Page 16 of The Hunted
Santino looked up at Martin. He was wearing black slacks and a white button-down shirt that had a brown stain near the neckline. His suit jacket was wrinkled, and he had a flush to his skin that suggested he just ran up a flight of stairs instead of taking the elevator. He also smelled like he’d just put on the cologne he wore. Whatever errand he went to go run, it had shit to do with getting coffee.
“I didn’t ask for coffee.” Santino moved the cup off his papers. “I thought you went to go talk to a witness, not give her a sad excuse to waste five minutes.”
Usually he didn’t give a shit what Martin did on his time—or on company time either. He was someone who’d gotten into the agency by the skin of his teeth or because he knew someone who knew someone. He was allowed not to take anything they did seriously, and the rest of them picked up the slack.
It never bothered Santino before, and it really didn’t bother him now. He just needed an outlet to redirect the idea of strangling the fucker because it was starting to have its merits, consequences be damned.
When was the last time you indulged with someone who wasn’t a stain on this Earth?The Reaper’s taunts whispered in his mind. The voice wasn’t foreign now, becoming his own.
Why had he ever stopped killing for fun? Where had this moral complex come from? Boredom? Or laziness? He knew deep down no one would give a shit about the death of those he killed. He’d seen law enforcement purposely fuck up a crime scene on more than one occasion, especially in small towns. People liked to pretend they were good and just until those that had done the harming had gotten away with it.
Maybe the gnawing and hollowness in his gut wasn’t just coming from missing his last two marks but also from not indulging in all parts of his rituals. There was a high to the chase that went beyond the killing. It was the thrill of knowing he could get caught but wouldn’t.
Martin barked out a laugh. “Don’t be mad ‘cause I’m getting pussy. I try to throw you one every now and again and you fumble it. Are you gay?” he eyed him over the rim of his cup. There was a hint of mistrust and maybe intrigue behind his eyes.
Interesting.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Santino started, wishing this conversation was over, “but why are you so concerned about my sex life? Is it that you’re interested in me and don’t know what to do with it? Or you’re mad women throw themselves at me while you have to work for it.”
Santino watched Martin’s eyes narrow and his jaw tick. It was almost too easy to hit him where it hurt sometimes. His ego overcompensating for his inadequacies—perceived or real—would be his downfall.
Or maybe Santino would put him out of his misery.
“You’re funny.” Martin’s voice lost its boisterousness. “If you’re so skilled, why are you never with anyone?” He smirked. “In fact, that woman at the gym didn’t seem to be falling all over you. I see you keep checking your phone since we left the gym. Has she even responded to your text? Or did she give you a fake number.”
Martin’s chest was puffed out like a peacock. It was entertaining to see him think he had won something. It was also interesting to know how watchful he actually was. Santino had pulled his phone out several times, either to check on his marks or to debate texting Silva, who had a last name now that he looked her up. It was Hunt.
He was surprised by how much information he’d been able to find on her. The Information Age and the internet made it too easy to find someone with just a few simple commands on a keyboard. People added to their digital footprint every time they logged on to some social media app, swiped a credit card, or tapped their phone on some device. It was scary how quickly people gave up their privacy for convenience.
Silva’s digital footprint might have been smaller than the average person’s but she still had one. She was thirty-five, born April 4th right before midnight. She worked forRitual Magazineas an advice columnist, and he bookmarked some of the older articles that had been readily available online to read later. He wanted to see how her mind worked when offering up solutions to the average person. He also wondered how she landed the job in the first place. His search had led him to her schooling—four years of undergrad—and he wasn’t sure that was enough to warrant someone the ability to give strangers advice.
He realized Martin was still waiting for a response, one that would either make him feel triumphant or give them a chance to bond.
“I haven’t texted her yet,” Santino grumbled, knowing short of telling Martin to fuck off he wouldn’t leave this alone and move from his desk.
“Why not?” The tone of his voice softened, and he hated this part most about interacting with people. This need to have someone open up to them, whether it was because they genuinely cared or not, it felt disingenuous. So desperate to be the hero in someone else’s life, though in this case he was sure Martin was only asking to prop himself up.
“Seriously, why not? I know I was giving you shit earlier, but she seemed into you.”
Because I can’t decide if I want to fuck her or kill her, and the fact that I want to actually fuck her is what’s throwing me off.
Santino kept that thought to himself. He initially wanted to use her as means to keep Martin off his back. If he was dating and had a girlfriend, things would be easier to navigate here. But she intrigued him, from her mismatched eyes to her pickpocketing skills to the things she said. But how far did his interest go? He couldn’t deny he wanted to feel his hands around her throat while she gasped for air and took her last breath either.
“Alvarez, Martin.” Their boss, Bates, called for them and they both stood up. “A body was found on Cypress near the guardrail on Route 160.”
Santino’s body hummed as his mind tried to pull a memory that teased at the recesses of his mind. He hadn’t grown up in Nova Springs, but he visited a few times. He had taken trips between Cypress and the next town over for some reason he couldn’t recall. It was before he had found his place with his guardian, and a lot of that time was blacked out from his memory, his subconscious protecting him from something he hadn’t been able to remember or didn’t care enough to want to remember.
“Local doesn’t want to deal with it?” Martin asked, and Santino was again surprised he had made it this far in life. There would be no other reason they’d be called in unless the body fit the pattern of one of their UNSUBs.
“Considering it’s not a whole body,” Bates looked grim as she continued to talk, “and there’s a partial note left in the victim’s hand.”
Santino’s heart stopped, as if he’d been hit, but he didn’t move. There was another body, already? Or was this Sarah Brown. Had he not moved fast enough and now the Reaper was changing the game?
“Is it a poem? Addressed to anyone?” Santino’s lips moved, but his voice hadn’t sounded like his own.
Bates shrugged. “They didn’t give me that information. Right now there’s a body missing limbs and a note stuck in their hand. Local is canvassing the area to see if anything else comes up. By the time you get there, hopefully, we’ll have some answers.”
And probably more questions.
