The Hunter's Angel

Sunday Morning

I woke with a migraine from hell. 

Flipping over in bed, I shoved my face into my pillow, the cushiony material muffling my groan. My head felt like a construction site, the dull pounding making it seem like someone was taking a jackhammer to my skull. 

Light trickled in from the window, making me squint as I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. 

9:00 AM. Great. I barely managed to sneak in 5 hours of sleep, though I was surprised I even got that. It was a little hard to unwind after the chaotic night, and I kept replaying my conversation with Hunter. 

Tomorrow, he had said. I'll see you tomorrow.

Way to be vague, I thought to myself. What the hell did that even mean? Was he going to just pop into my house whenever he pleased?

This was simply fabulous. A drug runner–no, scratch that–the son of one of the most powerful drug traffickers, knew where I lived and was coming to see me. For what, exactly, I didn't know, but thinking about it didn't make me feel any better. 

I imagined the thought of Hunter would have made me terrified, or at least a little scared, but I was surprised by my lack of fear towards him. When I closed my eyes and saw his wicked grin, I was overwhelmed with a sense of nervousness, and despite my best efforts, slight...attraction. But no fear. 

Stifling another groan, I forced myself out of bed and headed over to the bathroom to take a long-overdue shower. After Hunter had left last night I had gone straight to bed, tossing and turning, the idea of a shower long gone. 

The steam helped ease my headache, and I stood under the scalding water for a while, trying to figure out what I was going to do. 

Before my little chat with Hunter, I was planning on spending the day at the police station, after heading over to the mall to buy a new phone. It seemed like none of those cards were on the table anymore, seeing as Hunter had returned my trusty little device, and I couldn't exactly bring myself to report him either. 

I always thought the rules of the world were simple. Clear.

Only, I was beginning to realize it wasn't. I never considered myself a violent person, but I was having a hard time ignoring the depth behind Hunter's actions. 

No matter how much I detested the man my father was, he was still my father, and I would imagine that if someone took his life I would want some form of justice. Recognizing the kind of man Hunter's father was, it's not like he could just report his death. So, he had to take matters into his own hands. Given the kind of men he was dealing with, Jay Miller, for example, I couldn't say I blamed him for his approach. 

That being said, it wasn't like I could simply overlook who Hunter Michaelson was. He was involved in some seriously grave stuff, and from the way he described his family, I had a hunch that they were on a lot of people's radars. Dangerous people. 

Whether or not I liked it, I had a feeling I was now involved. I'd seen enough mafia movies to know people don't just find out inside information about criminals and then roam free. I didn't think Hunter wanted to hurt me, seeing as he was just inside my apartment last night and had every opportunity to get rid of me. But I had an inkling that this wasn't going to be over anytime soon.

Exhaling deeply, I shut off the water and dried off. If I thought about this any longer, my head would explode. 

Pulling open my dresser, I rifled through my drawers for something to wear. 

It was mid-March, which might have meant cool weather for most places, but in LA, it was warm and sunny. I pulled on some bootcut jeans and paired them with a white tee and my Chucks.