“Who?” Roy asked. “Your ma? She’s fine—”
“The girl—the…one he had his way with.”
Roy didn’t respond straight away, and the silence made Hunter’s chest constrict. He snuck a glance in Roy’s direction, finding him standing there, looking down at the pan with a troubled look.
Finally, he set it down on the stove top, muttering, “She’s in rough shape. Is sheokay, though? Well, I can’t say for sure. Those girls have a lot of demons, Hunt.” He let out a long sigh, like it was coming from a deep and dark place. “We got a soft spot for ‘em. We’re not a bunch of pimps but dealing with that side of business means we get to clean up the streets in a way. I suppose you wouldn’t understand, but…we’re the better end of the deal for them. Others…well, others wouldn’t have minded what that sick fuck woulda done to her. Money is money to a lot of people, and there are places, Hunt, where hurting girls is a thing.”
Hunter frowned, unsure of how to process all that information.
“Of course us Warlords aren’t perfect, but we have a code, and hurting women and children is a serious violation of that code.” Now Roy glanced at Hunter, staring at him deeply, his brown eyes looking warm. “That’s why when I found you, Hunt, all broken and bleedin’ outside your window, crawling away like you were going somewhere to hide, I knew…I knew I had to put him in the ground, even though I loved him…” Roy twisted away, hiding his face as he cooked eggs with deep concentration. “Everyone has a price to pay for the wrongs they commit…and you and me…we’ll find the demons in the dark and we’ll make them pay, Hunt.”
Hunt didn’t respond. He stared at the table, trying not to see the blood streaks in his mind—
What had he done?
What was wrong with him?
Was he evil?
But he loved the women in his life. He loved Skye, and he loved his mom, so he couldn’t have been entirely heartless, right? There must have been some goodness in him. Skye kept telling him there was, and she never lied.
Roy finished cooking the eggs and even served Hunter a plate. He studied Roy as he dug for another plate to serve his mother. “Don’t hurt my mom,” Hunter murmured then, a plea or a quiet warning, he couldn’t tell.
Roy grinned, unperturbed. “Your mom is taken care of.”
Time would tell, Hunter supposed.
Roy looked at him now, questioning, “Who takes care ofyou?”
Hunter simply stared back, and Roy chuckled again as he took the plate out of the kitchen, tossing over his shoulder, “You’ll open up to us eventually, boy.”