Home > Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2)

Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2)
Author: Jodi Ellen Malpas


Chapter 1


   Where do I go from here?

   Amid the crazy that has tangled my mind and twisted my aching heart, it’s the loudest question of all. My forehead rests on the window of the train and my eyes watch blankly as the blackness races past and the consistent rocking sways me into a numb haze. Run home. It’s what my instinct is telling me to do. Because for the first time since I left my small village, centring my attention on a past that I’ve fought hard to leave behind seems so much easier than trying to make sense of what is happening now.

   My eyes close and the darkness I find opens the floodgates, visions of Becker and memories I don’t want to have steaming forward. His face, so handsome yet angelic, his smile so wicked, his passion so addictive. And the feelings he unearthed in me, all unexpected but all thrilling. He found me. And then he lost me. He filled me with hope and drive, and then he cruelly ripped it away. He’s ruined me.

   Because if I don’t win this battle, Eleanor, I’ll feel like I’ve thrown away the chance of something fucking incredible.

   My eyes open. Something incredible. It was. We were incredible. And that makes me hate him all the more for stealing back the gift he gave me. The gift of life.

   I took you to Countryscape because I wanted you to see what no one else sees.

   My swallow is lumpy, my heart in agony. I saw him. I saw what he doesn’t want anyone else to see. He let me in. Becker didn’t only expose his desperation to find the lost sculpture, his sweet con-artist skills or his crooked business dealings, he exposed his weaknesses. His vulnerabilities. His secrets. His pain.

   It was a potent mix that when all combined made me fall head over heels for him. And loving him made every wicked facet of him acceptable.

   Trust me, Eleanor. Please, you need to trust me.

   ‘But you scared me,’ I say to myself, like he might be able to hear me from London. I thought I had figured out who Becker Hunt was. All of it shocking, but more so thrilling. And then . . .

   My hand goes to my wrist and rubs, feeling his harsh hold pinning me to the floor. I close my eyes and see his balaclava-covered face. I hear myself begging for my life.

   Please don’t hurt me.

   He told me he would try not to break my heart. He didn’t say he would try not to break me. He never warned me that by being involved with him, I could be in danger.

   I dived in feet first. I knew the risks. His reputation as a modern-day Casanova didn’t scare me away. His ruthless con-artist skills didn’t have me bolting like they should have. I felt too alive. Too drawn, too deep. I was blinded by his bold, fearless approach to life and business.

   And now I’m more lost than the piece of treasure he so desperately needs to find. And just like the sculpture, I hope he never finds me. I reach up to my chest and try to massage the hurt away, knowing deep down that if Becker wants to find something, he’ll find it.

   The brakes of the train kick in, screeching and jolting me from my whirling thoughts, and I glance up as the darkness ends and the grimy platform of a station appears. The thought of moving, of talking some life into my muscles, brings on another level of despondency. Because moving requires energy, and I feel drained dry.

   On a sigh, I disembark with the rest of the passengers. I tell myself that daughters naturally run to their mum when they’re in a crisis, no matter what their age or what the crisis. I hate that I’m in a crisis, and I hate that it feels like such a mammoth one. It’s time to go home.

   The taxi drops me off at the ATM, and I withdraw some cash to pay the driver, deciding to brave the short walk down the road to our house. I could do with the time to psych myself up, come to terms with the fact that I’m back here, and think about what I might say to my mother. How will I explain why I’ve abandoned my new, exhilarating, happy life in London?

   It’s quiet, the streetlamps still glowing in the dark winter morning, as I stroll leisurely down the high street, mindlessly slowing to a stop when I reach my father’s shop. I look up at the sign that says ‘FOR SALE’, and my heart breaks that little bit more.

   I let myself in and breathe in that old, damp smell. It’s comforting. Something familiar in a world I don’t recognise.

   Nothing has changed. Every single piece of old furniture is exactly where it was the last time I was here. There’s hardly any floor space to move, and no trace of walls in between the masses of clocks and paintings hanging from the bare brick. I slowly turn until my eyes fall to the bench where Dad used to sit for hours working on his treasure. ‘What are we going to do with all this junk, Dad?’ I ask the silence, shuffling through the dusty furniture.

   I bend and blow a small puff of air over the surface of a reproduction Victorian sideboard, creating a plume of particles that bursts into the air. The tiny fragments get up my nose, and I sneeze as I hurry to the back room to find some tissue, but the noise of a handle shifting pulls my searching to a stop.

   The shop door handle.

   I whirl around fast. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, and no one could possibly know I’m back home. News travels fast in Helston, but not that fast.

   ‘Eleanor?’ The voice sounds distant and grainy, but I’d know it anywhere. My despondency vanishes, and in its place . . .

   Anxiety.

   He’s standing by the door, looking across the room at me. And he’s smiling. Smiling?

   ‘Brent.’ There’s no denying the shock in my voice, even if it’s tinged with fury. My muscles come to life, straightening my back and holding me up without the need for support from the worktop behind me. ‘What are you doing here?’

   He shuts the door softly, keeping his eyes on me, letting them roam up and down my body. ‘I thought I should check up on you after your incident with Hunt.’

   ‘Excuse me?’ He’s just turned up in my hometown, hundreds of miles away from London, and he knows there’s been an incident? How?

   ‘You looked distressed when you ran away. I was worried.’

   I back up some more, my wariness intensifying. He saw me run away? ‘You were there?’ I mumble mindlessly, trying to bully my mind back into something close to straight. Impossible. There are too many things tangling it, and now this? I’ve been nothing but a pawn in Brent’s and Becker’s exploits. A naïve, stupid idiot who underestimated their rivalry and the seriousness of the game they’re playing.

   ‘What on earth caused you to be so upset?’ he asks, ignoring my question. ‘What did he do to you?’

   I hold my tongue, suddenly hyper-alert. He’s digging. Why? Is he suspicious of the fake sculpture that Becker tricked him into paying a stupid fifty million for? I don’t know, and I shouldn’t care either. I can’t get involved. I don’t want to get involved. I’ve implicated myself enough already. ‘How did you get in?’

Hot Books
» House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1)
» A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire
» From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash #1)
» A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime
» Deviant King (Royal Elite #1)
» Den of Vipers
» House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2)
» Sweet Temptation
» The Sweetest Oblivion (Made #1)
» Chasing Cassandra (The Ravenels #6)
» Wreck & Ruin
» Steel Princess (Royal Elite #2)
» Twisted Hate (Twisted #3)
» The Play (Briar U Book 3)
» The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash #4)