Page 45 of Hunting Ground

“I missed you,” I whisper to both of them, to neither of them, and maybe just to myself. “Fuck, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you both.”

“We’ve missed you too, Sable,” Ronan purrs against my ear, his arms wrapped around my waist from behind.

“I actually don’t think we could leave you again.” Ansel’s tone is casual, but the words certainly aren’t. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine, and meets my gaze levelly.

“Yeah,” I agree as I pull him in, until all three of us are pressed as close as humanly possible. I don’t care that we’re sweaty, and sticky, and really need a shower. Or another shower, in Ronan’s case and mine. I don’t care, because these are my boys.

“Maybe you just don’t leave without me again.” I try to keep my own tone casual, and I don’t look at them as I say it. I know it’s not realistic. I understand that they don’t live here anymore.

But with them here, it feels like home again.

And that’s something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

17

When I leave the room, Ansel is snoring. I don’t blame him, nor do I blame the two of them for being so curled up with each other that it had been like extracting myself from an octopus to get free.

I’ll never admit it out loud, but I’m not upset about it. I haven’t felt like I belong like this in way too long.

Since they left.

My steps take me down to the parking lot of the motel, and I shiver in the early dawn chill. At five in the morning, I’m still somewhere too wired to go to sleep, and I’m too restless to lie between the two of them and listen to their breathing. Maybe I’m just too jealous, I think to myself ruefully. That they’re getting to sleep, and I’m not.

Lights flick on and off from the parking lot, and I turn to find the SUV running, tail pipe billowing steam out into the cold air. Even though my last approach to a car that I don’t know outside of a motel at night had ended in near-disaster, I still swerve and change my path from where I’d been going. With quick steps, I trot around to the passenger side to yank the door open.

“It’s cold,” I shiver, sliding into the Grand Cherokee and closing the door quickly. “Like, it’s really cold.”

Adrien gives me a lazy grin and hits the button to turn on the seat warmer. “There you go, princess. Wouldn’t want your ass getting frigid.” I roll my eyes, but I don’t protest. Not when I’m grateful for the near-scorching heat against my legs and lower back while I shove my hands to the vents in front of me.

For a few moments, we just sit there in silence. Adrien scrolls through something on his phone, and I take my time with my teeth chattering as I defrost.

“Do they know?” he asks suddenly.

I turn to look at him, bemused. “Do they know what?”

“That none of this bothers you?”

My teeth go still at that, and the only sound in the car is the heater on full blast. “What do you mean?”

Adrien turns to fix me with a look, his head tilting to the side. “You heard me.”

“I heard bullshit. I heard you making assumptions and trying to convince me you know more about me than you do,” is my quick retort.

To my surprise, Adrien grins. He settles back in his seat, looking around the motel parking lot as he does. “They told me you’ve been working at a motel. Is it like this one?”

“Shittier.”

“Why stay? You’re smart. Ronan said you got scholarships but you–”

“Pass.” My low voice cuts him off, startling him slightly, judging by the way he turns to me. “I don’t want to do that tonight,” I sigh. My hands drop to my lap, and I slouch back in my seat. “Ask me something else. Something normal, where you’re not trying to manipulate me.”

Adrien’s grin widens, and I swear he looks impressed as he studies my face. “I’ve never been called out so fast in my life,” he admits. “Even your boys took me at face value for awhile.”

“They’re boys.” I fix him with an unimpressed look. “There’s that bro code or whatever. What did you do? Kill someone in front of them to make them realize you aren’t the nice guy with the pretty face?”

“You think I’m pretty?” Adrien gets that sweet, charmed look on his face again. The one I’ve decided he knows how to wear like a mask. “That’s sweet. You’re sweet–”

“But you said you were the one who showed them my pictures and my name in that chat. I don’t get it. I don’t get why,” I admit, finally verbalizing the curiosity I’ve held all night. “You can totally tell me if I’m wrong, but you don’t strike me as very benevolent. Or giving. Or charitable, or–”