Page 62 of Theirs to Hunt

Because instead of feeling violated, I feel cosseted.

Like someone thought far enough ahead to make sure I wouldn’t have to go back to my apartment just to feel myself.

He added the details, too.

My makeup bag. My shampoo. The fuzzy socks I wear when I’m pissed at the world. Even my backup stun gun. The gum I keep in my nightstand. The paperback I rereadwhen I can’t sleep. My cracked phone charger, replaced and coiled neatly. My perfume, full again.

Not flashy. Just exact. I move further into the room, scanning the space. The small things settle first. Hair ties in a bowl. Lip balm where I always end up digging for it.

Then I see it. The purse. Aubergine leather. The one from the boutique window on Chartres Street. I’d stopped for a second too long. Admired the stitching. Knew I couldn’t afford it and kept walking. Now it sits on the bench at the end of the bed. No tag. No receipt. Just there. Like it always belonged. It isn’t the cost. It’s the thought. Someone is putting the care into me I’ve always poured into everyone else. No request. No recognition.Just quiet, deliberate attention.

Grayson’s footsteps sound behind me.

He’s in jeans now, barefoot, a black T-shirt stretched across his chest.

He stops when he sees me standing next to the suitcase.

“We want you here,” he says. No pretense. Just truth. “As long as you’ll have us.”

And God help me, the only thing I want right now is to stop running.

I love this easy camaraderie between us. The rhythm of it.

I feel Grayson move closer. He grabs the suitcase, opens it on the bed, and starts unpacking like it’s his job. Deodorant to the bathroom. Skincare to the vanity. Socks stacked, folded, sorted. He moves through it with the calm precision of someone who has already decided I belong here.

I watch in bemusement before asking, “Since you seem to enjoy putting my things away, where did you stash my vibrators?”

Grayson answers without stopping. “Top drawer, left side. Next to the Agent Provocateur sets we purchased for you.” He glances up then, steady andsure. A flicker of challenge behind the calm. “You want me to leave them there?”

For the first time in my life, I am speechless.

Grayson has unexpected depths.

I have never been one to trust easy. But then again, nothing in my life has ever come easy.

This feels like the normalcy I’ve always craved. The quiet kind. The kind you don’t dare hope for. They say if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. But I want it anyway. And I know I will regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t at least try. I already carry too many regrets. I refuse to add these men to the list.

Chapter fifty-two

Grayson, Saturday 10:24 a.m.

She is standing by the suitcase when I walk in.

Her hand on the handle. Eyes wide.

She has already seen what we’ve done. The details. The care.

Good.

“We want you here,” I say. “As long as you’ll have us.”

I cross the room. Take the suitcase. Open it on the bed.

And begin.

Deodorant to the bathroom.

Skincare to the vanity.