Page 76 of Pretty Little Trigger
CHAPTER 75
Alana
I’m sitting in Emily’s waiting room.
It’s been a few days since I got back from New York.
Work’s been chaos, a never-ending stream of meetings I barely remember sitting through.
But I missed Emily. I missed having a place to land.
Even if she’s not my therapist anymore, she’s still family.
Then I see him.
He walks out of her office like a ghost wrapped in danger and regret.
Armani suit, tailored within an inch of its life.
And fuck, does he wear it well.
Like every bad decision I’d make again with my eyes wide open.
Our eyes catch. And I ignite.
It all comes flooding back—not just the memory of him, but the feel of him.
The gravity he carries.
The ache he left.
That terrifying, beautiful pull I thought I buried comes roaring back to life like it never left.
A thousand versions of his name rise in my throat.
But I don’t speak. Not yet.
He gives me a small smile that’s tight, restrained, full of teeth I used to dream about dragging against my skin.
“I promise I’m not stalking you,” he says by way of greeting.
I rise up off the couch.
“Again, you mean,” I shoot back, too fast. Too sharp.
But it feels good to have my spark back.
He flinches slightly, nods.
“Right.”
“Hunter—” He stops.
Just his name. That’s all it takes.
And still, I see something shatter in his expression.
Like he has any right to look haunted.
Like he’s the one who got hurt.
It pisses me off.
“You never even said you were sorry,” I say, blocking his exit now, heat rising up my throat.
“I got your letter. All your explanations. But not once, not one goddamn time, did you apologise.”
His jaw ticks.
“Alana, I can’t do this right now.”
“Can’t do what?” I demand.
“Apologise?”
I’m shaking.
Not from grief anymore.
From rage. From the audacity of him to pretend he still gets to hurt.
He stares at me. And then, finally, he speaks.
“Yes, apologise,” he says.
And his voice? It doesn’t waver.
Doesn’t break. It just lands like a blade sliding clean between my ribs.
“Because I’m not sorry.”
The words knock the breath from my lungs.
“I’m not sorry,” he repeats.
“Because I would do it all again if it meant I got to meet you. If it meant I got to spend even one day with you.” His voice is low.
Dangerous. A confession and a curse.
“You made me a better man, Alana. So no, I’m not sorry for what I did. Not even a little bit. Not even at all . But I meant what I said. You deserve better than me. Better than the villain.”
But there’s something else now.
Something I didn’t expect to see in Kaden.
Recognition.
And that’s when it hits me.
He’s still him. Still Hunter, whether he wants to admit it or not.
Whether he wears a new name or not.
I can see it in the way his shoulders drop.
In the crack in his voice.
In the fire he still doesn’t know how to extinguish.
I see the man who taught me how to fight.
Who held me when I broke.
He thinks he’s poison.
But he was my antidote.
My edge. My flame. And whatever’s swelling in my chest now?
It’s not anger anymore.
It’s not heartbreak.
It’s hunger. It’s home.
It’s him.
“Then be the villain,” I challenge.
My voice doesn’t shake.
“Be the villain and claim what’s yours. Be the villain and kiss me. Because I would rather watch the world burn than spend another second pretending I’m not still in love with you.”
My pulse is in my mouth.
My knees feel like smoke.
He doesn’t move at first. Until he does.
One step. Two. And then his mouth is on mine like a fucking reckoning.
The kiss isn’t soft.
It’s not sweet. It’s a crime, a confession, a claiming.
He kisses me and it’s with everything he tried to bury.
It’s all there. Every last drop of it.
Burning between our teeth.
And I kiss him back.
I kiss him because he makes me brave.
Because he makes me strong.
I kiss him because I fell for the villain.
Because he makes me absolutely fucking feral.