Page 5 of Hunted, Season Three

But help from who?

Who’s around to help?

Our town is fuckingempty.

Everyone’s at that fucking festival…

Which is what he was counting on.

Fuck.Me.

“Tell me you’re ready to come home…”

He’s thought this through.

And I need to do the same.

Just quickly.

My attention cuts back to where his approach hasn’t sped up whatsoever, informing me of the painfully obvious.

Not only does he not believe me to be a threat, he knows my men aren’t coming to help me because he made sure theycouldn’t.

He took out my extra line of defense.

Isolated me.

Has me trapped like a poor defenseless version of my namesake.

Well, fuck him for that.

I amnotthe same fragile woman he derived pleasure from undressing and bathing and hand feeding drugged food.

I am damn surenotthat too scared to scream or speak female he’d drunkenly hold the nose of while he rammed his dick down my throat as his mother watched through the crack of the door.

Touching herself.

No!

I am stronger!

I am smarter!

And I will do whatever is fucking necessary to get out of this!

I swore to him he wouldn’t be leaving this town alive, and come hell or highwater, I’m going to make do on my promise.

“Tell me you’re done playing this game…”

Okay, so he’s got a weapon, which meansIneed a weapon.

“Hide and seek is always fun at first,” my stalker coos out, distance steadily closing.“But you took it a bit too far this time, Sweet Pea.”

Perk of The Kid’s overly organized vehicle?

Makes it quite obvious what’s available for use.

And truthfully?

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