Page 13 of Prey

I’d become the butt of some people’s jokes, and I hated it. Gotland was becoming a nightmare, and I hadn’t started class yet.

7

Iwas so close to her, yet I couldn’t see her features clearly through the eyeholes in my mask. Shaun told me he couldn’t see a scar on her neck from the faded birthmark, even when he tried to move her hair out of the way. So, I tried with no luck. When she screamed “asshole” at me, it rattled my cage at how much she sounded like Annika.

When I pulled Annika’s hair or threw her fully clothed in the pool a hundred times or more, every time, she screamed just like that—the same tone and volume. But that was not enough proofto convince Ronan to give me the keycard back so I could plant a spycam in her room.

So, the next plan of attack was to steal her phone and browse through her contacts and messages, looking for anything suspicious. I enjoyed taunting Riley even if she wasn’t Annika, but I hadn’t noticed before that her eye color was different. Annika had sky blue eyes and thick, wavy blond hair that once drove me crazy when she untied her hair, and it tumbled down her back, releasing that alluring scent of strawberry shampoo.

Annika’s pretty cheeks were also peppered with light freckles, whereas Riley had sea-green eyes, and I couldn’t detect freckles. I know some chicks wear colored contact lenses, and there are probably ways to remove freckles cosmetically. Her hair and eye color seemed to fit with her skin tone.

Maybe I got it wrong again, but something about her stirred me instinctively. Watching her walk, gracefully bowing her head, and gazing at me under her long, curved eyelashes got me hard. Whether Riley was Annika or not, I still went after her because I needed bait to fulfill my dark desires.

And I chose her.

Whether she was Annika or not, I chose her. Riley Laws, I chose you as my bait.

I slid my T-shirt sleeve up for my tattoo artist to add to the piece on my upper arm—a blindfolded girl with wavy, blond hair bound in rose-thorned vines, dribbling scarlet down her precious skin.

This piece was commissioned after Annika screwed us over, and it’s supposed to represent Annika’s curvy body squeezed of all her lifeblood until empty and soulless. Not that she ever had a soul or a heart. It also reminded me never to give up looking for her, and that revenge was sweet served cold.

Since then, I have added other symbols to represent various aspects of my life, but in the center was her. Annika was thecenter of everything. My reason for getting out of bed in the morning was the hope that I might stumble across her one day when I least expected it—or whensheleast expected it.

The beautiful sound of the needle buzzing relaxed me as he started inking the picture of crossed battleaxes with a buck skull in the center. It was located below Thorned Annika, and her thorny vines were lengthened to wrap around the axes. Everything was linked because everything led back to her.

A guy who reminded me of Callum walked past the front window, and the scene played out in my mind of Shaun pursuing Riley Laws outside Harvest Organics, following her across the road. There was something off about the way she spat furiously at him as if he previously pissed her off. I know he found her boring and wanted to drop contact, but her fury came from a place of hate. She hated him.

It was never Shaun's plan to like Riley Laws. His job was purely to connect with her and siphon information to pass on to me, but he fucked something up because she won’t go near him. I gave strict instructions to persist and pursue until I told him to quit. Instead, he disobeyed my orders and cut contact with her prematurely.

He was supposed to become her friend so she’d drop her guard, not make an enemy out of her where she clams up and won’t go near him. If I’ve lost my closest ally and source of information, then I’d have to try different tactics, resorting to wearing masks to get close to her.

Once the section was done and the tattoo artist wiped the ink and covered the skin art over with a bandage, I stepped out into the sunshine but backtracked when I saw her walking this way.

That walk. That fucking walk. Her head was slightly bowed, timidly, avoiding eye contact, but she strode like a runway model, hair flowing out the back, long strides, mischievous wiggle without a care in the world. It was a contradictionin motion, an inner conflict between a socially awkward personality and plain looks, yet when she walks, the disguise falls away, and another animal takes over.

She crossed the road, heading toward the bus stop as my eyes fixed on that ass moving in those damn shorts and those fucking legs. From a distance, ignoring the glasses and the color of her hair, I swore she was Annika. I fucking swear that was her coming down the road toward me.

She stalled at the bus stop, checked her phone, nudged her glasses, and glanced down the road. What would her reaction have been if she saw me? Would she look past me like she hadn’t seen me before, just another unfamiliar face in a crowd of nobodies? Or would fear wash across her pretty cheeks, coming face to face with one of the men she fucked over.

I could solve this dilemma by revealing myself to her, but that wouldn’t be much fun. Teasing this out, whether she’s the real Annika or not, gave purpose to my life beyond running the business with Ronan until Mikky was released.

The bus pulled up, and I noted the number and time to see where she was going. Then, I checked the bus schedule on my phone to find out she was going to Cambridge Park, a suburb of the middle class. Why is she going there for? Maybe this lonely girl had relatives there, or if this was Annika, maybe her new foster family that took her in after shit went down.

I ran back to my car—a 1969 Ford Mustang with black paintwork shining in the sun—and started my engine with a hard-on roar. Instead of following the bus, I decided to head to Cambridge Park and wait for it to arrive at the main bus stop.

I switched my sounds on, hard rock, lit a fat doobie, winded the window down to blow the smoke out, and relaxed in the seat. Searching through my phone for anyone with the surname of Laws living in Cambridge Park, I came up empty, but at least I was well-positioned to follow her.

A woman walked towards me on the pavement, wheeling a pushchair with a little kid in it while an older kid was ahead on a tricycle. I probably looked dodgy sitting here on the side of the road, smoking a joint while the music pumped, and she yelled at her kid to stop. Then she scanned and weighed up the scene, looked up and down the road, made a decision based on caution, and started crossing the road before she got even a few feet ahead of me.

“Good decision,” I muttered. Even though I was no threat to her and her kids, I was hardly innocent either. I liked the taste of blood. I had killed before, and I’d kill again. I’m a Kaiser, it’s part of the fucking territory. But it’s important to be specific about who we target and why. Shooting people randomly served no purpose and attracted unwanted attention from police.

A Nirvana tune came on, Stay Away, with fast drums and a killer base. I started thinking of a moment in time when I kissed Annika, unsure how she would react. Those baby blues were mixed with both horror and intrigue as she touched her swollen lips with her fingers. Dread stormed my body, and I wished I could turn back time because rejection from her was death.

It turned out I had nothing to worry about because she kissed me back, and it was the best fucking kiss I ever had. To this day, I still seek that same kiss from other girls, only to be disappointed.

The bus finally arrived, and I waited in anticipation for that body to step off the bus. But instead of walking down the road to wherever she was going, she sat down in the bus shelter, obviously waiting for the transfer to take her to another location. Damn.

She sat neatly in the pose of a girl who went to all the good schools—maybe a dancer. Knees and feet together, straight back and shoulders, head bowed slightly as she scrolled on her phone. This was not the Annika I knew, who, once she broke out of hershy shell, became quite feral and would more likely lie down on the seat staring at the sky than sit prim and proper.

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