Page 19 of Tabitha

I need the thrill of the hunt.

I need the chase.

Violence is the only thing that will appease my beast.

If I can’t find a way to ease my craving, I’m afraid I’ll eventually take out the wrong person—someone who would come after me or the guys in retaliation—or worse, an innocent.

My black soul can’t take any more sins staining it. I fear one of these times, I won’t be able to draw back from the edge, and I refuse to take the guys down with me.

Maybe it’s finally time for me to leave.

Sooner or later, it will be more dangerous for me to stay with them than head out on my own.

I’m distracted from my thoughts when I catch sight of two bikes winding their way through the trees as they take the back roads toward mansion row. My interest sharpens, and the chaos in my mind eases.

I don’t have it in me to be mad at the girl for taking my kills—I would’ve done the same in a heartbeat and not felt guilty about it. Like a cat watching a mouse, I follow them without blinking, and my beast perks up at the attention.

A second later, I’m scrambling down the steep mountainside to my perch. I quickly scale the tree to reach my platform, grab my sniper rifle, and easily locate the duo in my scope.

My heartbeat slows, my breathing settles, and the anxiety pounding in my chest fades away until I fall into a trance.

Oh, I have no intention of taking a shot, don’t even feel the urge for the first time since before I joined the military.

With a hum of contentment, I settle into my hidey-hole and go still, my soul filled with a peace that I normally only feel when I’m in killing mode. So I will sit and watch Tabitha like a creepy stalker, not bothered in the least that most people would label me unstable.

* * *

TABITHA

As we drive around the cul-de-sac, I’m not surprised when people stop and stare. I take note of the people and houses, evaluating the threat levels. There are five large houses around the circle, two on each side, while my grandfather’s rests at the end, lording over everyone else.

We park, then cut the engines, the ping of the exhaust loud in the silence. I swing my leg over the bike, then take off my helmet. Conscious of everyone watching, I crouch and begin unpacking my saddlebags, trying not to squirm at all the attention.

It’s one of the reasons why I like working in the dark.

In the bright light of day, my flaws become too obvious.

By the time I stand and grab my helmet, conversation has resumed. Pierce stands by his bike, bag in hand, waiting patiently for me. I cock my head, then scoff. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

He quirks an eyebrow, his expression slightly amused. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman. We open doors for females, wait for them when on an outing, carry bags for them when they shop, stand in line with them for the bathroom, and hold umbrellas over them when it rains. It’s going to take more than your fierce scowl to stop years of conditioning.”

My eyes widen slightly that he would share such personal information, and I’m flustered about how to react. “Okay?”

Which seems to be the right response. He nods, then stands to the side so I can go first. Feeling even more awkward, I follow the path to the front door, conscious of him trailing just a step behind.

“Besides,” Pierce continues in a lazy voice, “you have the keys.”

I sputter out a laugh, the tension in my spine easing at the rational response.

Once I reach the door, I dump my bags, then dig out the envelope the lawyer gave me before we drove into town. I rip it open, then upturn the package, and a set of keys falls into my hand. I fit a key into the lock, my heart jumping in surprise that it actually turns.

Despite the story Man told me about the case, I had my doubts. If I had family, why did Man keep me? Why didn’t he turn me over to social services?

I’m not upset at the choice. I obviously come from a long line of people with mental instability. No doubt, if I had been returned, I would be in jail or dead without Man’s very specific rules to follow. The law of averages says I will slip up eventually, but I’m doing my best to hold off my fate for as long as possible.

I turn the knob and push the door open. When I step inside…it’s not what I’m expecting. The place is spotless, only a light layering of dust on the surfaces. If I didn’t know better, I would assume no one has lived here for years.

“Are you okay?” Pierce collects my bags and shuts the door behind us.

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