Hunting Gorgeous – Hunters Read Online B.B. Hamel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance, Suspense, Thriller Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Hunting Gorgeous - Hunters

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

B.B. Hamel

Book Information:

My name is Nick Splitter, and I hunt serial killers. That’s my whole life, at least until I meet Rose, and she changes everything.
She caught the eye of a notorious psychopath, and if I can’t catch him in time, then she’ll be the next victim.
I’m an FBI agent. I’m supposed to be buttoned up, and I’m supposed to follow the rules. For a long time, the only thing I cared about was the hunt.
Rose makes me want to strip down and go rogue with her. We both have a dark past, smeared in blood and tragedy. But I’m not about to let her get hurt.
I’ll do what it takes to catch the killer. Then I’ll make sure Rose doesn’t get away.
Books by Author:

B.B. Hamel

Prologue: Rose

The note scrawled in blocky, bright-red lipstick on my bathroom mirror wasn’t in my handwriting.

I stood staring at the words for what felt like hours. Tingles crept down my spine in waves and my fingers dug into the doorframe on either side of me.

I thought about my sister, Delia, and her cam shows, the shows that helped pay for my college, that changed both our lives. I thought of her laughing, smiling, and all those men sending her money. She wanted to be pretty for them. She wanted to make them happy.

I thought of her white comforter and the lace curtains she put up to make the light soft.

Her clothes coming off, stitch by stitch.

The way my world collapsed when her body was found broken and alone.

The house smelled like her, but she never lived here. Lilacs and lemongrass. Everything I knew about being a human, I learned it from her.

That wasn’t her handwriting on my bathroom mirror, either. Delia was dead, dead and gone. I’d never see my sister again.

She couldn’t leave me messages anymore.

I stepped forward and reached out to run my fingers down through the smeared words but stopped myself. I yanked my hand back, as if burned.

I read the words out loud, trying to sound like my sister, sensual and wanted:

You’re next, gorgeous.



The driveway was long and gravel. Cal cursed as his tires bumped along a pothole.

“Middle of fucking nowhere,” he said.

“Relax, the house is up ahead.”

It was a small structure, barely two floors, tucked back into a small wooded area. There were other houses nearby, a few neighborhoods, a development or two, but this looked older than the others. The shutters were painted blue and the siding was a dirty white from age and use. Cal parked next to a rusty red truck and killed the engine.

Three cop cars and a black sedan were parked out front.

“Looks like the locals beat us,” he said.

“Not a bad thing. We’ll need their help.”

“Play nice in there, all right? I don’t feel like cleaning up after you again.”

I smiled a little. “That was one time.”

“One time too many.” He gave me a look. “By the book, okay?”

“By the book. Don’t you worry about me, partner.”

Cal sighed and shook his head. He was old school, the sort of cop that learned how to police on the street. Salt-and-pepper hair, square jaw, blue eyes. Loved to curse and fight. Born and raised in Chicago, he earned his rank and then some.

Head put me with him when I first joined the Hunters, two years ago now. Said Cal would be good for me. Said he’d soften my edges.

He hadn’t done shit, but he’d tried.

I stepped out of the car and stretched. It was a long drive from New York and I should’ve been tired, but the thought of what waited in that little house energized me. The sun was close to setting, the bugs chirped at the edges of the woods. Cal got out next and surveyed the place with his customary scowl, like he hated what he saw. I walked toward the front porch and he followed, close on my heels.

“Hello there,” I said to the local cop standing outside. He had a buzz cut and a beer gut. He scowled at the two of us until I took out my badge and showed it to him.

That got his attention. “Didn’t know they were sending feds,” he said.

“Guess they didn’t bother telling you.” I gestured at the door. “You mind?”

He shrugged and looked away, frowning the whole time like he smelled something awful. I stepped into a nice front hall, wiped my shoes on the welcome mat, then headed down into a kitchen. The floorboards creaked under my weight and I took in as much as I could: ancient wallpaper, ceilings slightly brown from tobacco smoke, framed photographs on the walls, kitsch stuffed on a side table. It looked like an old woman lived there, but I’d been told the place was owned by a girl named Rose Walters, twenty-two years of age.

I found another local cop in the kitchen. He stood near the windows and glanced over with surprise. I held up a hand in greeting. “Your detective around?” I asked.

He squinted. “She’s upstairs. And you are?”

“Nick Splitter, FBI. This is my partner, Cal Dam.”

Cal grunted in greeting. “Afternoon.”

The cop squinted some more. He looked like he could’ve been the brother or the cousin of the guy out front, but local places like this, the guys all looked the same to me. Cop hair, cop eyes. Walked like a cop, talked like a cop.

I guess I shouldn’t judge too hard. I’m a cop too, after all. Only a particular kind of cop.

A specialist, I guess, is what they’d call me.

“You want to take a look around down here?” I asked Cal. “I’ll find the detective and meet the girl.”