Page 144 of Corpse Roads
“I don’t always get things right,” Hunter admits, his voice muffled by my stolen t-shirt. “Especially when it comes to you.”
We cling to each other for a moment. It’s strange to see Hunter so vulnerable. He never admits to weakness or mistakes, nor does he let anyone close enough to comfort him.
“It’s okay,” I murmur back. “None of this is easy or straightforward. You’re doing the best you can.”
His head lifts. “You don’t have to forgive me.”
“No, but I am.”
His smile is far more devastating than any near-death beating or badly placed knife wound. It slashes against my throat and steals the air from my lungs without a single warning.
“Pastor Michaels wants you back,” Hunter explains. “He’s threatening to kill more girls if we don’t release you from protective custody, presumably so he can snatch you up.”
“He s-said that?” I stammer.
Hunter grabs my wrist, his thumb stroking against my pulse point. “We’re close, sweetheart. I’ve got drones and scouting parties searching for the chapel where you were held. We’ll get him.”
“They’ve been searching for weeks!”
“And that’s why we can’t give up now. Once we find this place, we’ll raze it to the fucking ground. He can’t hide forever.”
Trying hard not to fall apart, I focus on each stroke of his skin on mine. I don’t want to go back. I’d rather die than live a life of captivity, especially now I’ve tasted what it means to be alive.
“When you find it, I’m coming with you.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Hunter growls.
I pull his fingers from my wrist. “This isn’t up for discussion. You want me to sit here while he’s out there, hunting more women. I need to know that when the time comes, I’ll be allowed to help.”
“It is far too dangerous.”
“You asked me to trust you.” Staring into his eyes, I let him see the guilt eating me up inside. “I’m asking you to do the same.”
Hunter seems to deflate. “Fuck, Harlow.”
“Is that a yes?”
“You’re not giving me much of a choice.”
Standing up, he crushes me against him in a back-breaking hug. I hold him tight, my eyes stinging. It feels good to finally be accepted into the family and be trusted, like an equal.
“Come on,” he says gruffly. “Let’s go get this fucking tree.”
CHAPTER 27
HARLOW
I NEVER LOVED MYSELF LIKE I LOVE YOU - DEAD POET SOCIETY
“What is this place?”
I stare at the sprawling farm with two huge wooden barns and a queue of people marking the entrance. It’s busy, despite the steadily falling snow and frigid temperature.
In the distance, several fields of pointy trees stretch as far as the eye can see. Little dots of people duck and weave through the thicket, children squealing with excitement as they find the perfect tree.
“Christmas tree farm.” Hunter pulls a scarf and leather gloves on. “I haven’t been here in years. It used to be a tradition… before we stopped celebrating.”
The shadows are back on his face, and I hate it. Leaning across the console, I press my lips to his stubbly cheek.