Page 107 of Haunting the Hunter
Each breath still feels like fire as I fight to steady it—my voice torn and broken when I finally speak.
“You good?” I garble.
Ben grimaces, shifting his weight. His hand’s slick with blood and he nods sharply.
“I’ll live. Gen fixed it enough so it won’t kill me.” He exhales in a hiss, biting down the pain. “But you two need to get the fuck out of here.”
“What?” Genevieve’s voice cuts in, tight with panic. “No—no. You’re coming, too.” Her hands are already on him, clinging.
Ben pulls out his phone without meeting her eyes.
“That was never the plan, sweetheart. The plan was to getyouout.”
She shakes her head, tears falling as she clutches his arm. “No… no, please. You can’t stay. Youcan’t.”
“I didn’t do all this to blow the one ounce of trust I earned from that bitch,” he tells her bluntly, already dialing. “If I was coming with you, I never would’ve brought him here.”
Genevieve lunges, trying to grab the phone, but he pushes her back with a soft shove as he speaks.
“You need to get here,” Ben says coldly into the receiver, his eyes on hers. “They escaped. He’s got the witch. Frank’s down. Bring backup.”
Click.
He lowers the phone, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thud.
“Fuck you, Ben!” She pounds against his chest with both of her small fists and he lets her. Doesn’t even flinch.
Then quietly, to me, his eyes still on hers, “Get her the fuck out of here.”
He reaches out with trembling fingers and cups her cheek. She freezes under his touch, sobs caught in her throat, her fists curling into his bloody shirt.
“Go with him, baby,” he says in the softest voice I’ve heard from him. “I’ll find you.”
His smile is thin, pain laced behind it. “Always,” he promises, pressing a kiss to her temple.
He steps back and meets my eyes.
I don’t say a word, just nod.
I stoop to grab the gun, flip the safety on, and slide it into my waistband. Then I lift her, arms beneath her knees and shoulders, cradling her gently. She doesn’t fight it, just presses her face into my neck, crying silently.
I take off down the road, fast and steady, breaths rattling through my fucked-up windpipe. Through the trees, I catch sight of Jack’s truck, the headlights off, dark and ready.
I don’t look back.
I reach it fast, my legs threatening to give out as I throw the door open, placing Genevieve gently in the back seat. She curls in on herself, hands over her face, sobbing into her palms.
I climb into the passenger seat, biting down a groan as pain radiates through every single nerve, my body slumping.
Jack says nothing as he whips the vehicle around and speeds off, his hands gripping the wheel with white knuckles.
In the rearview, silent tears drip from Genevieve’s chin.
I glance back and get her attention, pointing to my neck.
She wipes her face with a sniffle and crawls forward, placing trembling hands at my throat.
The warmth blooms instantly.
