Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology 1)

I laugh to myself as I make my way down the street. Because I’m stupid, that’s how. I thought I could take on Becker Hunt and all he threw at me. But I can’t. I have no idea how to handle him.

I walk slowly down the road with the weight of the world on my shoulders, and when I take the corner into my street, the sight of the door to my building fills me with comfort. I’m already picturing stripping down and tucking myself up in bed with a cup of tea. The thought makes me smile, but it’s soon wiped from my face when the roar of a car engine has me jumping out of my skin, and then almost diving into a hedge to hide when I clock where the loud sound is coming from.

A car.

Brent’s car. He came back?

‘Oh shit,’ I whisper, keeping myself concealed in the shadows. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ I remain deathly still while I watch his car cruise past.

‘He’s gone, princess.’ Becker’s even tone snaps my spine into shape, but I don’t swing around startled. I’m too busy trying to figure out why the hell he’s here.

There are a few moments’ silence; him waiting for me to react, and me slowly getting more and more worked up. It’s like a natural reaction to him, and in this moment, I realise it’s my fault. Not Becker’s. Most of the blame lies with me, because I can’t control myself when I’m around him. My temper, my irritation . . . my desire. And that’s why I’m in this mess.

It’s like an epiphany. My body is buzzing in response to his closeness, and no amount of willpower and sensibility seems to be able to dull it. And that makes me angry.

My feet kick into action, and I start striding away from him. No looking back. No engaging. No show of emotion – anger or anything else. Walk away. Don’t even think about why he’s here. Why is he here? To continue with our row? To see if I invited Brent in?

My fists clench tightly, and I find myself flexing life back into them when I reach for my keys. I don’t even have to check to see if he’s following me. I can feel him close behind, my back tingling in response to his stare nailed to me. Or did he come here to violate me in the most delicious way imaginable? My previous questions are suddenly forgotten when my final question sits heavily at the front of my mind, demanding an answer.

‘Why did you get in the car with him?’ he asks curtly. ‘To piss me off? Because it worked.’

My fumbling hands falter slightly but soon fly into action again, locating my key and putting it into the lock. I’m not answering him, not only because I don’t owe him an explanation or have nothing to say – I have plenty to say, like asking why the fuck he destroyed my phone and paraded that woman in front of me – but also because I need to remove myself from this situation. My time is worth more than this ridiculous game. I am worth more.

‘Eleanor, answer me.’ Becker’s voice has taken on an edge of impatience and sternness, which stirs unsettling feelings within. The key turns, and I stumble into the lobby of my building. ‘Answer my fucking question, woman,’ he growls as I push the door closed, getting a glimpse of his face. There’s aggravation written all over it. Woman? Oh, he’s going the right way about tipping me over the edge. He always does, whether it’s the edge of lust or insanity. I’m struggling to fathom which is most rampant within me now. What I do know, though, is that neither is safe.

The space between the door and frame shrinks and his face vanishes, but just when I begin to feel safe and relieved to be away from him, a weight presses against the other side of the door. Instinct has me pushing too, fighting the force coming from the other side. He doesn’t speak. I don’t speak. There are no sounds, not even heavy breathing, as we wrestle against each other to win – me to keep him out, Becker to get in. But while my efforts are great, I realise his aren’t, and it’s only a few moments before I comprehend something: he’s holding back. There’s no way my strength could equal his. He could push this door open with a flick of his finger, so why the bloody hell isn’t he? Is it because he fears what might happen if he does?

‘Fuck off, Becker,’ I yell, panting as we continue with our ridiculous wrestling match.

‘No.’ His answer is short and sharp as he continues to fight me, but there’s still no exertion from his side.