Page 67 of Make Me Hunt
“Don’t fucking play with me.” I pull out my gun, shoving it in her face. “The instructions for the game. For Kharon. Fucking now!” I snarl, cocking it for emphasis.
“The game?” she repeats, like she has no clue what I’m talking about. And I punch her straight in the face to knock some sense into her.
“Now!” I roar, losing my patience. I don’t have the nerves for this shit.
Just as I’m about to hit her again, she tries to negotiate. “Would you let me live if I tell you?” She asks, like this is up for debate.
Still, that gives me an idea. “Yeah, I’ll let you live,” I say, as I check the two cameras recording and pulling their memory cards, just in case they were still rolling. I know they can’t go live because I killed the internet, but I still need to wipe any possible traces I was here.
“I need to know I can trust you.” She presses, and I reinforce my promise.
“I won’t kill you. You’ve got my word.”
She exhales, like she’s still debating whether to give me that info or not, but she also knows I’ll put a bullet in her skull if she doesn’t. “The note is in my purple coat. I left it at my apartment.”
I glare at her, pissed off that life never cuts me a break. Of course, it’s back at her apartment, and she doesn’t have it here with her—where I fucking need it. Can’t ever be that easy, could it?
I have to check if she’s telling the truth, but first, I open the laptop on the small table next to the cameras.
I need to know how I’ll play this; the hundreds, maybe even thousands, of video files give me the perfect leverage.
I open a few, just to make sure they’re what I need to bury her.
The first few are her with different partners, including the guy I just killed. He’s in most of the videos.
I scroll past them. No way I’m watching those two fuck.
My stomach’s already turning, dreading I’ll find exactly what I’m looking for. And the second Sam’s face shows up on the screen, I know I have all the evidence I need to ruin her.
My breath catches in my throat, the nausea riding so fast I nearly throw up. I can’t watch this. I’m afraid to, because if I do, I’ll kill her on the spot, just like I did that sorry ass boyfriend of hers. And I need her alive for now, to make sure she’s telling the truth about the note.
She starts mumbling something about me going through the videos, so I grab one of her prop gags and put it to real use, shutting her up so I won’t have to hear it.
I scrub a little further with the footage, hoping I don’t see something else that’ll scar me for life. I’m just scanning for her in the frames, and the second I get a clear shot of her, I stop. She’s wearing a leather mask, but the tattoo on her shoulder is visible, even under the layer of foundation she tried to hide it with.
I’m sure the cops will have enough evidence to lock her up. Maybe someone with a stronger stomach than mine could make it through the rest of the videos because I really don’t need another thing plaguing my mind.
twenty-five
-Brynn-
As soon as I’m sure I’ve covered my tracks, I grab Cynthia’s purse, then get into the next bedroom and take Samuel out of the closet. “It’s okay now. You’re safe with me. I’m taking you someplace where good people will take care of you. Help you find your parents.”
I lead him out of the room, but before we leave the house, I ask him to close his eyes. I don’t want him to see my car—at least not the exterior of my car and tip off the cops about searching for a gray Honda.
Odds are slim that he even knows what brand it is. Same with giving them a proper description of me or the place he’s been. But I still have to try and cover my tracks, even though I’m sure when they find Cynthia, she’ll give them my description. It’s not like they don’t already have it, but I’m not big enough just yet for them to send in the cavalry.
Killing someone would probably have the police issue a national manhunt. But killing a proven child abuser will send me to the bottom of their priority list, especially after I return the kid.
“Sam, I need you to help me play a game. Think you can do that for me?”
“Sure! What kind of game?” He asks, eager—just like a kid should be. I’m so glad they haven’t taken that from him yet, because the mental scars that I know lie beneath his smile are unimaginable.
“I’m going to leave you in front of a building, and I need you to count to ten before you go inside. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” he nods with excitement, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10!” he says the numbers in a rush.
“Great. Once you finish counting, you go inside to the people there... aaaaannnnd... you get to eat the rest of this pack,” I say, throwing him a Pop-Tart from a box I bought earlier while I was tailing Cynthia.
