Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

When I thought about a world without Mutt in it, I just—no.

No, no, no.

Sleepless nights. Manic days. I did my best not to break. I even considered calling Lydia at one point—which…as you can guess was a clear indicator that I’d hit rock bottom.

“No fucking way,” had been Blair’s response when I brought it up to him. “No.”

“No,” Mutt had echoed when I’d mentioned it to him afterward. “No.”

“No,” Richard had said, when I’d gone to him after talking to Mutt.

But still, I considered it.

I considered it long and hard.

I considered it long enough to buy plane tickets to Oregon, to the airport nearest to the prison where she was being held.

Unfortunately for all of us, Mutt still had to work on negotiations. He told me he was already doing the bare minimum, and while that was fine and dandy, I still hated any second he was away from me. Though, we did spend as much time together as we possibly could. Going on adventures, trying new things I’d never done before because my therapist had suggested it, eating cheeseburgers, and splashing around in the icy-as-fuck ocean.

Mutt came to every single one of my open-mic nights.

He sat in the front row and cheered loudly—no longer lurking in the back like the creepy stalker he’d been. He brought me flowers every time. Flowers I wasn’t sure he hadn’t stolen, but appreciated all the same.

But still…the impending moon hung over our heads.

And by the time it rolled around, and Mutt disappeared again, I hadn’t come up with jack shit to help with anything.

Miserable, annoyed, and defeated, I lay alone in my bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Across town, Mutt was tied up in the basement of the little cottage he and his brothers had rented from the local pack. He was hurting. He was lost.

And I couldn’t…I couldn’t do anything about it.

Couldn’t mate with him.

Couldn’t ease his pain.

Because I’d rather be high than deal with the turmoil of my thoughts, I lay in my bed and contemplated my options. It’d been a long day of a whole lot of nothing. Thanksgiving was only a couple weeks away now—the first snowfalls had already begun—and my thoughts were spinning. The wrapper of the joint in my hand crinkled as I pinched it and sighed.

The merry-go-round spun and spun and spun.

I thought about white sneakers.

About mistakes.

About forgiveness.

And then I lit up and blew my worries away. The weed helped me straighten out the tangles in my head. Helped me reach clarity. Helped me make sense of the things that eluded me.

It centered me.

Reminded me to breathe.

To relax.

To be present.

It also made me horny.

Super fucking horny.