Page 50 of Hunting Gianna

“Let’s ruin his fucking night,” she says.

I can’t wait.

I watch the way men look at her: hungry, calculating, some of them already imagining how they’d taste her. I want to gouge their eyes out, but I let it go. When we came here earlier, it was fun and games watching the way they desired her. My mask pokes me through my jacket pocket. A smirk crosses my face.

But now the time for fun is over. We’re here for one purpose. Dine and hunt.

She walks straight to a table in the back, never hesitating, and sits with her back to the room. I take the chair next to her. We don’t speak. She scans every face, scanning for him.

A waitress appears, young, desperate to please. “Drinks?” she asks, her voice brittle.

“Whiskey, neat,” I say.

“Gin and tonic,” says Gianna, never looking up.

We order food without reading the menu. I get steak. Gianna orders the fried chicken with mash potato and gravy.

We eat in silence. The food is good, but I barely taste it. I watch Gianna instead: the way her jaw works when she’s chewing, the way her eyes keep darting to the door. She’s coiled so tight the fork almost bends in her hand.

Halfway through the meal, he walks in.

He’s shorter than I expected. Tanned, handsome in a greasy, overproduced way. White teeth, expensive watch, cheap aftershave that hits my nose even across the room. He’s got a blonde on his arm—young, huge tits, red lipstick over her lips. He parades her through the entryway, soaking up the glances, the little smirks from the other men.

Gianna goes rigid. The air around her shifts, crackles, like she’s about to explode. I put my hand on her thigh, squeezing just hard enough to ground her.

He doesn’t see us at first. He’s too busy showing off for the room. When he finally does, his face freezes for a split second. Then he smiles, wide and fake, and steers his girl to a table on the other side of the room.

Gianna stands. I catch her wrist, but she yanks free.

She walks straight to his table, eyes locked on his. The blonde shifts, looking from Gianna to her boyfriend, already sensing the storm.

Brad’s smile gets sharper. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

Gianna ignores him, stares at the blonde. “Blink twice if you want to be saved,” she says, voice flat.

The girl giggles, unsure if it’s a joke. She blinks once, slow and then holds her eyes open so wide she looks like a dead fish.

This asshole leans back, arms wide. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He eyes me, then Gianna, then me again. “You trading down, babe? Or is this a charity case?”

Gianna doesn’t flinch. “You’re a fucking wet sock, you know that.”

He looks at me, eyes raking over my frame. “What’s it like, having my whore for a girlfriend?”

I smile, slow and lazy. “I’ll show you,” I say. “Come outside.”

He laughs, loud enough for half the room to hear. “Yeah? You want to go? Let’s do it.”

He stands, shoving his chair back, and gestures for Gianna to lead the way.

She doesn’t move. “Bitches first,” she says.

He shrugs, strolls to the door, never once looking back at the blonde. I follow, close enough to watch the confidence in the set of his shoulders.

We step onto the porch. The night air is colder than before, and there’s cloud of vapor when we exhale.

Gianna stands at the top of the stairs, arms folded. She looks at him like she’s deciding whether to break him or just let him go.

He turns, cocky, fists balled at his sides. “So what, you gonna fight me for her? Is this some kind of sick game?”

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