Ready Or Not (The Hunter’s Club #2)

Chapter 43

43

EAT SPIT! (feat. Royal & The Serpent) - Slush Puppy

I didn’t tell Manson about Noel’s friends. I knew what would happen if I did. He’d want to fight my battles for me. He’d want to kill all of them, and they’re mine . Manson already has Noel. If he hasn’t done something to him yet, he will. But those three? They’re mine, and I’m the only one who decides how this ends.

But, there is a slight problem. I still don’t exactly know who the others were. I have no clue what their last names were. I spent last night racking my brain for their names, but they’re still fuzzy memories in my mind. Memories that I don’t want to remember.

I wanted to call Noel and ask him, but the more I think about it, the more I know he’ll laugh in my face. I could get Manson to stick his prison thugs on him, but that would require Manson knowing what I’m talking to Noel about. And that won’t do.

Opening Manson’s phone, I realize it’s locked. I try a few combinations before trying my birthday. It works.

I go to social media. I had a scam account that was friends with my mom before she died. I was planning on acting like the perfect man and then dumping her, but she was slow to take the bait, and she died before I could finish.

Because, of course, she did.

But I was friends with her and had access to all of her posts, even the private ones from a long time ago.

My hands shake as I scroll. Surely, I can find something on this account. I just don’t know how long it’s going to take. I don’t know if Rachel can buy me that kind of time.

As I’m thinking that, I hear Manson coming up the steps. Fuck. Fuck fuck! I just need this. I need their names. If I can just get their names and a little bit of freedom, maybe the burning, endless rage in my chest will quiet.

Maybe I’ll stop remembering.

I clear the apps and toss the phone on the couch as Manson storms into the kitchen. His eyes are livid, and his movements are jerky.

He’s out of control.

Despite my frustration, that makes me smile. “Who pissed in your cheerios?”

Manson’s beside me in a flash, hand around my throat and slamming me into the wall. “Thought you could get one over on me?”

I chuckle as I try to suck in a breath. “No piss kink then? Shame. And I always thought you were freaky.”

“Riley.” His grip is so tight I feel the blood rushing in my ears.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” I gasp as his hand spasms.

“What were you doing?”

Manson loosens his grip just enough that I don’t pass out completely.

“I was going to call Noel and tell him to go to hell.” I smirk.

Manson’s head is by my neck, his breath hot in my ear. “He’ll never touch you again. I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking ruin him, Riley. It’s over.”

Annoyance shoots into me. “Oh, shocking. You’re fighting my battles for me.”

“Riley.” I feel his hand slam into the wall by my head, and it sends a thrill through me. His voice trembles. He’s barely in control.

I laugh around the pressure he’s putting on my throat. I know poking him is the worst thing to do. There are two parts of me: one that wants to push him until he breaks and another that hates the idea of a world where he actually does give up.

But when I open my mouth, what comes out is, “Did Rachel hit you in the head? All you’re saying is Riley, Riley.”

Before I know it, I’m on the couch, and Manson drops over me. His hand is back on my throat, and he rips my shorts down. The violence of it shoots pain through me, and I revel in it. The chaos in my brain feels right when he’s like this.

“Just fucking…stop fighting me!”

I laugh harshly. “Sure thing, Noel. Oops, sorry, I meant Manson.”

If I thought Manson was rough before, it’s like he completely lost it. He flips me over, and I hear the crack of his hand before sharp, delicious pain rushes through my ass. His hand cracks down again on the same spot. Over and over until the pain amplifies with each hit. My skin gets hot, and I can feel the force of the strikes in my bones. I can’t help but struggle a little.

“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?” He strikes after each hit.

I can’t keep the groan of pain down. But it’s also accompanied by arousing tingles that rush up and down my whole body. My pussy is soaked.

“Suck my dick,” I gasp.

Suddenly, Manson stops. I brace myself, waiting for another hit, and he chuckles. Instead of a hit, his fingernails trace across where he was hitting me, sending another wave of goosebumps over me. It feels fucking amazing.

“What were you doing on my phone?”

“I told you, calling N-”

He hits me so hard I see stars.

I groan, a sassy response hot on my tongue, but Manson switches to my other asscheek, hitting hard and fast, pain lighting up there too.

I struggle to get out from his punishing hand. Manson just laughs, but it’s not amused. “Yes, fight me, Riley. Show me just how much it hurts. You can brat until you’re blue in the face, but I’ll always get my way. Now tell me why you didn’t tell me.”

I hiss, but he hits me again, and I can feel my skin bruising in a delicious way. Again and again and again, the pain comes. I squirm to find relief, which just makes Manson groan.

