Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

‘Yes! At least then I would know what I was dealing with, Becker. You can’t drag me into your corrupt fucking world without giving me the ammo I need to survive it.’ Or the ammo to survive you!

‘You don’t need to survive,’ he retorts, almost angry. He has a nerve. ‘You just need me by your side.’

‘Oh, I do? Because since I’ve had you by my side, I’ve become a fucking victim, Becker.’ My head could explode with stress, but more so with anger. I think, remembering the interest in my position from so many people who I’ve met since I started working for the Hunt Corporation. Brent, the man who grilled me at Countryscape, Alexa, Paula, various people who I’ve dealt with on the phone. The list is endless. But what on earth do any of them think they’ll find in my apartment? I’m not stupid. Everything I know is in my head, safe, and that’s where it’ll stay.

The gravity of my situation suddenly feels suffocating. How many people will try to break into my apartment in an attempt to get information? How much danger have I put myself in? Or, more to the point, how much danger has Becker put me in? And what the fucking hell do they think they’ll find lying around my home? A long-lost sculpture? ‘I am not a victim, Becker. And I won’t let you make me one.’ I barge past him and get precisely nowhere. I flinch when his hand meets my arm and whirls me around, and an electric charge materialises from nowhere and assaults my nervous system.

‘If you think I’m going to make this easy for you, Eleanor, you can think again,’ he grates. ‘I haven’t re-evaluated my entire life and purpose for nothing. I haven’t changed all my plans, just for you to walk away from me. No fucking way.’ He moves in closer, bringing his mouth uncomfortably close to mine. ‘You know in your heart that we were always meant to be,’ he whispers. ‘You know you can tackle me and everything I throw at you, and I know it too. Do not give up on us, princess. Quitting doesn’t suit you.’ Becker pulls back a fraction, searching my eyes, swallowing. ‘And if you want brutal honesty, I’m fucking lost without you. And though I can find anything in this world I put my mind to, I know I won’t find myself if you leave me.’

My backbone goes ramrod straight. My lips part. His angel eyes holding mine are devouring my resilience, eating away at my invisible layers of protection. His words are denting my resolve. Reason is being distorted by the pleading look on his face. Sensibility is being crushed by a familiar riot of relentless hope.

Becker Hunt is utopia. He’s a fucked-up kind of ambrosia. He’s the only wisp of joy that I’ve been blessed with in too long. He was meant to find me; I was supposed to find him. Is Becker Hunt my fate? Him and everything that comes with him? His thrilling, dangerous world. Is it where I’ve always meant to be?

His jaw tightens, and he takes my hand, pushing my touch firmly into his pec. His heart bucks wildly beneath my palm, sending pulses rippling up my arm. ‘You know what makes me tick. You know my passion. No woman has ever stirred movement here beyond a regular, necessary beat.’ He starts to guide my palm around in slow, firm circles. ‘But you have. You’ve opened my eyes and pushed my boundaries. You accepted me. Stood by me. Comforted me. You’ve given me something besides my work to feel passionate about, Eleanor. And that makes you my most prized, priceless treasure. And you know how I feel about my treasure.’

Tingles. They spring up onto every inch of my skin. Breath. I fight hard to find it. Hope. It’s back with a vengeance, and the wall around my heart starts to crumble. This womanising, arrogant player isn’t playing any more. I’ve never seen him look so serious or vulnerable.

I’m in control here. And all I’ve ever wanted to know is that I’m not wasting my love. To know that if I’m to risk it all, Becker has to give me something in return. Him. All of him.

This is a guy who fucks like a god on steroids and looks like a god, too. He’s a proper man – all masculine, toned, and rough behind those deceiving Ray-Ban spectacles. And he’s shaking before me, pouring his heart out, waiting with fear and anticipation for me to speak. I should run fast, leaving a cloud of dust in my wake.

I should.

But I won’t.

Because ever since I ran away from him, ran away from London, I’ve felt misplaced. I’ve not been me. I’ve just been . . . existing again. I don’t want to exist. I want that sense of belonging back. I want the thrilling, exciting adrenalin. I want him. Goddamn me, I want him so much. He’s validated all of my hopes. His words are golden.