Page 80 of Hunted: Season Two

Not physically.

She knows that, right?

Watching her get closer to my boyfriend tempts me into doing the same.

So, sue me.

I don’t want the supermodel throwing herself at one of my child’s fathers while I have to watch.

“Be careful with what you keep next to it.” He shuts the door once he has it and offers the object to her. “Pepper spray’s great to have, but if that shit leaks onto your fob, you could be fucked.”

Whit transfers the device along with the small purple bottle into her possession. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” The Kid innocently shrugs. “That chemical can do some major damage.”

“Can it?” leaves her splits seconds before she presses down on the button unleashing a steady stream of it directly into his eyes and open mouth.

Blood curdling screams reverberate around the garage as I lunge onto my feet, screwdriver in hand. “Kippppppp!”

In one flawless execution, she nails him in the shin – crippling him forward – uses a handful of his hair to smash his head into her car door – knocking him backwards as well as unconscious – and turns towards me, pistol extended directly at my forehead. “Relax. He’s alive.” An emotionless expression remains in place. “He’s just gonna have a major headache when he wakes up.”

There’s no stopping my glare from deepening.

“I find it interesting that McAdams didn’t mention you were pregnant.” She keeps the Glock steadily aimed. “I get the feeling that he doesn’t know.” One shoulder bounces in obvious indifference. “Eh, well. He’ll know soon enough. Hope the cocktail I whipped up for you doesn’t hurt the kid…but…then again, if it does?” Another shrug. “Not my problem.”

“What makes you think I’m gonna take anything you give me?”

“I’m pointing a gun in your face.”

The tilting of my head sarcastically to one side distracts from me readjusting my grip on the tool in my hand. “Do you know how many guns I’ve had pointed in my face since I’ve been in Texas?”

“I’m not afraid to shoot.”

“I’m not afraid of being shot.”

And I’m not.

I’ve survived much more painful things than a bullet.

“Have it your way. McAdams only saidalive,not that you couldn’t be a little injured.”

Whit shifts the gun slightly over and down preparing to clip me in the shoulder; however, the instant her finger begins to squeeze the trigger, a swift, sharp, unexpected chop from me is delivered to her forearm, sending the hot piece of metal elsewhere at the same time I stab the screwdriver into what I’m fairly certain is a kidney.

An airy croak precedes her hold going limp and the lack of grasp sends the loaded weapon tumbling to the ground. Rather than give her an opportunity to scramble for it or risk getting into a wrestling match over it, I simply kick the pistol away and repeat the piercing motion into the open wound I’ve created.More gasps of air are taken along with twitches of desperation, prompting me to use my other hand to clamp down on her shoulder.

Squeeze.

Yank her into the plunging motion again and again and again, soaking my palm in blood.

Coating my fingers until they’re stained crimson.

Ready to write her name in her own blood.

“I’m not going back to Brad alive.” I sadistically hiss over her gurgling cries as I drive the weapon upward. “And neither are you.”

Chapter 16

Nolan

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