Page 29 of The Hunted
Amra left without waiting for dismissal. She quickly headed to her office to grab her keys and hoodie. It had warmed up today, but she was going to be out a long while and didn’t want to be cold. She had things to take care that she couldn’t do behind the desk. She also needed to clear her mind to see the bigger picture because all she could see right now was Santino Alvarez and how he fit into her theories with nothing more than a few gut instincts.
“That’s fine. My instincts have never been wrong before.”
The Reaper pulled their hoodie up over their head and walked across the foliage toward Santino’s modest home. They had been here a few times, to watch from a distance, and to drop off the special package that was probably still sitting on his front porch, rotting away. The fucker hadn’t been home yet, and aside from tailing him twenty-four-seven, they had no idea why he hadn’t figured it out yet.
Or had he and he was playing his own game?
“Where are you?” the Reaper whispered.
They ducked out of the foliage and walked onto Santino’s front yard, whistling. The both of them had come such a long way since they were younger. Both victims of parental neglect and forced into foster homes that were delighted by the prospect of little children, but not to protect and take care of them. They had both been punching bags and far worse for those greedy enough to make a buck on the skin of a child.
The Reaper remembered so many nights going to bed hungry and hurt, but that wasn’t the case any longer—for either of them.
“Why haven’t you remembered, yet?” The Reaper’s hands were clenched at their sides. The urge to tear someone apart piece by piece made their throat tighten. The choking sensation and panic attack were going to come soon. They needed another mark to keep it at bay. Their usual tactics to ease the clawing sensation that built in the back of their throats were failing. They could feel themselves slipping, losing the control of their tight leash.
They needed to do something soon.
“Maybe I should drop your old name?” the Reaper whispered, looking over the outside of Santino’s home. “Maybe hearing what they once called you will trigger your memory to remember you weren’t the lone wolf you’ve been led to believe you were. We’d both been there.”
“You can’t take him. He won’t talk to you unless I’m there.” The older woman looked over both of them, something dark in her gaze made both kids flinch.
“Don’t worry, little ones. We’ll figure something out.”
“Don’t leave me, okay?” he nodded, his lips working their way into a half smile. He pointed to the older woman before putting up his thumbs, which were covered in blood.
“Yes, we’re finally free. Where you go, I go.”
“What a crock of shit that was,” the Reaper growled. The sound of a car coming up the dirt road made them tense. They shook off the memory of a past they wanted to forget and dipped back into the foliage. They could see a black truck coming up the drive.
It parked and Santino quickly got out, but he wasn’t alone. There was a woman in the passenger side with her eyes closed and leaning against the window.
The Reaper cursed under their breath. “I tell you to play a game and you’re out here—” Abruptly they realized the woman wasn’t there by choice.
Santino pulled her out of his truck and hauled her over his shoulder, fireman style. She was bound by the ankles and wrists and was wearing only an oversized shirt. From where they were crouched down they couldn’t tell exactly who it was, but it didn’t look like anyone from his list.
“Well, what do we have here?” the Reaper whispered. “I wonder which moniker came out to play tonight.” Because this wasn’t the Midnight Strangler. If it had been, Santino would have left his victim in their own home. Had the Preacher returned?
The Reaper hated these made-up names, some of them were so painfully obvious that they weren’t very creative, and others didn’t make much sense. None of that mattered in the end. If things kept going the way the Reaper hoped, the world would soon know who Santino Alvarez really was.
ChapterThirteen
Santino shifted the weight on his shoulder as he headed toward his door. He was annoyed with the change of plans and scenery even though he always had back-up plans for deviations. There was always a chance someone changed their usual routine, was running a minute late or a minute early. Being adaptable kept him free, but that didn’t mean he had to like when it happened. He had a ritual he enjoyed and hated when things didn’t go his way.
It kind of ruined his fun.
“Of all the nights for you to forget your phone in your car,” he grumbled, ready to throw an unconscious Denise Miller into the dirt and bury her alive. “Why did you have to run back out and right into me?” He rubbed his jaw. The weight behind her punch would have hurt a hell of a lot more if he hadn’t pulled back.
He hadn’t expected her to swing when she was startled. That was a pleasant surprise, and he would have enjoyed it if he hadn’t been on a time crunch. He’d been worried that her chaotic hits and high-pitched screams would alert her neighbors. Though, in this day and age, Santino didn’t think anyone would have cared enough to do anything about the noise.
Bystander effect and all that.
Her neighbors would have just assumed someone else was calling it in until the news hit that she was missing or dead and then they’d be filled with regret.
Rinse and repeat.
It did make some parts of his job easier.
Denise groaned and he waited to see if she was waking up. When she went still again, he continued his trek up to his porch. “You know, this would have been easier for everyone involved had you not come out swinging. Now I have to worry about showing up on someone’s security camera walking you to my truck.”
