Page 26 of The Huntress and Her Hound

My eyes drop to his now-limp dick. I smile. And then kick as hard as I possibly can. Samuel barrels over, letting out a low groan. I rush across to the place on the floor where my purse lies. I rip it open and grab the taser. His arm slings around to grab me, but I’m faster.

I place the prongs right on the back of his neck and pull the trigger. He’s instantly stunned, slumping over. But I don’t stop there. I follow his downward trajectory, continuing to send shockwaves through his body.

And I don’t stop.

I don’t stop even when he starts to convulse and seize. I don’t stop when his eyes grow hazy. And I don’t stop even after I assume his heart has long since ceased to beat.

“Fuck you, Samuel,” I whisper as I give him one last shock. I lean forward, placing two fingers on the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse—just in case I’m wrong.

Nothing.

I run my tongue over my bottom lip and then inhale as deeply as I can. My ribs ache from the impact with the wall. My mouth is bleeding profusely. The skin on my knuckles is bruised and broken. My DNA is all over this room.

But I still won.

Reaching to my forehead, I wipe the sweat away. This one might be my downfall. I glance around the room. It’s clear a struggle happened. Should I clean up? I know I could call Henry, and he could make it all disappear... But then...

‘Then he’ll know who you really are.’

I run my hands over my face with frustration at the unsilenced voice, further smearing the blood oozing from my mouth. I slowly pick up my clothes, refastening my bra and sliding on my ripped top. I dance back into my tight jeans, annoyingly sticking to my sweaty legs. I’ve never wanted to leave a place so bad, and as I glance back to Samuel, a sense of nausea penetrates my gut. He looks murdered.

Maybe they’ll just assume he tried to assault someone?

My eyes roll at the notion. He’s still dead. They’ll want to know what happened. I reach down and sift through his pockets, grabbing his wallet and peering down at his driver’s license.

Samuel Robert Erickson.

“I wonder if anyone will miss you,” I say to him, taking a seat on the couch beside his limp body to catch my breath and once again wipe away the blood from my face. “They’ll probably all talk about how great of a guy you were, and how much you loved your mommy and daddy—but you really just loved their money.”

Sighing in response to myself, I pull a few hundred dollars out of the thousand in his wallet, just to cover my time. I toss the wallet off to the side of the floor.

And then I come up with an idea.

Reaching into my purse, I pull out the white powder. I rip open one small pouch, and then drop to my knees beside him. It’s a stretch, but it could at least put them on another trail for a while. I pry open the guy’s locked jaw and put a little bit of it into his mouth—and then dump the rest on the floor beside him.

‘This is a stupid idea. It’ll never work. It looks like an amateur’s work.’

”I am an amateur. I’ve only killed like nine men—and it didn’t go anything like this,” I answer the voice, shaking my head. “I’m not a professional. I’m not like my brother.”

‘He expected you to become a cute, little housewife.’

“No, he expected me to become a lawyer,” I argue. “He wanted me to be successful.” I blow a piece of hair out of my face and wipe fresh blood onto my sleeve.

‘Too bad you hit Ben with a paperweight.’

“Shut. Up,” I growl. “He deserved it.”

‘Did he?’

I shake my head, refusing to replay the way I lost my job. That was years ago. And Ben deserved it. Stupid fucking asshole wouldn’t stop flirting with me. That was before I knew how to get along with the voices, too—before they became my... friends?

No, they’re not my friends.

No one is my fucking friend.

Chapter 10

The Hound

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