Page 95 of Hunted, Season Three

We barely have the ones meant to scare off thieves.

It sounds like something totally insane and unreal and movie magic based, yet if I had to assess that data, I would put it in the more likely than not likely category.

The auditing success odds would definitely be in Zero’s favor.

Guy’s scary good with a computer.

“Main roads have been treated – leading in and out of the town – but due to the target’s unexpected high-profile nature here, I do not believe they are a viable exit strategy.”

It’s impossible not to slightly smirk.

Never expected to have that type of title.

At least not on my own.

“I do believe defensive measures have been taken – or will be taken – to prevent us from using those routes.”

One thumb lovingly strokes my lower stomach as hope does its best to spread throughout my system.

Guess that’s the beauty of putting down roots in a small town like this.

They’re prepared to do whatever it takes to protect their own.

Another long lull precedes a contemplative hum.“Yes.I do believe there is enough space for a chopper to land or at the very least hover for a ladder to aid in an extraction of the target.”

Dread promptly replaces the previous warmth.

“Yes, I do believe that I can get the target to the agreed upon secondary location while the others wait for an open opportunity to escort the clients out of the situation, thereby fulfilling our immediate contractual obligation as well as extending services that will require additional fees.”

Of course.

Why wouldn’t the people the McCreepies hire bejustas fucking shady and greedy as they are?

“Affirmative.” Content takes over his tone.“Standing by.”

Turdetto doesn’t speak again, nor does he linger near my wall any longer.

Once more completely alone, I curl into a tighter ball, fighting shivers and anxiously resume mentally constructing a plan to get the hell out of here.

There’s no fucking way I’m getting on that helicopter alive.

None.

I don’t care if that means they have to shoot me or I have to shoot myself, Iam notandwill notleave this town breathing.

Because if I do?

I know I’ll never make it back.

I’ll end up chained to a luxury bed in some million-dollar home’s basement, waiting to give birth, waiting to give a literalsacrificeto the Boogieman’s bitch, only to then be put down like an innocent inmate no one cared to answer the pardon call for.

No.

Leaving Death Canyon is not an option.

And neither is fighting to stay.

It’s the only choice.

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