Sins Of The Hunted

Party Crash

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Kane.” My body’s buzzing, my p***y tingling despite the fear, Luca’s blood still crusting my hands. I’m a f*****g mess, grief and defiance clawing at me. Danny’s gun is out, his body tense, shielding me, and for a second, I think he might grab me, pin me down, and f**k, I want him to. But the headlights move on, and he exhales, his gun lowering.

“False alarm,” he mutters, standing, his eyes hard but flicking to my torn red dress, my thighs bare. “Stay put, Isabella.” His voice is all control, but there’s heat there, and I feel it, my skin burning under his stare.

I stand, tossing my curls, my sass kicking in to keep the grief from swallowing me. “Yeah, right,” I snap, grabbing my clutch. Luca’s gone, his goofy laugh echoing in my head, and this cabin’s suffocating, the walls closing in. I need air, a drink, something to drown the pain tearing me apart. There’s a bar just down the road—I saw its neon glow when we pulled in. I kenew it was reckless, but I’m dying inside, and I need to feel something else.

“Where the f**k you going?” Danny growls, stepping in front of me, his body a wall of muscle, his scent—leather, sweat—hitting me hard. My p***y throbs, and I hate it, hate how my body’s awake when my heart’s shattered.

“Out,” I say, my voice sharp, shoving past him. “I can’t sit here crying, Kane. I need a f*****g drink.” I’m not running far, just to that bar, to drown this pain before it kills me.

He grabs my arm, his grip rough, electric, sending a jolt through me. “Marco’s men are hunting you,” he says, his face close, his breath hot. “You step out, you’re a f*****g target.”

I yank free, my defiance flaring, my lips curling. “I’ll be fine,” I say, my voice low, flirty despite the tears. I’m out the door, my bare feet hitting the dirt path, the bar’s neon sign a beacon in the dark. It’s a short walk, the night air cold on my skin, my dress torn and clinging. I’m not stupid—I know the risk—but Luca’s blood is on me, and I need to forget, just for a moment.

The bar’s a dive, all sticky floors and dim lights, the air thick with beer and cheap perfume. The music’s loud, some pulsing country beat, and I head straight for the counter, ordering a whiskey, my hands shaking as I down it. The burn’s good, sharp, cutting through the grief. Luca’s face flashes—his wink, his dumb jokes—and I choke back a sob, ordering another. I’m not here to dance or flirt, just to numb the hole in my chest.

I’m on my second drink when I feel Danny’s presence, heavy, intense, before I see him. He’s at the bar, his eyes blazing, his body cutting through the crowd like a f*****g blade. “You’re gonna get yourself killed,” he snaps, his voice low, his hand on my wrist, pulling me off the stool. My body reacts, tingling, my n*****s hard under my dress, and I curse myself for wanting him when I’m falling apart.

“f**k off, Kane, I don’t need a babysitter, and I most definitely don’t need a bodyguard” I say, my voice shaky but sharp, yanking my arm back. “I’m not your prisoner either.” My sass is my shield, but it’s cracking. I down another shot, the whiskey burning, but it’s not enough.

Danny’s eyes narrow, scanning the room, and his body tenses, his hand dropping to his gun. “f**k,” he mutters, his voice urgent. “Marco’s guys—two o’clock.” I follow his gaze, my heart lurching. Two suits at a table, too clean for this shithole, their eyes locked on me, hands slipping under their jackets.

I freeze, my buzz fading, fear spiking. “Danny—” I start, but he’s already moving, grabbing my arm, pulling me toward the back exit. “Move, now!” he snaps, but I’m stubborn, my grief making me slow, my feet planted. “I said I can handle myself,” I say, my voice shaking, trying to pull free, my sass masking the panic.

One of the goons stands, his hand on a gun, and I’m f****d, my defiance screwing me over. Danny reacts fast, shoving me behind him, his gun out, firing a warning shot into the ceiling. The bar erupts, people screaming, diving for cover. He grabs me, yanking me through the crowd, my heart pounding, my legs stumbling. The goons are moving, fast, their guns drawn, and I’m cursing myself—my dumbass move nearly got me caught.

We hit the alley, the air cold, the neon sign buzzing above. Danny slams me against the wall, his body shielding mine, his thigh pressing between my legs, and f**k, it’s too much—his heat, his strength, my p***y aching despite the danger. “You almost got us killed,” he growls, his lips close, his breath hot on my neck. My body’s screaming, my hands gripping his jacket, wanting to pull him closer.

“I just needed a f*****g drink,” I snap, my voice raw, tears burning. “Luca’s gone, Danny. I can’t—” My voice breaks, the grief spilling out, and his eyes soften, just for a second, before hardening again.

“Feel sorry later,” he says, his hand on my waist, steady but rough. “We’re not safe.” His thigh shifts, pressing harder, and I’m wet, so f*****g wet, my body betraying me as the goons’ footsteps echo in the alley. My heart’s racing, fear and heat mixing, Luca’s death pushing me to the edge, but Danny’s quick, his gun ready, his body my only shield.