Page 51 of Haunting the Hunter

“Three down. Three to go,” I mutter, cracking my neck.

The large bald guy throws his hands up. “Stop! I think—we’re done here…”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my bloody hand and step into the glow of their headlights, slowly walking toward them.

“I’d say that’s fair. Considering your dead friends.” I twirl the blade in my hand. “Answer one question and I’ll let you live.”

They hesitate. I raise my brow.

“Who drugged the girl? Just out of curiosity.”

One of them points straight at the bald man. “Mack. It was Mack!”

I glance over at the snitch. He’s backing up toward his bike, eyes wide.

I purse my lips and nod. “Good to know.”

The knife lands between his eyes. He drops without a sound.

Mack bolts for Theo’s body—goes for the gun. Another guy sprints toward his bike.

I move fast. I’m on him before he can even get the engine started. I grab the back of his neck and slam him down. My boot comes down hard—once, twice, again—until he stops moving.

I turn.

Mack stands ten feet away, holding the gun sideways, one hand shaking.

“Stay the fuck back!” he shouts, voice cracking.

I take a step forward, catching the gleam of the chrome in the headlights. Desert Eagle. I drop my head, slowly shaking it.

The shot rings out into the dead night air, the gun kicking back and whacking the dumbass in the face. My head tilts back and I laugh.

“You missed,” I say flatly, throwing the knife.

It slices clean through his hand. He quickly drops the weapon, screaming as he holds his hand, falling to his knees. I’m on him fast, kicking the gun away, and shove him to the ground with a hand to his throat.

“Desert Eagles have a good kick,” I say, low and calm. “I’d recommend two hands next time.”

I flash a grim smile.

“But you won’t be getting the opportunity. Will you?”

I shouldn’t be enjoying this.

But I am.

I place the blade to his cheek and drag it slowly down to his jaw. Blood beads up along the cut.

“I’d love to take my time with you… but I have too much going on for a side quest.”

I press the knife into his gaping mouth and shove it upward. He gurgles, spasms, then goes still. I check his pockets. No ID. Just a wad of hundreds and a bag of white powder.

Figures.

I nudge the gun back toward his body and walk to the truck, wiping the blade clean and tossing it back into the duffel.

One last glance over my shoulder. Looks like a drug deal gone wrong. I walk over to my truck and strip off my hoodie, toss it in the back seat.