Page 76 of Hunted, Season Three

“Exciting,” slips free in the same monotone of my other replies.

“I’m a specialist in the field.”

“Congratulations.”

“My team has a perfect track record.”

“Records can be broken.”

“Mine won’t.”The interrogator turns the device back towards him, swipes, and offers me a new photo to stare at.“Do you know the whereabouts of this man?”

Not exactly.

Last thing I remember is him falling over a cliff to make some animals a wonderful winter buffet.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, vultures.

It takes every ounce of energy inside me to pump the snarky brakes rather than the accelerator.“No.”

“He may have introduced himself as Mr.McAdams orBradif he were attempting to be less formal.”Hard eye contact is maintained.“He’s her husband.”

This time there’s not stopping myself from snarling, “He.Is.Not.Her husband.”

Victory isn’t seen in his expression despite being heard in his tone, “I thought that might get under your skin, Woods.”Arrogance accompanies him tucking his cell back out of sight.“As I mentioned only moments ago, I’mvery goodat what I do.”

“You can fuck off and be very good elsewhere.”

“Not until we’ve searched the premises for the target.”

“She’s not a fucking target.She’s aperson.”

“To you,” he smugly clarifies.“To me she’s just an assignment to complete.”The unidentified assailant casually motions his head to the man on my left.“Check upstairs.”

“Yes, sir,” his bearded lackey acknowledges prior to turning to execute the order.

The instant a step is taken, I swing the wrench around to strike him in his side; however, it’s me that’s met with pain in mine.

One punch to my kidney arches my back in agony.

Exposes my chest to additional vulnerabilities.

Forces my hold on the tool to vanish, leaving me disarmed.

Defenseless.

Phone man executes a second, hard pound to the space right above my stomach further cutting of my ability to breathe, something he keeps from being possible by insisting with a mere head tip that the younger, shaggy haired male wind an arm around my neck from behind.

Jam his forearm into my throat.

Lock his hands together to prevent me from escaping.

Moving.

“You know what makes me an expert in retrieval, Woods?”He nonchalantly picks up the fallen wrench.“I’m willing to do what others aren’t.”Cockily tossing the tool around in the air is done next.“I’m willing to go where others won’t.”Once the adjustable end is the direction it’s supposed to be, he meets my watering stare.“And I’m willing to get the job done in blood whether it’s mine or someone else’s.”A powerful swing of the object is delivered to my ribcage causing my body to uncontrollably crumble.“Today, it’ll be yours.”

Twitching around is obviously pointless.

Yet I do it anyway.

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