I feel my body wanting to submit to him, even while my brain screams that we’re in danger. I have to redirect this. “Where’s your mask?” I taunt. “Or are you finally brave enough to admit you’ve been panting after me since we were teens?”

There’s a dark chuckle, and it makes goosebumps run across my skin. I’m tempting fate. I know I am. It makes me feel even more alive, sending a thrill through my whole body.

I expect another hit, but it doesn’t come. I do everything I can to keep from squirming. Manson has gone deadly silent.

Finally, his fingers run softly across my skin. “Oh, is that what you want?” Suddenly, he flips me over so I’m facing him and drops down over my body. He smiles at me mockingly. “You want me to…how did you say it, pant over you?”

I feel him flex, and his cock nudges against my entrance. I brace, expecting him to slam into me like he always does.

But he doesn’t. He just presses in slowly, and as he does, he brushes a strand of hair back from my face.

“Poor Riley. You just want someone to love you?” His gaze is mocking.

“Fuck you,” I hiss. Something in my chest tightens. Love is for losers. I hate love.

Manson rocks back gently, then presses back into me, his dick filling me up.

“Oh, Riley.” He pants, sneering at me. “Yes, Riley, I love you.”

“Stop!” I jerk my hands out from under him and rake them down his back. Manson groans as they break the skin, stiffening in me more. Somehow, when the words come out of Manson’s mouth, they sound different. They sound…good.

And I hate that response. Because of all people, Manson has the ability to hurt me. And he’s getting way too close for comfort. I growl, “Stop being a pussy and fuck me like you mean it.”

“What if this is how I mean it?” Manson snakes a hand down between us to play with my clit. “What if I’m panting after you, Riley?”

“Then I’d say you’re weak.” The anger is rushing through my body. “And I hate weak.”

Manson just laughs. “Say that to me when you’re coming all over my dick while I’m worshiping this body.”

I rip my nails down on him again, trying to get a reaction, but it just makes his dick twitch in me.

I hate this. I hate this because I could like this. I struggle to get away from him, but that just gets Manson off more. So, I stop fighting.

Two can play this game, dickhead.

Instead of digging into his skin, I relax and massage Manson’s back softly. “Oh, Manson,” I moan. “Fuck yes.”

He looks at me.

I just arch my back into him. “You feel so good.” The words send a forbidden thrill through me. Stop it, Riley. We’re just playing a game.

Manson looks at me, confused. His face is so perfect, his jawline so strong, and his lips so biteable that I do something impulsive: I grab his face and smash my lips into his.

Manson stiffens. I just deepen the kiss, sucking his tongue into my mouth and nipping it. That seems to wake him up, and he attacks my mouth back. We fight for dominance while our bodies are still softly grinding.

Manson’s fingers on my clit are sending pleasure through me. And I hate that. I grind my hips up into him softly and feel his dick twitch again. So he’s not as unaffected as he’d like to appear.

I smile into his lips.

“What?” Manson stares down at me, his green eyes searching mine.

“Nothing.” I grin at him. I’ll get him to come first.

Manson just doubles down, slightly adding pressure and speed to his hand. His dick strokes more upwards, rubbing against my G Spot. Pleasure shoots through me, and I snap my eyes closed.

Manson chuckles. “You’re cute. You think you’re going to win this game?”

“What game?” But his hand is relentless. I think of anything else. Of the dream I had. Of the way Rachel somehow understood and calmed me down. Of her pretty little face with her blue hair and pale skin.

I feel myself get wetter and moan, trying to buck Manson off.

“Atta girl. Take my dick like a good girl.”

“Fuck off,” I growl.

“I will. Just as soon as you come.” He’s still being soft, and I can feel every inch of his muscled body as it lays over me. He’s hot, and I hate that I have to admit that. I don’t get much of a chance to just feel him when I’m fighting him.

I get wetter, and that makes me mad. I never lose. What is going on?

“Mmm, Riley, you’re so perfect. A perfect little wife.”

I glare up at him, a mocking retort on my tongue, but I freeze as I see his face. He looks completely serious.

And for the first time, something like fear rushes through me. This whole time, this has been a game between us. A toxic push and pull of mutual hatred. Manson has never said something like that to me before. Was he…being serious when he said that?

He notices me watching him, and then his lips twist up in a mean smirk.

So he was just mocking me.

“Fuck you,” I dig my nails into him.

Manson just picks up his pace, and despite everything, I feel my orgasm building. What is fucking wrong with me? I can’t keep it from building and building, and I realize I’m not going to be able to stop it.

And what’s worse is—I like it. I like everything about Manson, and he won’t fucking get out of my head. He’s going to break me. He’s going to make me weak.

So when I come around Manson’s dick, I do the only thing I can think of to keep him as far away as I can.

I moan Noel’s name.