The door clicked shut, plunging the apartment into silence.
Hunter's eyes opened immediately. He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. The scent of wild orchids lingered heavy on the pillow beside him, a ghostly reminder of the woman who had just left.
He reached into his Inventory, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
Click.
The flame flared, illuminating his face for a split second before he exhaled a long, steady stream of smoke.
"Gone," he murmured.
He scanned the room. The FBI bugs were still there—hidden in the smoke detector, behind the outlet covers—but they were dead. Hunter had disabled the wiring days ago during a "spring cleaning" session. He was off the grid.
Unless the Feds decided to plant new ones.
A cold light flickered in Hunter's eyes. Over the last week, his bank account had hemorrhaged money, but the investment was worth it. He had unlocked new skills, leveled up old ones. His physical stats were pushing past the 3x Human threshold.
If the FBI tried to breach his sanctuary again, it wouldn't be a surveillance op. It would be a war. And Hunter would make sure the body count was high enough to make headlines.
He glanced at the nightstand. The stack of bills sat there, crisp and green.
Ten thousand dollars.
Hunter chuckled, picking up the note Cataleya had left.
"So this is what it feels like," he mused. "Am I a kept man now? Or is this... severance pay?"
He read her words again. Talent like yours shouldn't be buried... Love, Lia.
She genuinely believed he was a struggling artist. She was trying to protect his dignity.
Hunter shook his head, a mix of amusement and respect softening his expression. He pocketed the cash and the note. For a man with nearly half a billion dollars in assets, ten grand was pocket change. But the gesture? That was priceless.
He leaned back, smoking thoughtfully.
Cataleya Restrepo. The Black Orchid.
Her story was a tragedy written in blood. Hunter recalled the plot of the movie Colombiana. She had been hunting Don Luis for over a decade, turning herself into a weapon to avenge her parents.
Based on her behavior—the caution about the painting, the orchid tag she likely left on her targets—she was already deep in her endgame. She was baiting the hook.
"Bold," Hunter whispered. "Or reckless."
In the movie, her plan to draw out Don Luis by tagging corpses was a double-edged sword. It worked, but it also exposed her only remaining family—her uncle and grandmother in Chicago—to the cartel's hit squads.
"She's too young," Hunter thought, exhaling smoke. "She thinks she can control the game, but she doesn't know the players."
He remembered the bitter irony of the film's ending. Don Luis wasn't hiding in some Colombian jungle. He was in the US, protected by the CIA as a high-value asset. The very government Cataleya trusted to help her had sheltered the man who butchered her family.
"America," Hunter scoffed. "Land of the free, home of the compromised."
He snuffed out the cigarette.
His body still hummed with the aftershocks of their encounter. Cataleya was incredible. Her training had given her a stamina and flexibility that matched his enhanced physiology perfectly. For the first time since his arrival in this world, he had found a partner who didn't just endure him, but challenged him.
"I can't let her die," Hunter decided.
He would find Don Luis for her. He would help her finish her vendetta, not just to save her life, but to save her soul.
He slid out of bed and pulled on his boxers. As he walked toward the bathroom, he glanced at the key rack by the door.
One key was missing.
Hunter smirked.
"Planning on coming back, are we?"
He decided to keep the apartment. The rent was negligible, and having a safe house where the deadliest woman in the world felt comfortable was a strategic asset.
He stepped into the shower, letting the cold water blast away the lingering heat and the scent of orchids.
As the water ran clear, Hunter's mind shifted to logistics.
Cataleya would be busy with her war. She wouldn't return soon.
Dom Toretto was in the wind, likely island-hopping in the Caribbean. Hunter would track him down eventually—Mia was too important to lose—but that could wait.
First, he had housecleaning to do.
He needed to finalize the farm purchase to secure a safe haven for Margie and Tally. He needed to launder more of Stansfield's money.
And then... there was Stella Bridger.
Hunter's mind drifted to the expert safecracker from The Italian Job. He had been keeping tabs on her. With Slater dead and the Toretto crew gone, he needed a new specialist. And if rumors were true, the blonde lock-pick was currently in Los Angeles.
"Time to expand the crew," Hunter whispered, turning off the water.
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