Page 3 of Hunter's Revenge
This is the first time I’ve heard her speak. She sounds exactly the way I imagined.
“Tomorrow,” she breathes, running a weary hand over her face. “The bank will call me before the end of the day with their decision.”
That sounds like money worries. At first glance, her finances seemed like they were in order, but I could be wrong.
“I’ll let you know,” she promises, then hangs up and places the phone back in her bag.
With a sigh, she drags in a deep breath. “Positive thinking, Gwen, positive thinking,” she mutters to her reflection. “If you don’t find a way, no one will. And you don’t have a choice.”
That sounds like a sensible mantra for a person in serious shit.
With a shake of her head, she takes off her clothes. When her dress floats down to her feet, revealing the fleshy globes of her breasts and rose-dipped nipples, all thoughts fade from my mind.
Her tits bounce as she rolls her panties down her legs, and my mouth waters when I see her clean-shaven pussy.
Then she turns and gives me the perfect view of her ass.
I smile to myself at the triumph of seeing her naked and run my tongue over my bottom lip.
Gwen St. James is by far one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
I would love a little taste of her.
A little taste might not hurt me or my plans, but then again, it could.
Her lush ass jiggles as she strides into the en-suite, and my mind switches back into focus when I can’t see her anymore.
It’s time to leave before I make any more foolish mistakes.
Or indulgences.
I back away and walk through the door behind me, which leads out to the back stairs of this old creepy-as-fuck house that belongs to Gwen’s grandmother.
Even though it’s part of the area many movies and TV shows have used in their production, the house doesn’t look that much different from what you’d find in a horror film.
Back home in Boston, there are houses like this. This place has a different vibe, though. Maybe because it’s me who’s the malevolent spirit haunting the woman inside.
As if I was never there, I slip past her dog, a fluffy white Siberian Husky who doesn’t notice me.
When I’m on the road, I glance back at the house, wondering what tomorrow will bring. I’ve been in Wilmington for the last two days following a major lead in my quest for revenge.
Last week, after six years of searching for the men responsible for taking me captive and killing Captain Davison, I got a breakthrough.
It revealed that Manolo Navarro, the leader of the Navarro Cartel, orchestrated the attack. Unfortunately, he died two weeks ago, but that’s not going to stop me.
When people fuck with men like me, you simply dole out punishment for the sins of the father. My fucked-up mind devised an equally fucked-up plan to get the sweetest revenge and retribution.
That’s what led me here on a mission to find Santiago Navarro’s daughter, the secret heir to the cartel and the multibillion-dollar fortune that comes with it.
Santiago Navarro was the founder of the Navarro Cartel. When he died, Manolo took over. Except, it wasn’t his right. Neither does the right belong to his son Diego,hisheir, who thinks he’ll be the next in leadership.
I’ve taken it upon myself to fix that.
There’s just one small problem. Nobody knows who Santiago’s daughter really is. The cartel king hid her identity so well not even his own can find her.
With all my skills, technological resources at my fingertips, and experience of gaining military intelligence, I haven’t been able to find her either. But there’s nothing hidden so deep thatIcan’t find.
Time might be my enemy, but it’s also my friend because men like me don’t rest until we get what we want.