Page 76 of Make Me Hunt
She won’t be able to move on like this for long—not without help. But I can’t lose this chance, not because of her. And if I can’t give her any help, then the morphine will. It will keep her on her feet for a few hours, maybe even dull the panic.
I mentally curse myself for doing this, but I give her my morphine. Now I just have to hope I don’t get injured.
I signal for her to follow because I have to keep moving.
The morphine will dull her pain long enough for me to stash her away somewhere safe. She’ll have to fight eventually. There’s only one survivor in this game. I just hope I won’t be the one who has to take her on.
I have an idea where she’ll be safer, or at least where it will be easier for her to hide—in the showers. They’re also connected to the locker room, which links to a rehab facility, giving her more escape routes in case she gets cornered.
There are a few rows of lockers for the nurses and the staff. I find it’s the best place for her to take cover. But no matter how much I want to keep helping her, I need to go.
I’m actually on my way to do that when I see her almost collapse.
“Can you please help me sit?” She asks, one hand pressed to her chest.
I don’t answer but lean down and help her sit on the floor, my eyes never losing contact with her hands.
“Got any more morphine?” She asks, trying to distract me while her hand inches toward the boomerang strapped to her leg. She never showed me the weapon, but I saw it. The fucking thing’s lined with blades, perfect for short and long-range kills.
I grip my sword, letting it clink loud against its holder. Loud enough so she can hear it.
I will kill her if she makes another move.
We lock eyes.
Weboth know her chances of surviving the next few minutes are slim to none. The only real shot she had was the element of surprise, and she blew it.
“Give me that, and I walk away,” I say, one hand gripping my sword, the other wrapped around the hand she’s got on the boomerang.
I can’t believe I wasted my time with this ungrateful bitch.
“I’m dead anyway if I give it to you,” she mutters, but I can see the resignation on her face.
At this point, I just want to punch her and leave her unconscious. But right before I do that, I hear someone behind me.
Out of instinct, I rip the boomerang from her hand and turn and see who the fuck it is.
My eyes burn through the distance, trying to make out who’s come for us. There’s a metallic grind like someone is dragging something across the floor, but it’s not sharp, so it’s not a sword. It’s something heavier.
“You made number four drop out.” The shadow starts to take shape. “I’m quite impressed,” the voice continues, as I spot the red of his uniform.
“And I’ll make you drop out, too. Or kill you, whichever comes first,” I say, dragging my sword along the floor. If he wants to intimidate me, then I’m giving it back in the same currency.
He takes a step closer.
Then another.
And another until he’s fifteen feet away, and I can see the weapon he’s been dragging across the floor. It’s a massive hammer, like Thor’s, but with a longer handle and one edge sharpened to a deadly point.
This guy reminds me of the one I sent home earlier in that smoking area—not because they look alike, since this guy has darker skin, black eyes, and raven hair—but because they both have the same serious, maybe even respectable vibe. Like they work in the same institution… I don’t know, maybe a bank, judging by the overpriced haircut. Maybe even something higher up the food chain.
“I’ve been in these games for a while, and I’ve never gotten the chance to kill a child molester yet.” His words hit me harder than they should. I know they’re not true—I’m not the real Cynthia—they still leave a bitter trail in my chest. Still, not nearly as bitter as what comes next. “Did you actually know each other on the outside? Because I can’t even decide which one of you is worse. I’m taking a wild guess that Gina is. I mean, trafficking in children’s organs? I think that’s fucking way worse than just molestation.”
I try to hide my shock, but I think it’s all too obvious, the lines on my face shifting into a frown. Because I know not a single person in this place could be innocent.
I glance at Gina with the corner of my eye. No sign of remorse on her face, or denial, more like relief that we could be in any way similar. That something might tie us. Like, maybe we could bond over butchering a kid and selling off the pieces to the highest bidder.
“Move aside and let me pass,” I say, flashing the boomerang. There’s no way his hammer is fast enough to stop the boomerang. The only problem is, I have no idea how to use it. If I throw it, it’ll probably come back and take my head off.
