more like a diagnosis.
The tension, which had coiled around my ribs from the second I stepped inside, begins to fade as I realize nobody here is going to eat me alive. Not literally, at least.
We crowd around the fire, which spits and snaps like it’s trying to add its own opinions to the conversation. Gianna plops down cross-legged on the floor, grabs a pillow and hugs it to her chest. “So, Brooklyn, tell us how you and Slade met. Like, for real. Not the way he’s going to tell it.”
I hesitate, flick my eyes toward the bar, where Slade is in conference with Creed and Kairo, voices pitched low and urgent. He looks back just once, and his gaze is a lightning strike across my skin. I clutch the fox charm.
“Uh, my father was murdered, by Slade, obviously. And he, uh, stalked me, kidnapped me on my flight to an important partners meeting and brought me here.”
Cassidy grins, and even Julianna’s eyes glitter with amusement.
Gianna is thrilled. “That is so hot. Wait, how did he get you to comply on the plane?”
“He drugged me.”
Harbor giggles. “Damn, he was dedicated. I’m impressed.”
“Oh my God, does he make you…”
“Gianna.” Julianna’s tone is sharp, but her smile softens it.
“What? I was just going to ask if he made you call him Sir. Knox says Slade’s big on titles.”
Cassidy snorts, but her gaze is softer now. “Ignore her. She’s obsessed with romance novels. Which, by the way, she’s been waiting for you to recommend more, Harbor.”
“Fuck, Cass, I plowed through those recs,” Gianna says. “I’ve read every single one of the lists she gave me already.”
I am, for maybe the first time ever, speechless.
Julianna tilts her head. “You don’t need to impress anyone, Brooklyn. We’re all broken toys here.”
There’s an honesty to it that I can’t help but believe.
I relax into the conversation, let the flow of questions and jokes carry me.
Harbor asks about taking over my father’s company, Cassidy wants to know my favorite courtroom dramas (she insists there’s at least one that isn’t “utter trash”), and Gianna rapid-fires questions about my taste in sweets, travel, and—of course—whether I would ever get a tattoo.
I glance at my wrists, remember the phantom burn of the rope. “Maybe. If I could find something worth committing to.”
Cassidy leans in, voice conspiratorial. “That’s the trick, isn’t it? All the best things are risks.”
Julianna, who has remained half-in, half-out of the conversation, adds, “Sometimes the best risks are the ones we don’t choose.”
It’s eerie, how much I see myself in these women. Different lives, but the same loneliness hiding in clever armor. Even Gianna, so loud and bright, has the air of someone who’s only just learned to believe in happiness.
As the chatter swells, I forget to check for exits, forget to measure the distance to the nearest knife block or heavy bottle. My mind is clear for the first time in weeks, washed clean by this strange, feral kindness.
From across the room, Kairo calls, “Are you telling her all your secrets already? Save some for the rest of us.”
Cassidy rolls her eyes. “You’re just mad because she’s smarter than you.”
“Is not!” He yells back.
The laughter is instant, rising in a wave.
I glance back at Slade, who’s watching me with a look that could melt steel. I wave, small and uncertain, but he just lifts his glass and drinks.
For a moment, I let myself be part of the group. Not a hostage, not a survivor. Just a girl in a too-big sweater, surrounded by wolves who’ve decided, for now, to be my pack.
Gianna tugs at my sleeve. “Come on, I’ll show you the best spot to sit for dinner. Trust me.”
I let myself be led, tripping over the edge of the rug, and the room erupts in a fresh round of laughter.
For the first time, I don’t mind being the center of attention.
For the first time, I think maybe—just maybe—I could belong here.
Slade keeps a respectful distance while the women swarm me, but every time I look over he’s there, half-shadowed by the bar’s edge, nursing a glass of something brown and listening to Kairo with a face carved from stone.
They’re talking with their heads bent together, conspiratorial, as if plotting the end of the world instead of dinner.
Kairo pours two fingers of whiskey for himself, gestures at Slade’s untouched second glass, and raises an eyebrow that I recognize from the universal language of “are you going to fucking deal with this or do I have to?” Slade shrugs, but his eyes keep drifting back to me, like a dog denied a command it’s been bred to obey.
I try to focus on Gianna’s rapid-fire questions (“If you could have dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would you pick? And do you think the dead have table manners?”) but every molecule of my attention is split between the comfort of being here and the gravitational pull of Slade’s gaze.
It’s not that I want to run to him. God, who am I kidding, yes it is.
I want his arms wrapped around me and his cock inside me.
The men’s conversation gets louder as the whiskey disappears and I can’t help but eavesdrop.