Page 1 of The Hunted
ChapterOne
One.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi…
Santino Alvarez continued to count in his head, watching the lights in the two front rooms of Chester Dean’s home turn off. Chester had about three minutes before the lights of his bedroom went on upstairs. Six minutes, really, if he stopped to get a glass of water on the way.
But today was Tuesday.
And on Tuesdays Chester liked to hit the bar for happy hour with his coworkers for some tacos and a beer before he made some pitiful excuse about going home to let the dog out.
There was no dog.
No one for him to rush home to but the depravity he enjoyed behind closed doors. Men like him always needed a fix, and if he didn’t indulge when the cravings hit, he’d end up with a new victim.
A little boy or girl around ten years old to break and scar for life.
At least that’s what his records claimed.
Chester Dean was a forty-year-old man who had been caught trying to lure a young child into his car. He hadn’t been careful, and when the cops came to sweep his home, they found a wealth of information that should have gotten him locked away for life. A small technicality and missing evidence allowed him to walk.
Oops.
Santino moved when the lights upstairs turned on. He kept to the shadows, even though he knew no one was watching. There were no nosey neighbors here to keep an eye out if something went bump in the night, and if there were? No one would care if something happened to a man like Chester.
When the system failed, people prayed for a different type of justice to be handed out. Santino wasn’t some avenging angel. He had his own skeletons buried in his closet, but even he had lines he wouldn’t cross. If someone else crossed those lines, though, Santino enjoyed making sure there was nothing left of them.
Santino counted to five once he reached the front porch, giving Chester time to settle into his late-night routine. The house was old, and one misstep would announce his presence. The back door hadn’t been an option when he swept the house in his plans for dear old Chester. The thing was so old it made what sounded like a scream every time it was opened. He had to go through the front door, and luckily for him, he reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out the copy of Chester’s keys. He had easy access to the man.
He made quick work unlocking the door, but the second it swung open, something gave him pause. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. On instinct, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him.
The night came alive in an array of insects and the warm humid breeze of the summer air desperate to break through. He tilted his head to the side and slowed his breathing.
Someone else is here. He could feel it as much as he could feel his pulse slowing. His ears picked up a light humming sound that didn’t belong here. He couldn’t be certain what it was, but it was coming from inside the house.
It was stupid, but when he opened his eyes he stepped a foot over the threshold and then the other. The house was eerily still. The air was stifled as if no one had been in here for the last couple of days to air it out, but that couldn’t be true. He’d seen Chester walk through these doors not that long ago and again on Sunday night. But something felt off. He could feel it in his gut, and he hadn’t made it this far by not listening to it.
He turned to leave, knowing he could catch Chester another way, but the humming grew louder. It was the melody to a song, one he couldn’t pinpoint from the front door. It sounded like a lullaby. It made his feet move farther into the house before he thought better of it, and that’s when the smell hit him.
It was a punch to the gut, and he had to swallow back his gag. He would know that smell anywhere. Years of perfecting his craft had told him what he would find when he walked up those stairs. He knew he should walk back out that door, but annoyance and intrigue moved him forward into the home.
He could have sworn he’d seen Chester walk through this door an hour ago. His medium build had been the same, and the slight limp he walked with—as if one leg was longer than the other—had been intact. The movement synced with the man he’d spent months studying.
Santino stayed light on his feet, pulling out the gun he kept on him. He wasn’t one for the weapon—it was impersonal and could easily be traced back to him, but he’d be stupid if he didn’t keep his guard up. Whatever or whoever had gotten to Chester before he did could still be inside, and the way his body was buzzing let him know he most certainly wasn’t alone.
The humming grew louder as he carefully walked up the stairs. It was almost childlike in its sound. When he heard the laughter his heart lurched into his throat before he realized the sound was looping, coming from a video left on.
“You like playing this game, don’t you? But you can’t tell anyone about our secret game.”
Santino knew what came next, he’d seen a similar video that had been taken from Chester’s home. It would have been the nail in his coffin had it not disappeared and no other witness came forward.
Son of a bitch.
He relaxed his hold on the gun and hastened his steps. As soon as he reached the top he heard the faint noise of footsteps on the main floor. Whoever had been here was not doing anything to conceal their presence, especially once he heard the scream of the back door open. He was stuck with the need to go after the person, but curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to see what had been done to his mark—wanted to see how his mark was punished and if it would be sufficient to starve off his own ache.
The smell of death was worse the closer he got to the room. He put his gun away, no longer feeling the presence of a threat or another person. He could see the light coming from under the door, no doubt coming from the video that seemed stuck on a loop: “You like playing this game, don’t you? But you can’t tell anyone about our secret game.”
Santino nudged the door open with his boot. He could partly see Chester’s body, and it was clear he was bound to the chair he sat in. His eyes did a quick sweep before he moved farther into the room. The stench of death was so potent it settled in his nose to the point every inhale was more rancid than the last. Breathing through his mouth made it worse. As much as he enjoyed taking life, he never stood around for the aftermath.
