Page 70 of The First Hunt

What if this went horribly wrong?John wasn’t sure why, but when his dad shot that bear in the woods, something had changed in him. The power his dad possessed to take the life of such a beast. John needed to know what it felt like to put his prey in his sights, know exactly what he was doing, and pull the trigger. Like his dad did.

John fingered the end of Pamela’s soft scarf that hung over the back of her seat as a spike of excitement flowed through him, as if he were about to ride his bike off a big jump.

“I think I’m going to puke,” he blurted.

“Oh my gosh.” Pamela turned down the radio. “Right now?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“Yeah.” John covered his mouth with his hand and made himself gag.

“Let me pull over.”

“Hurry,” John said.

The car slowed as Pamela braked to a stop beside the short, dirty mound of snow that lined the highway. As soon as the car stopped moving, John grabbed the end of her scarf. The hard part would be grabbing hold of the other end, which was draped in front of her chest. He would have to be quick.

His heart pounded in his ears as she turned around.Am I really going to do this?

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Do you need to—”

John wrapped the scarf around his hand and tugged hard. At the same, he reached in front of her and slid his arm down her chest until he grasped the other end. He brought both hands behind the headrest and pulled.

“What are—” She choked out a cough.

John clenched his jaw and tugged harder. If she could still talk, the scarf wasn’t tight enough. He pressed the soles of his shoes against her seat and pulled with all his might. Pamela’s permed hair swayed wildly around her head as she thrashed in her seat. But she’d stopped talking, which was a sign it was working.

She gasped and wheezed for air before exuding a groan from deep in her chest. John held his breath, straining to keep a tight grip on the scarf as she clawed at the fabric. She leaned forward, but her attempt to pull away from him only helped to tighten his noose. Finally, her flailing slowed. John exhaled.

She twisted her head toward him and swatted her arm aimlessly behind her. She managed to grip the leg of his jeans for a moment before her hand went slack. John heard himself grunt as her head fell to the side. Thankfully, she’d stopped moving. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could have maintained his grip.

He kept his feet on her seat and his hold on the scarf for another minute after she went still. When he let go, a bead of sweat dripped into his eye. He wiped the sweat away and studied the corpse in the driver’s seat. He’d done it. Just like his dad.

Chapter 46

JOHN

John lifted his gaze to the faded article on the wall from theFairbanks Examiner. “The hardest part was dragging her body out of the car and into that snowy ditch. I couldn’t get her as far from the road as I wanted, which was probably why they found her body so quickly.”

“Why did you do it?” his dad asked.

“I wanted to know what it felt like to kill. I needed to understand why you did it. After I strangled that bartender with her scarf beside that ditch, I knew. Power. Control. Excitement. A rush. An unexplainable feeling of pure ecstasy. Like the world finally makes sense in that moment. And relax, I’m not going to get caught. I’m good at covering my tracks. Even better than you.”

His dad sneered, releasing his hold on John.

“Better than me?” he yelled, his face red with fury. “You killed your fucking teacher! You can't do that. Not if you don’t want to go to prison. This is exactly what I was afraid of. Have I taught you nothing?”

John reflected on the smooth feel of his teacher’s neck beneath his hold late last night. He closed his eyes, reliving the moment. When his hands first clamped around her throat, she’d clawed at him, but not for long.

As the life drained from his teacher’s body—that slut who preyed on underage boys—it was like her energy was being transferred to him. The weaker she became under his grip, the more he crushed her delicate neck, the stronger—and more powerful—he felt.

Feeling his teacher’s neck collapse beneath his bare hands had given him a much bigger rush than when he’d strangled that bartender in Fairbanks with her own scarf.

“There's a link to you,” his father continued. “I've been waiting all day for you to get home so that we can come up with a story together to make sure you aren't implicated, and now you dothis?” He extended a hand behind him toward Holly’s body.

The pool of blood around her head was growing, John noted. He met his father’s eyes. “There was a link to Mom.”

His dad’s eyes narrowed. “That was different.”

“How?” John asked.

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