Page 102 of The Hunted
Silva had patted Amra down, looking for a wire or camera. There was no way she came here with just a gun and a hunch. Her hunch was right, so props or whatever, but this was just plain dumb.
Amra stirred. “Wakey, wakey,” Silva nudged her foot. She didn’t think she hit her that hard to be knocked out for long. They only had a few minutes to chat. Amra had tripped Santino’s alarm when she walked in, and there was no doubt he’d think that it was her sending him a message to come and get her. He wouldn’t just show up without a plan, so they had some time, but he wouldn’t let her escape either.
“I was hoping I was wrong.” Amra’s head lolled to the side before she righted herself on a groan. “I thought my mind made you up when I got hit. But here you stand. I’m impressed, and that doesn’t happen often. Should have known you two were working together.”
Silva scoffed. “As if. We are not working together. At all.” She was offended Amra would even suggest it. He was an amateur compared to her. “Please, if we were working together, you wouldn’t be snooping around like this. You never would have suspected him.”
Amra snorted. “I doubt that. Did you forget what I do? I am good at my job.”
Silva smiled. How could she forget? Amra made it her business to tell everyone who had ears. She was good, but she wasn’t great.
Silva leaned forward. “So good you never expected me, did you? It’s okay. Everyone has their blind spots. Plus the statistics for me work in my favor to be ignored or brushed aside.”
Amra narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
Silva shrugged. “Is that the only question you want answered? I can see your mind trying to connect dots through the headache you’re probably sporting right now. But,” she held up a gloved hand, cutting of Amra’s comment, “before I go into my spiel you so desperately want to hear. Tell me, how are you hoping for this to end?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Amra tugged at her bindings. “In a perfect world, Santino would be sporting an orange jumpsuit and never see the light of day again.”
“He’s still mine, Amra,” Silva snapped, “and stop tugging at the binds, they won’t give.” She softened her tone because the possession in her voice was too much of a giveaway going by the twitch in Amra’s lips.
Silva still didn’t like the way this woman spoke about Santino. He was hers to do with as she pleased. No one got to take him down except her.
“Is that love I hear in your voice, Silva?” Amra taunted. “You know, one of the reasons I was able to sniff him out was because of his relationship with people. He’s a bit of a loner, that one.” She was still tugging at her binds. Silva sighed. They were going to leave a mark on her skin. It would be one more thing she’d have to take care of, once she decided Amra’s fate.
“He used to bring women around, but infrequently and just enough to show face.” Amra was watching her now in a way that made her want to fidget. “It was more than just someone being private about his life outside of work. He was cold and detached with them, until you.” Silva found herself leaning in as Amra spoke.
“He softened where he was always hard, and there was this tiny change in him. It was enough to make me think he was using you to get me off his tail, but now I wonder,” Amra whispered.
Silva was practically in the woman’s lap. She hated that she’d been eager to hear more. To hear how the world viewed them together because she herself had been swept up in the game they’d been playing. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. She felt something close to hope bloom inside of her that maybe there was something real brewing between them.
But she quickly snuffed it out and righted herself. “People like us don’t fall in love.” Her voice was void of any emotion. “Doesn’t it say that in the books you read to get your fancy degree?”
Amra shrugged. “Maybe it’s not love, but it might be something close to it. I’ve seen the way he looks at you and you him, though,” she hummed low in her throat.
Silva was leaning forward again, curious to see where Amra was going with her thoughts and annoyed that she just stopped talking. The fact that she thought they were in love was comical.
Was it though?
She sucked in a sharp breath, trying to shove down that damn kernel of hope and want that kept popping up. She could feel herself slipping. The hold her past had on her wasn’t the one that propelled her forward into finding him again and extracting revenge on him. This was the one that remembered two kids holding on to each other when their world was shit.
It’s you and me forever. Where you go, I go. Always.
“You looked fearful when we saw you outside of the café. I know that look. I’ve seen it on women in abusive relationships when they can’t verbally ask for help. Was that an act?” Amra snorted and then winced. “Of course it was. Honestly, I’m really confused, and this headache is not making me pick things up at the speed at which I’m used to.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You want to help me out here?”
Gladly. It gave Silva a chance to not focus on her feelings and remember her why. Why she started this and why she needed to see it through to the end.
“Allow me to officially introduce myself. The media has so graciously dubbed me the Poet and the Reaper.” Silva bowed. Her lips pulled back into a wide smile.
Amra’s eyes were wide, and her mouth dropped open. Silva could only imagine what was running through her mind, and it made her feel giddy.
“Impossible,” Amra whispered. “You’ve been following Santino for a wh—holy shit. But you’re…you’re not shitting me?” Silva shook her head, giggling at how blown away Amra appeared.
“But, the Reaper?” She whistled. “I profiled both of them.” She looked Silva over. “I can maybe see the Poet, but the Reaper? Most…you…but you’re a?—”
“If you’re going to say something sexist, I would highly suggest you don’t.” Silva cut her off and rolled her eyes.
“It’s not sexist. It’s statistics. Women who are serial killers don’t employ the same methods men do.” Amra’s tone came off condescending.
