Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

‘Why?’ I breathe, fighting my vibrating nerves.

‘Becker has never been so possessive over a woman,’ he says tactically, reminding me of my fiancé’s Lothario ways. ‘I’m playing his game, Eleanor.’

‘There is no game,’ I impulsively fire in return.

‘There’s always a game.’ He swoops in, surprising me, and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest. Before I can muster any fight, we’re on the dance floor, locked together, my feet following Brent’s. ‘And it’s tradition for me to play along,’ he whispers in my ear.

‘Get off me, Brent.’

‘Tell me what you know,’ he demands quietly. ‘How did he pull it off?’

‘I don’t know anything,’ I grind, stiff as a board against him, moving without thinking, aware of the people around us. My attempts to break away from him are futile. ‘Let me go,’ I grate, placing my palms on his shoulders and pushing into him. I only manage to separate us a few inches before I’m forced back.

Brent rests his square jaw on the side of my head, getting too comfortable. My eyes frantically search for Becker again. ‘You won’t find him.’ He twirls us round on a fake, happy laugh. ‘I believe he and Alexa have unfinished business.’

That’s it. I throw everything I have into getting him away from me, not caring any more if it attracts attention. ‘Get your filthy hands off of me.’

He releases me, a sick smile on his face, and my hands twitch at my sides, desperate to slap him. I back away, trying to control the shakes that I’ve developed, the swirl of emotion – the anger, the uncertainty, the fear – all mixing up in my hollow torso, making me feel so very unstable. ‘Remember, Eleanor,’ he reaches up and pats the shoulder of his tux. ‘I’m always a shoulder to cry on when he’s got what he’s wanted from you and casts you aside. Because he will.’

‘No, he won’t.’

Brent looks at me like he feels sorry for me, and it’s all I can do not to scream that he’s wrong. ‘You’ll come to your senses, I’m sure.’

My teeth clamp down together, grinding as I lift my hand, revealing my ring. Brent’s eyes bug. ‘Yes, he really does have me wrapped around his finger.’ I gaze down at Becker’s grandmother’s emerald for a few moments, giving Brent time to absorb it, too. Then I return my eyes to his stunned expression and wait for him to look at me. When he does, I smile curtly. ‘My senses have never left me, Mr Wilson. That’s why I’m with Becker and not with you.’ I spin and make off. My only aim now is to find Becker, and I know exactly where I’m going before my brain registers my route. It’s the only quiet place in Countryscape that I’ve encountered since I’ve been here. The place where she watched Becker fuck me against the wall.

The smoking room.

I hurry through the crowds and find myself at the door, not recalling any part of my journey here. My mind is being blitzed by my worries. It was him. He was in my apartment, and I need to find Becker to tell him.

Taking the handle of the door, I push my way in, my heart racing.

And freeze.

She’s in her underwear, pulling at Becker’s jacket, her hands and mouth everywhere. I want to scream, make my presence known, but everything has ceased functioning. Except my eyes. And they’re being tortured by the sight before me, her mouth on Becker’s, their bodies a mess of tangled limbs and frantic . . .

Fighting?

‘Get the fuck off of me, you crazy cow,’ Becker seethes.

Alexa stumbles back on her heels from the force of his shove, grabbing a nearby table to steady herself. But she quickly regains her composure and goes at him again, her hands trying to cup his face. ‘Don’t try to fight it, Becker.’ Her signature purr is replaced with desperation. ‘We were so good together.’

He fights her off. ‘Get over yourself, Alexa. What part of “I’m a taken man” don’t you understand?’

The moment she realises she’s fighting a losing battle is obvious because her shoulders roll and her chin raises. ‘Thirty-five million,’ she sniffs, simple as that.

Is she bribing him? My laugh comes out on a tiny exhale on air, but however quiet the sound, it still makes my presence known. Alexa and Becker both swing towards me – Becker looking horrified, Alexa looking like she could charge me down at any moment. Quite frankly, I feel vulnerable and, annoyingly, like an intruder.

‘Oh, it’s the skivvy,’ she snickers, looking at me like I could be something that Winston evacuated from his arse. Yes, it riles me beyond comprehension, but her sudden defensiveness holds me intrigued. I want to know what comes next. More scathing words? More looks of contempt? Standing on the sideline unnoticed, my mind on the drag, trying to process what I was seeing, was the best thing that could have happened. My delayed response to what I was faced with moments ago means I got the full show, including the spectacular ending. Yet my satisfaction at witnessing Becker reject her so harshly aside, I’m still mad with him for deserting me with the countess, which resulted in me having to endure an awful confrontation with Brent. The fact that I’ve pretty much dropped Becker in it by confirming Brent’s suspicions about the fake sculpture isn’t featuring in my tatty mind right now.