Page 182 of Hunting Pretty

My little rabbit could never hide from me.

This turned her on.

I turned back to the doctor and put the slightest bit of pressure on the saw against his finger, just enough for him to feel the threat of its edge, but not enough to draw blood.

“First question, Doctor, and remember the rules… Why did you switch the girls’ prescriptions to memory suppressors?”

Dr. Vale shook his head. “P-please, I can’t tell you.”

I dropped my head dramatically to my chest before letting out a loudtsk. “So disappointing, Doctor.”

I sliced across his finger, the saw tearing rather than cutting his flesh.

He screamed, a bloodcurdling noise. “No, stop!”

Blood ran from the cut in his finger, soaking into the armrest and dribbling over the sides.

I cut the saw down to the bone to make a point. “Only answers—andgoodanswers—will make me stop.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his head thrashing around as if he were trying to throw his consciousness out of his body.

I paused the saw, waiting for his response. I could hear Ava’s quickened breathing and small gasps over Dr. Vale’s sobs.

I glanced back to make sure she was okay.

She had leaned forward, her hands gripping the armrests so hard that her knuckles went white, his chest shuddering with her uneven breaths.

We locked gazes and her eyes widened, a kaleidoscope of emotions flashing across her eyes.

I understood.

There was a darkness in her and me—in all of us—thattook pleasure in the suffering of those who had made others suffer.

A secret crevice in our souls that lived the most vicious of vigilantes.

It took a sick, demented individual to hurt innocents and take pleasure from it.

But hurting those who hurt others? Oh… that was a dusky potion filled with illicit pleasure.

It was a part we kept buried beneath the surface, pretending it didn’t exist.

But I knew better. I’d felt it, tasted it, that raw, primal need to hurt those who deserved it.

It wasn’t the same as being evil.

It wasn’t about chaos or cruelty for the sake of it.

It was about justice.

A justice that didn’t wait for the law to catch up, that didn’t care about moral lines drawn up by lawyers and politicians in suits. It was a savage primal justice.

There was a dark satisfaction in making someone who’d caused harmfeelthat same pain. A visceral thrill in being their judge, jury, and punisher.

But there was a difference betweenthisand those who hurt the innocent for pleasure.

Men like Dr. Vale. Who used and abused and covered up their vile crimes.

He craved power over those weaker than him. He hurt because he enjoyed it.

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