Hunted

Chapter Nine

Despite Raven's teasing, the possibility of stabbing was very much still on the table.

With the pounding pressure of an undiagnosed concussion still ringing between my ears, the palm outstretched in front of me was looking quite vulnerable. While I hadn't planned to actually attempt to gouge anyone with the slender piece of glass, I was reconsidering my previous morality in the face of Raven's attitude

Because of that lingering irritation, I didn't release the impromptu weapon. Curling my thumb over the smooth finish, I cast my gaze over the assembled party. Tension had clearly spiked in the aftermath of Raven's warning.

About two yards ahead, Sean had stumbled to a halt— his green eyes coasting down my shoulders and a tightness growing in his eyes when he caught sight of the reflective surface. Gabriel and Luke wore similar expressions, but Luke differed in his outstretched hand. His tan palm pressed against the broad chest of a new man, one who wore a scowl so dark it nearly made me purge.

Just behind them, four other figures hovered near Brandon's resting place. While they were all focused on the tension, two were strung so tight their muscles were nearly coiled. It was as if they were taking statistical measurements of every outcome, of every way to get me to surrender. That wasn't a pleasant observation and my shoulders curl inward in anticipation.

They caught the movement. The slender man with black hair and glasses traded a quick look with the one beside him at my introspection. Something was exchanged in the silence and the other man, tall with dark hair coasting his sharp jaw line, nodded.

The action made my grip on the improvised weapon tighten, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of my stomach as I counted the force ahead of me. Fourteen men. Fourteen large men.

I was going to die.

"Tsk, tsk," Raven squatted lower, his mouth crinkling in mirth at the sight of my growing frown, "Don't be a silly moose. We told you, we are the good guys. We do not want to hurt you."

Swallowing the fear bubbling up my throat, I tucked the glass between my breasts as I pressed further against the car, "Don't want to isn't the same thing as won't."

Sean took the brief interlude in conversation as permission to creep forward, "To us it is—"

"Dr. Green," the slender and impossibly poised man cautioned. His white linen shirt was rolled up to his elbows, a smidge of dirt smudging the collar. "Do not engage until the threat is eliminated."

It took a second to realize that he was referring to me as the threat.

The idea was nearly laughable. It was absolutely preposterous. If I hadn't been battered in the collision and teetering on the edge of exhaustion, I would have giggled.

Me. They thought I was the threat.

After hours spent chasing me through backwater streets and tiny towns, cornering me in a gas station, following me— they thought I was something to be feared. All because I had a puny piece of glass clutched in front of my chest.

Gosh, I could only imagine their expressions if I had grabbed the gun instead.

"She's hurt, Owen," Sean snapped back, but he didn't step forward again. Instead, he threw a lanky arm in my direction, "You can see it as well as I can."

The jab made something in the man's— Owen's face tighten, "I am not denying her aide, but she is quite clearly intending to escape." Steel grey eyes cut to the glass in my hands, "With whatever means she has available."

The accusation had the flesh on my arms bristling. That edge of judgement in his tone reminding me too much of the police officer's initial integration. The way he'd plastered a guilty verdict against my skin without any thought of compromise.