Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 160041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
“But I don’t even know what I did!”
“Sit,” I bark, shoving him into the chair.
He groans in pain as I pin him down and open my bag of supplies to take out the rope I bought at the hardware store. I wrap the rope I brought with me around his chest.
“Whatever it was, it can’t be this bad,” he says.
“If Sunny has you on her list, it’s bad enough,” I tell him, as I secure the rope tightly.
“What list?” he asks.
I circle him. “You’ll answer to her now.”
I walk into the hallway and pull out my phone, texting her secret second phone the location details anonymously, along with the prize.
Sunny
I’m halfway down the mountain when one of my phones buzzes. I park my motorcycle along the road and pull out my phone to check, but there aren’t any messages even though I’m a 100 percent sure I felt it.
What the …
I pull my bag off my shoulders and fish out my other phone, the one number I never hand out to anyone except the people I trust.
And the message there makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Unknown: I have your next target at The Shack. Come and get your kill.
Fun?
Who sent this, and how does this fucker know who I’m hunting?
Fury courses through my veins, and I shove my phone back into my bag violently, throwing it over my shoulders, before I hop back on my motorcycle and immediately make a U-turn.
Goddamn the son of a bitch who thinks he can meddle in my affairs.
I don’t need to text them back. That text wasn’t a question, but an invitation, and I’ll find out who’s behind this within a single fucking minute.
I race back up the mountain toward The Shack, parking right next to the car that’s there and blocking the driver’s door so they can’t escape if they tried. I jump off and check the license plate. Frowning, I pull out my phone and hold up my list until I find it.
This car belongs to my next target.
He drove here in the victim’s car?
I pull off my helmet and replace it with a mask to make sure no one recognizes me, then stalk into the house. I pull out my knives, aiming before I even enter the living room.
The man on the wooden chair in the middle of the room has a towel stuffed into his mouth that’s secured behind his head, and his face is all beaten up and bloody. He’s tied up with ropes, both feet and hands cuffed. There’s a gaping wound in his thigh that’s soaking through his jeans, and the blood drips all over the flimsy chair and broken-down floor.
Perry.
His eyes find mine, and he squeals against the fabric, jerking against the restraints.
“Hello, Perry. Do you know who I am?” I shove my knife underneath his chin, sliding past his neck as he swallows.
He shakes his head.
“I assumed you wouldn’t, but I’ll thoroughly introduce myself to you,” I say. “You’re just gonna have to wait a little bit longer. I have a stalker to catch.”
Whoever did this was prepared…
They’re here. And I’m not letting them get away.
I walk around Perry and head into the kitchen, inspecting every corner of the room to make sure whoever texted me isn’t here, before I head upstairs. I kick open the first door I find and hold out my knife, ready to strike.
Nothing.
I lift the sheets and look under the bed, but no one is there, and when I tear open the closet, it’s empty too.
Where could he be?
I check the next room’s corners and closets, not skipping a single inch, but the person I’m looking for is nowhere to be found. I step out of the last room and glance out the window.
A demonic mask glints in the daylight.
Gotcha.
I bolt down the stairs, skipping several steps, then rush through the living room toward the road outside.
THWACK!
My knife lands in the bark of the tree behind which the masked guy just ducked for cover.
Fuck.
The guy bolts off through the woods with a backpack strapped to his shoulders, and I go for the chase, ready to hunt him down. I’m not letting this fucker out of my sight, not this time.
He zigzags past the trees haphazardly, nearly tumbling over a lone rock, and I laugh.
“Can’t even keep your footing?”
I throw another knife, and it lands right beside his feet.
He crawls off the ground and runs off, leaves scattering about as he attempts to get away from me.
“Yeah, run like a dog with your tail between your legs!”
I’m in hot pursuit, darting right after him like a cat on the heels of the mouse she’s going to catch. When we’re in an open clearing, he suddenly turns around and pulls out his own knife, standing his ground.