Bait: A dark erotic thriller (Hunter & Prey Book 2) by Kira Barker Read Free Book Online Page A

limp away still alive, that is.”
    Brigitte listened to that without batting an eyelash, but once I’d fallen silent, it took her a full ten seconds before she shook herself out of her momentary stupor.
    “Your hand?” she asked. As if on command, my fingers gave a twinge, but I forced them to remain relaxed rather than curl into a fist.
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “A shame,” she said as if it wasn’t more than a little nick on my chin—but I could tell that she did that for my benefit. I nodded, both thanking her and leaving her oblivious to the actual details. Let her think he did that to me—that was still better than telling her about the dolls. It was obvious that there was a lot more to this than I was ready to tell her, and she didn’t ask, thankfully. I’d hoped she would react like that—after all, she knew a thing or two about sacrifices one preferred not to share with anyone else. After a rather forceful exhale, she jerked her head toward the kitchen. “I think I need a drink. Care to join me?”
    I hadn’t expected her to kick me out after my little revelation, but her reaction still lifted a ton of weight off my chest. I inclined my head and shrugged off my coat, then followed her into the inner sanctum of her penthouse. By the time I joined her, she had two cups of coffee ready on the table, a bottle of Scotch between them. I couldn’t help but smile faintly at the booze as I took my seat—Brigitte kept a strict no intoxicants regime for us girls; drinks were for clients only.
    Brigitte studied me as I took a tentative sip, then leaned back in my chair. The last time we had been sitting here, she’d told me about her own fallacy of youth. On some level I couldn’t help but feel that if I’d listened a little closer, I wouldn’t be in my current position now—but then things had been vastly different. But weren’t they always when homicidal maniacs were involved?
    “Gloating just isn’t the same when there’s actual grief involved,” she finally said, reaching for the Scotch and dealing herself a generous portion. Her eyes kept flitting over my face, taking in what there was to glean from my rather stony features. With her, I didn’t have to pretend.
    “I’m so sorry that my misfortune is inconveniencing you,” I replied, letting her know that I wasn’t going to play the pity card.
    “Oh, you have no idea,” she said, considering. “So what exactly is your plan here? Am I right in my guess that you’re not doing this because of your deep-seated concern about that young git he is banging now?” I must have made a face because she snorted. “Thought so. And before I keep stoking your justified paranoia there, of course Nya was watching you after you ran into her. I just didn’t think that—“
    She trailed off there. I shrugged. What else was there to do?
    “Yeah, when everyone was warning me that he was bad news, I figured it was something like him being corrupt or just a regular asswipe.”
    Brigitte’s eyes narrowed as she studied me more closely.
    “You’re still in love with him.”
    I considered denying it, but she knew me too well—as she’d proven in the past, even when I hadn’t wanted to listen—and I needed her as my confidante if I wanted to get through this with my sanity moderately intact.
    “It gets even worse,” I replied, the lack of denial all the confirmation she needed. “I haven’t masturbated a single time since I got away last summer. Like my body was broken for good. But guess what happened last night when I was standing face to face with that bastard again? Libido rekindled.”
    I got a slight wince for that, clearly in sympathy.
    “So, moving on, as they call it—not quite your thing?”
    I gave that some thought but had to leave it at an ambivalent shrug. “I honestly don’t know. I am terrified. I can’t sleep. For months I’ve been fighting panic attacks. Even cars make me claustrophobic sometimes now, and I can’t