Page 87 of The Hunted
Santino scoffed.If you only knew what I’d seen.The cases he dealt with were B-rated movies compared to what he’d dished out on his own. The case itself wasn’t the issue; it was the Reaper and the game they were playing. It was the idea that there might be another killer among them, though what were those odds, really?
But the Reaper would have left you a message if they were the Coffee Shop Killer.
“I’m positive. But I do need to get out of here for a little bit.” Because he was tired of playing a game he didn’t know the rules to. He felt like everyone else was ahead of him and knew something about himself he hadn’t been privy too.
“Yeah, sure, we can go wherever you want.” Martin started to unwrap his hands and Santino shook his head. Where he was going no one else needed to be around him.
“Alone, Martin. I need to be alone.” He didn’t wait for a response.
He headed to the locker room, his body humming with the memory of what he and Silva did in this area. But he pushed it to the back of his mind because if he dwelled on it, he’d go to wherever she was, get on his knees and taste how her day was going before he fucked her into oblivion. He’d fuck her until his world made sense again. He wasn’t sure how long that would take and didn’t think her body or his could handle it.
No, he grabbed his duffle bag, threw on his hoodie, and waltzed back out of the gym with his head down.
He knew exactly what he needed to do.
It was time to go hunting.
ChapterThirty-Four
You thought you were safe in your little hideout?
Have you not seen the news?
Someone is hunting people like you
And your little hideout won’t keep you safe.
You might be next
You might be last
Just know because of what you’ve done,
You won’t ever be safe.
Sarah Brown’s hands shook as she read the typed-out message she found in the windshield of her car. The sounds of the night had her jumping every few seconds, but she couldn’t get her feet to move to run back into her home. She wanted to head to the grocery store. It was better to do so at night.
When no one who knows what you did could leer and say mean things.
“Get in the house.” She tried to move, but that gut-wrenching fear that someone was after her had her paralyzed.
She’d seen the news, heard who those victims were and what they’d done. She hadn’t pieced it together—wasn’t sure if they just happened to be the same or that link was the reason they had been killed. There was still the Jane Doe they had yet to identify and the coffee shop victim. Surely this was just a case of a mad person on the loose. But staring at the words that had been typed on the paper told her that wasn’t the case.
They were all being targeted and there was nothing she could do to stop this. She lived away from everyone else, and by the time the cops had deemed it necessary to come save her, it would be too late.
The sound of a tree branch snapping in the distance had her screaming. Her heart was in her throat. She could feel someone out there watching her. Her hands shook so badly the note dropped to the ground. Another tree branch snapped. This time not so far in the distance.
“Wh…who…,” she stumbled over her words. The feel of a cool breeze whipped behind her, and she screamed again, turning around but only darkness came for her. She was hit by something that had her crumbling to the ground. The last thing she saw was a pair of brown eyes and a too-wide smile.
Santino’s boots crunched under the dry dirt. He tried to keep his footsteps light, but Sarah Brown lived in the middle of nowhere. She didn’t exactly keep her area tidy—no one did. She was a recluse, which would make what he was about to do a little too easy, but he needed it. Needed to feel death come collect another gift from him. This was also the best way to get a message to Reaper. He needed to let them know the latest body hadn’t belonged to him.
He wouldn’t be that sloppy.
The lights were still on in Sarah’s little humble abode. A cabin in the middle of the woods had its charm. He should know, he had one just like it. Sarah usually went out at night to avoid being seen by anyone who would harass her. He checked his watch to note the time. He wondered if tonight wasn’t going to be a grocery run for her or she’d gone and come back already.
He crept up toward the back door, shaking out his hands. He couldn’t deny there was an excitement building through him, one he was trying to tamp down. He remembered what the Reaper had accused him of, how his list had been about all the thorns in society and not someone who fit his mold. Didn’t they understand having list sometimes kept him out of the FBI and local police’s crosshairs?
Didn’t the Reaper have their own list too? They used the Poet to enact vigilante justice while the Reaper didn’t discriminate.
