Sherrilyn Kenyon - Silent Truth

A man whose blood ran so cold it could freeze a syringe.

Hunter had come by that blood naturally.

Only Eliot had ever known when Hunter’s gut twisted with hidden anger… or pain. Eliot could always separate the façade Hunter showed the world from the truth.

That nothing-matters-to-me mask had been formed the night before Hunter’s seventh birthday as he and his five-year-old brother Todd witnessed another argument from where they hid at the top of the stairs. His mother had taught him how to sit silent as a shadow. She backhanded him and Todd over any infraction, particularly Hunter’s sharp tongue. But wife number one, better known as Mother Dearest, hit her limit when his dad ordered her to spend more time with her children.

Their gorgeous statuesque mother had marched across the marble foyer with her Mercedes keys in hand. His dad stepped into her path, telling her, “Your car’s locked in the garage until you start acting like a real mother.”

“What? Giving birth is pretty damn real, but I never agreed to be a nursemaid. I kept my end of the deal. You got the two kids you wanted. Heirs to the Thornton-Payne dynasty. You should be grateful as hell they favor me and didn’t turn out looking like trolls.”

Hunter had never looked at his dad the way he had right then, seeing the wide-set eyes, thick eyebrows, hook nose, and short stature. His father visibly shriveled in that moment, his voice sad when he said, “I thought having children would soften you, but you’re just a cold gold-digging bitch. Can’t you at least act like a mother? I keep you in jewels and cars and clothes. What else do you want?”

“My freedom. If you think I’m going to live like a prisoner with snotty kids, you’re wrong. I’m over this.” She squared her shoulders, looking down at her husband with evil twitching her lips. “I want a divorce… and custody of the boys, which won’t be hard for me to win since you’re never home. Don’t look so surprised. I’m more of a mother than you are a father anyhow.”

Even though Hunter spent most of his days assuring Todd their mother liked them, he’d had his doubts. Until that moment, he’d also suffered a child’s need to know he was loved. He watched, still not sure he could trust the sincerity of her words.

“I see your game,” his father said in a quiet voice shaking with fury. “You only want the boys to hold over me so you can get more money than agreed to in the prenuptial.”

“Even if that was true I wouldn’t wage a battle against your team of lawyers for more money.” His mother had laughed sarcastically through her perfect lips. “What do you care? You’re never around. Just pay me enough to hire decent help to take care of the pain-in-the-asses and neither one of us will have to deal with them, but I want my freedom.”

Todd whimpered. Hunter cupped his brother’s mouth to keep him from giving away their position.

His father lifted his chin. “I will not give up my sons.”

That’s when Hunter saw a gleam of victory in his mother’s green eyes. She said, “In that case, here’s my only offer, and it’s good for twenty-four hours. I get everything in the prenuptial plus two million. That’s a million for each kid.”

She’d sold him and his brother with no more thought than she’d have given to pawning a diamond ring. Actually, she might have shed a tear over losing the jewelry.

From that day forward, Hunter held his trust close, refusing to risk letting go until Eliot forced him to take a leap of faith.

The limo slowed and turned right onto the road to the Wentworth estate.

“You’ve got being an arrogant, cold-hearted snob down to a science.” Korbin’s sarcasm cut with a razor’s edge. “Doubt anyone else on the team could pull off your level of asshole-or even wants to. We’re lucky to have someone who’s born to it.”

“Did you come out of the womb a dickhead or develop that jockstrap personality on your own?” Hunter considered the heat in Korbin’s anger over the issue with Rae. Sounded too much like that of a sack mate instead of a teammate. Maybe he should warn Korbin only a fool would break Joe’s rule of no fraternizing with a teammate.

But he didn’t know if Korbin and Rae were doing the midnight tango or not.

He didn’t care.

Joe and Retter’s problem.

Hunter had no trouble keeping everything in a professional capacity on a mission. That way he never had to think about anything unrelated to the job.

Like the possibility of watching his only true friend fall to his death.

Korbin swung the car left, then stopped at the gate to clear Wentworth’s entrance security before continuing down a one-way drive bordered with spruce trees. Tiny blue-white lights glittered along the branches. He pulled into the circular drive that encapsulated a granite fountain with a bronze fifteen-foot-tall sculpture of a fierce Poseidon battling a sea serpent.

Not what Hunter would have expected to find in front of a French Country-styled home sprawled under seductive up-lighting and custom steel-and-bronze sconces.

The wealthy called any oddity “style.”

Four valets attended vehicles. Two doormen stood at an arched entrance with custom gold-plated double doors. A smattering of international luxury sports cars and sedans lined the expansive horseshoe drive, along with stretch limos. The rest of the vehicles were likely stashed in a hidden lot on the estate.

Korbin parked and hopped out, which thankfully prevented any further conversation.

The car door on Hunter’s left swung open.

Shoulders straight, Korbin looked every inch a professional driver without a trace of a smirk or attitude on his face. Hunter hadn’t thought he had it in him, but Korbin had proved more than once he also had ice water running through his jugular.

When Hunter stepped onto the driveway paved with stones cut in swirling designs, he paused to straighten his cuffs. The temperature had dropped with the last rays of sun, leaving the air cooled to a frosty mid-forties.

Korbin closed the door and slowed as he walked past Hunter’s shoulder long enough to whisper, “Asshole or not, we’ve got your back.” He climbed in and drove away.

Hunter pinched his silk cuff so hard the material should have turned to powder. He missed Eliot at the strangest times. Eliot would have also called him an asshole, but in a way intended to draw a smile instead of blood.

Screw it. Hunter had a package to retrieve and a killer to find.

He took several steps forward, pausing to lift his phone from the inside pocket of his tux and tilting his chin down as though to check a text message.

In truth, he used that moment to take stock of the exterior security mixed in with the valets.

A car door opened and closed behind him, offering a plausible reason to turn so he could scan the rest of the setting.

His gaze bottlenecked at the woman exiting a black corporate sedan. Age around thirty, maybe five foot five, shapely, in a soft inviting way. She’d wrapped her curvaceous body in a dark green dress with a black sash and black heels. Intriguing.

He continued pressing random digits on his cell phone so he could enjoy the delightful vision more closely while she dug around in her glittery evening bag. She wore her curly brown hair piled high, screwed into some kind of style that showed off sparkling earrings, a matching necklace, and the sweet, sweet curve of her neck. Inexpensive costume jewelry. Minimal makeup, little more than dressing up her simple face, though her lips did have a delicious appeal.

Something in her movements and face seemed familiar.

Did he know her?

Didn’t look like someone he knew socially… or had dated.

She didn’t resemble the rail-thin, self-absorbed females with a penchant for exotic jewelry and one-of-a-kind designer clothing he’d tolerate for a night.