Page 27 of The Hunted
Silva: This weekend works perfect.
Silva: Unless a deadline moves up.
Silva: But even if it does I won’t turn down a chance to kick your ass.
Silva: We should do it in the evening hours.
Silva: 9pm work?
Santino: Perfect. So you know, my floor is really dirty. A regular mop won’t do. You’ll need to get on your hands and knees to get it clean.
He put the phone back in the center console, knowing if they kept this up he’d be glued to the conversation and not the task at hand.
The light changed and he took a left. His destination was clear and the plan he’d been toying with was fully formulated in his mind. The gnawing sensation in his stomach had grown, but there was a calm to it now. It knew it was about to be fed and it waited, patiently guiding him. He kept his foot on the gas but maintained the speed limit. He could walk and would probably still get to where he was going faster than who he hunted now.
They didn’t know the shortcuts the way he did.
Santino went over his checklist in his mind. He had everything he needed to carry out what he intended. A smile broke out across his face; he hadn’t felt this giddy and good in a long time. He pulled off at the next exit, keeping to the side streets. He’d finally caught up to the car he’d been looking for and, true to form, there was Denise Miller, already munching on her chips and sipping out of her wine bottle.
“So predictable,” he whispered, watching her run the stop sign and failing to signal. Hetskedunder his breath. How many times had she driven drunk and almost caused an accident? It was reckless and he knew—because that was the way the world worked—she was going to get into a major accident one day. She’d walk away without a scratch on her while killing someone else and all she’d get was a slap on the wrist because of who she was and who she knew.
When was the last time you indulged with someone who wasn’t a stain on this Earth?
The Reaper’s words had a little extra bite to them as they taunted him in his mind.
Was Denise Miller a stand-up citizen? Barely. But who truly was?
There was the bottom of the barrel and those barely tolerable.
The Reaper would not take this away from him. She not only represented his previous marks, but she’d be his perfect ‘fuck you’ to the Reaper.
“And maybe the little shit will fuck up and tell me who they are,” he grumbled, annoyed that the meeting with Bates had left him with more questions than answers. Not that he expected them to find anything. He had hoped, despite their lack of information, he’d be able to piece together something, but all he’d gotten was the inkling that the other missing body part was at his home.
Or somewhere I frequented.
But he didn’t need Bates and his coworkers for that.
He drove past Denise Miller while she pulled into her home. The homes here weren’t close together—each separated by a high fence or trees and lawns. There was enough coverage for him to blend in, but he needed to be careful anyway. Too many technological advances since he learned and perfected his craft. Everyone had some sort of camera attached to their hip, their home, or their storefront.
No one ever stayed hidden for long.
He parked in an empty spot and put an alarm on his phone. He ignored the text he saw from Silva. He couldn’t afford the distraction right now. If no one deviated from their usual routine, he had exactly five hours to play and leave before anyone started poking around.
He grabbed his hoodie, throwing it on in the car. He grabbed a small bag and stuffed it under the hoodie on his right side. It wouldn’t be too bulky, and he only needed it hidden long enough until he got to Denise Miller’s home.
“That’s it, mijo. Slow your breathing down. Quiet the noise around you and focus on only what’s in front of you. Just like that. When everything goes still, that’s when you move.”
His guardian’s words flitted through his mind and he embraced them. He let those words wrap around him like a comforting hug, letting his body settle and his mind go still. He pushed out all thoughts except for his mark. She was no longer Denise Miller to him; she was just something he hunted and planned to toy with until it broke.
And they always broke.
“It’s time to play.”
ChapterTwelve
Amra Benson knocked on Bates’ door and waited for thecome inbefore she turned the doorknob. Bates wasn’t alone in her office. She rolled her eyes when Jordan Martin looked over his shoulder and smirked. His gaze swept over her body, and she had to fight the urge to walk back out the room and talk to Bates another time. She didn’t want to be in close quarters with Martin. She didn’t want to feel his eyes on her, see the knowledge in his face of what she looked like when they were skin-to-skin.
Sleeping with him had been a mistake.
