Hunter by Blaire Drake

Darien trusted me even the smallest amount.
    Well, he trusted me enough to let me into the house.
    I stood the bike up and took off my helmet. Tucking it under my arm, I approached the front door and prepared to knock.
    Darien beat me to it. He swung the door open as my bottom foot touched the first step and glared down at me. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, showing the graying hairs at the sides of his face. He looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple days, and even that was peppered with gray flecks.
    I got the feeling that his conversation earlier today with Adriana had aged him considerably.
    I understood that entirely. She had that effect on people. Always had.
    “Come in,” he said, reluctance in his voice. She'd definitely worn him down on her plan—and to be honest, she'd warned me. I knew what I was getting into here.
    “Thanks.” I followed him into the house and through the hall to what looked like an office. Although I'd looked in most rooms when I was here last, this one had been locked. Now I knew why—it was Darien's.
    “Make yourself comfortable. Coffee?” he asked, pausing in front of a machine.
    “I'm good, thanks.” Coffee machine in his office. How much time did he spend in here?
    He nodded, but didn't speak as he sat on the other side of his desk. He leaned forward and dug his fingers into his hair. Minutes passed in silence, and I didn't dare speak first.
    I didn't have much, but I had respect for Darien. A part of me hated him for sneaking Adriana away that night. A part of me fucking hated him for keeping her hidden, although I understood why it was done. Ironically, I respected him for the very same reasons I hated him.
    Because he'd taken her away. Because he'd kept her safe.
    What better person to keep you safe from death than a man who'd delivered it to so many?
    “She trusts you,” he said hoarsely. He slowly looked up and dropped his hands, and his dark eyes pierced mine. “And I think she's a fool, blinded by the past.”
    “Maybe she is,” I agreed. “But that doesn't mean she's the only one.”
    “I understand your role in the family. I was you, once.” He scratched his jaw. “I think you'd kill her tomorrow if a gun was put to your head. You're playing a dangerous game, Carlo. Russian Roulette isn't for the faint of heart.”
    “Then it's a good thing my heart is made of stone.”
    “Is it? She's alive. How can you say it's stone when you've had two chances to kill her and haven't?”
    “Then why don't you trust me, Darien? You just said it yourself. Two chances, and I didn't.” I stood without breaking our gaze.
    “Third. Time. Lucky.” He almost spat each word, slowly coming to stand himself. He leaned forward and grasped the edge of his desk with one hand. With the other, he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a 9mm pistol. He cocked the safety and pointed it at my head.
    Reflexively, I pulled my own from my hip, took off the safety and aimed it at his forehead.
    His lips twitched on one side. “What if I said to you right now that you had to kill her? That this gun would be pointed at you until you put a bullet between her eyes? And if you didn't, I'd put one between yours?”
    “I'd shoot you first.” My grip on the gun, like my gaze, was steady. “Because I'd rather kill you and have her hate me, than die and offer her up to her father on a silver platter.”
    Darien's eyes flitted across my face, intense in their scrutiny of me. I didn't move a muscle as he studied my expression. I refused to. He didn't trust me as far as he could throw me, I could see it, and I'd bet he couldn't throw me very fucking far.
    He raised his thumb and replaced the safety. He slowly lowered the gun and replaced it in the drawer, slamming it shut. “Put it down, Carlo. No one is shooting anyone today. Unless that motherfucker sends his lackeys over here.”
    “He already did,” I remarked smartly, putting the safety on my gun before settling it back in my holster.