Page 31 of The Hunted

I flee over the grounds, searching for a place to hide. Blood throbs through my veins, and my heart thuds. I’ve never been so fucking afraid in my entire life. What will happen when I’m captured? Tears stain my cheeks as I scan from side to side. Why did I come here? Oh God, why did I think I could do this?

I didn’t even know this place existed until that day in the diner. I have no idea why or if Scarlett would come here, but we’ve tried everything else to find her. Maybe it was about money. Our family isn’t the wealthiest, but our parents would have helped her. I would have helped her. She has always had this secretive side, though. She’s been closed-off and distant from us lately. I should have listened to my instincts that something was off with her. If I had, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

I gulp for air, and my breathing grows labored. The Hunter who captures me has me for up to twenty-four hours and can use me as he sees fit. The money buys our agreement. I don’t give a shit about the money. They can keep it. As soon as I can find Scarlett, we are out of here. But until then, I have to play along.

I run as fast as this ridiculous dress will allow. It’s so large and cumbersome, it hinders my progress with every step, and the snow-white color leaves me nowhere to hide, even in the dead of night. The bodice constricts my breath, and my sweat slicks the fabric in the heat of the August night. My tears fall harder now as I hear footsteps gaining on me. Oh, God, I can’t do this! I can’t!

My feet tangle in the bottom of my dress, and I fall to the ground. I slam onto my knees, and the palms of my hands catch me and keep me from falling on my face.

I gasp as two hands grab me under my arms and haul me up.

Oh, God, he’s caught me!

My body trembles as the Hunter turns me to face him. Not him, anyone but him.

“Hello, gorgeous. This should be fun.” The Hunter laughs at his slightly slurred words. He leers at me, moving his hands up and down my arms. I cringe and try to push from his touch. His grip tightens painfully on my arms, and he tugs me into his chest. The smell of alcohol pours from him as if he’s bathed in liquor. I turn my head to the side to take a breath of fresh air.

How much has he drank?

“Where you think you’re going, darlin’?”

I cry out as his too firm grip bruises my flesh. He pushes his mouth against mine in a painful kiss.

“Time to play, bitch.”

He turns me in the direction of the cabins and drags me along with him. My nerves form a lump in my throat, and a sob lodges there. I search all around for a sign of anyone who can help me. He is wasted. Surely, no one would be expected to go through this with him in this condition. He stumbles, further proving how trashed he is. Fear twists a knot in my stomach as I stumble along with him, caught in his grasp.

“Please let my arm go. You’re hurting me.”

He doesn’t care. If anything, his grip tightens as he drags me along despite my pleas.

We reach his cottage, he opens the door, and he shoves me inside, locking it behind him. He moves over to the sofa, falling onto it more than actually taking a seat.

“Take that fucking dress off. I paid a lot of money to be the only Hunter tonight. Let me see what my money got me.”

I guess that is how he was able to catch me in his drunken state.

I reach for the zipper, and my hand trembles. I slide it down, and I’m barely able to swallow back the bile rising in my throat. My heart beats wildly as I slide the dress to the floor.

“You look good,” he says as he tries to stand, finally succeeding after great effort, and comes toward me. He reaches around my head, takes a handful of my hair, and presses his lips to mine. His kiss is soft but his breath makes me want to vomit.

“Open your mouth. You’ll enjoy this, too.”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I kiss him back. He breaks our kiss long enough to take off my bra. He stares me in the face as he unhooks the eyelets. His whiskey breath blows across my face in hot bursts, and it doesn’t help my queasiness. He leans in and licks the tears from my cheek. I turn my head and grimace at the contact. He grasps my face harshly and turns me back to face him.

“You remind me of her so fucking much. She’s dead. She’s fucking dead!”

What the hell is he talking about?

His distress and my unease rise with every passing moment. He lets my bra fall to the floor and moves his mouth to my breast. I shudder at his touch and my stomach churns as he sucks the peak into his mouth. He bites my nipple harshly, and I yelp. Fuck, that hurt! He rises back up to face me, and my heart stops. His cold eyes give me a terrible feeling this will not end well for me.

“You’re not her! You’re not fucking her!” he shouts and shoves me. I trip over the dress puddled around my feet and fall back, slamming my head on the hard wood floor. Then, he’s moving. He straddles me, gripping both my wrists in his hand, and pushing them to the floor over my head.

“I loved her, goddammit! I fucking loved her, and they took her from me!”

I scream and buck my hips, trying to get him off of me, and finally, he loses his grip.

I punch him in the nose.

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