Page 66 of Make Me Hunt
He nods.
“Are these your parents?” I ask, already suspecting the answer. He confused me with his mother, which means she probably has black hair, while Cynthia's is dyed red.
He shakes his head no, then keeps staring at the door like he’s afraid of who might walk through it.
More moans break through the silence, and a repeated slapping sound that makes me sick becomes the background music.
Fucking monsters. And I’m afraid that’s not even half of it.
As if to confirm my suspicions, Sam's face goes pale, his little hands shaking at the sound. Then a question hits me. One that I don’t want to ask but feel morally obligated to.
I crouch, taking his hand between my palms, and making sure we lock eyes. “Did anyone hurt you?”
Tears line up on his eyelids. I don’t need an answer to know what happened. But he tries to give me one either way. “The man—” He doesn’t finish, and I don’t press. I’ve read the file. I know exactly what those bastards did. And I’m going to make sure they pay for it.
“Can I take a picture of you?” I ask. And as soon as he nods, I snap a photo and send it to 404, asking him to help ID this kid. “Do you know somewhere to hide? A room? Somewhere you’ll feel safe for a few minutes?
He nods again. “There’s another bedroom. I can hide in the closet,” he says, looking even more scared than earlier.
“Go straight there. I’ll come get you in a little while and help you find your parents. Deal?”
A flicker of hope lights up in his eyes. “Deal,” he says, then disappears down the hallway, trusting me to keep my promise.
Which I plan to, right after I deal with these creeps. My fucking head is spinning, anger bubbling beneath the skin, fueling a rage that’s veering into straight madness.
I screw a silencer onto my gun. I bought it just in case, when I first went to work for Ares. Never thought I’d really need it, though.
I don’t wait for them to finish. I go outside and cut the optic line. Then I head back to their bedroom, where I just push the door open, aim for the man’s head, and fire. It’s that simple. He hits the floor in seconds, his dick still in Cynthia’s mouth, giving me just enough time to warn her about screaming. “Keep your mouth shut, or you’re next.”
I expect her to comply, especially after seeing what I’m capable of. Instead, she bolts straight at me, catches me off guard, and slams me into a wooden dresser as she tries to disarm me.
Suddenly, it clicks. That’s why her name is on that list. She’s got it in her to fight.
She doesn’t hesitate, throws herself on top of me, slamming my hand on the floor, and knocks the weapon loose.
A surge of panic kicks in. I’m fully prepared to do this, but—except for that night stealing the van—I never actually tested it in a life-or-death scenario. Sure, I’ve tossed plenty of men out of the club, kicked a few asses too, but that was more bar brawl than battlefield.
She tries to straddle me, hands around my throat, ready to choke me. And it’s exactly the opening I need to take her out. I land a punch straight to the face, lift my ass off the floor, and snap my legs around her neck before she sees it coming.
I punch her again, bringing my hands around her throat, before she even gets to blink. The back of my thumbs drive into her carotids, then I cross my feet as strongly as I can, and extend, forcing the pressure in deeper.
She thrashes at first, but her resistance fades quickly as I cut off her oxygen and lull her into unconsciousness.
Yeah, I’m that good.
Okay, truth is, I surprised myself. Just makes me that more committed to see this whole thing through.
Before she comes to, I cuff her to a chair using her own toys—cuffs and a prop rope they keep around. Then I drag her sorry ass boyfriend's body behind a curtain, so I won’t risk Sam stumbling upon that scene.
I also take a mop from the bathroom, and wipe up just enough blood to keep it from screaming murder scene the moment someone walks in.
I don’t go after Sam, though. I need to deal with Cynthia first, and judging by what she’s done, she’s not getting a happy ending.
She’s starting to come to, right as I’m finishing up, but that doesn’t stop me from throwing a bucket of water on her face—just to make sure she’s conscious enough to hear me out.
“Where are the instructions?” I snap, cutting straight to the chase.
Yet, she chooses to play dumb. “What? What instructions?”
