Page 29 of The Hunter
I thought he saw me.
I thought hewantedme.
How stupid could I be?
Did my years with Victor teach me nothing?
“What’s the matter?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Cat got your tongue now that you’ve dragged me to whatever snowy hell this is? Or are you going to pretend this wasn’t your plan all along?”
At that, something shifted in his expression. Not guilt. Not triumph. Something quieter. Sharper.
“Iwasinterested,” he said finally, his voice low and rough like gravel. “Just not in the way you thought.”
“What was it then? Money? Abduct me in the hopes of a huge payday from my husband? I hate to be the one to break it to you, but?—”
A harsh, humorless laugh tore from his chest, cutting me off. “I don’t need money. And I sure as hell don’t need anything from your husband.”
The hatred in his voice was palpable, clinging to the air between us. But was it hatred because of my insinuation? Or of my husband?
“Then why are you doing this? What do you want?”
His gaze locked with mine and, for one suspended moment, I wasn’t staring at the man who abducted me. I was staring at someone fractured. Someone carrying something he didn’t want anyone else to see.
I knew that look.
I wore it, too.
“What I want,” he began, each word slow, precise…deadly, “is to drag the truth from its grave. To relish in the screams of everyone who used money and power to bury it. To watch as every last drop of blood is squeezed from their bodies. Only then will I finally be at peace.”
The wind gusted between us, sharp and biting, but it was his words that cut the deepest.
My lips parted, a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue.
Who are you?
What happened?
What the hell does that mean?
But before I could utter a single syllable, he gave a small gesture with his head. “Come on. House is this way.”
He started past me, the dog following every step of the way.
“You kidnap me and expect me to just go with you?”
He paused, turning to face me, his dog doing the same. Like he was another extension of his master.
“There’s food. Water. Heat.” His eyes flicked to my trembling legs. “Or you can stay out here. And die.”
“I think I’d rather take my chances with the bears.”
“They hibernate this time of year,” he said casually, as if it were common knowledge. Maybe to him. “You’re more likely to die of hypothermia.”
“Still better than going anywhere with you.”
“Have you everhadhypothermia?”
I crossed my arms, more to shield myself from the cold than to look defiant. My fingers throbbed, stiff and red, barely responding. I had to fight to keep my chin lifted. Somehow my scarf was still knotted around my neck, offering me some protection, but the silk material was no match against the frozen tundra surrounding me.
