Page 16 of Stream & Scream

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jaxen

Saturday night.

T here’s a high in the hunt no drug can touch. I’ve tried them all—acid, coke, the purest tabs smuggled through borders, and none of it comes close. Nothing rips through me like this. Nothing coils my spine tight, nothing burns my blood hotter.

The chase is the drug.

The sound of her ragged breathing, uneven and frantic, echoing through the trees. The way the forest swallows her whole, like even the forest wants her to be mine. The panic in her movements sends a steady pulse of electricity thrumming beneath my skin.

I move with it. Boots sliding over wet dirt, shoulders slipping through wet branches, lungs steady while hers burn. My body already knows hers, tunes itself to every scrape of her sneakers, every branch snapping underfoot.

Each gasp she drags is a fucking beacon. Every stumble, every misstep, another trigger pulling me closer.

She’s fast, I’ll give her that. But she’s not faster than me.

I don’t need to see her clearly. Her body betrays her. Every scrape of her sneakers on dirt, every gasp is a flare in the dark only I can read. My body tunes itself to hers automatically. Her heartbeat sets the rhythm. My cock pounds to it.

And then there’s the cam.

That little beacon strapped to her wrist. Blinking red. Fucking glorious . Every flare pulsing like a vein I’m meant to slice open.

The forest hums with her, leaves rattling behind her. The air is heavy with her scent, her fear and sweat mixed with that cheap berry shampoo the sponsors sent the contestants.

Sweet. Innocent. Wrong. I want to scrape it off her until she reeks of nothing but me.

Every sound she makes sharpens me. The hiss of breath between clenched her teeth. The grunt when she catches her shin on a root. The broken hiccup of a curse. I’ve heard enough begging to recognize it, even if she hasn’t said the words out loud yet. Her body is begging for me.

And fuck, it makes me hard.

This isn’t just adrenaline. This is a game. My cock presses against my cargo pants, insistent, every step of hers stoking it higher.

She dives behind a fallen log, scrambling for cover. I slow down, grinning behind my helmet, letting her stew in the illusion. Letting her think she’s hidden. Letting her think she’s lost me. Hope tastes better when I get to tear it away.

“Cute,” I murmur, voice low enough to vibrate against the inside of the helmet.

For a moment, she stays tucked low, crouched in the shadows, probably praying I pass her by. Then she bursts out again, tearing around the log, boots slipping in the moss as she throws herself back into the trees.

“It’s not funny!” she shouts over her shoulder, voice ragged, cracking with the strain.

I laugh, deep and cruel, the sound cutting through the woods.

She stumbles, glances back, panic flashing across her face when she realizes how close I am. Her chest heaves, lips parting to drag in more air as if oxygen might save her.

The tempo of the chase builds. Her strides falter, her panting grows jagged, her rhythm breaks. She’s running herself raw, wearing her body down until she has nothing left to give. My body stays steady, tuned for the long game. But my cock throbs harder, aching with every ragged sound she makes.

“You sound gorgeous when you’re breaking,” I call, voice carrying low and cruel. “Panting like that… fuck, you’re making me hard, little clickbait.”

She stumbles, nearly faceplants, then throws herself forward faster. The fear fuels her.

“You know, you’re not running away from me. You’re running for me. Every step just drags you deeper into my hands.”

Then the woods spit out two idiots who never belonged in my hunt.

Sierra Valez. Contestant twelve. Twenty-two, five-six, ombre blonde-pink curls bouncing around her shoulders, brown eyes wide and fake lashes thick enough to cast shadows on her cheeks.

Her mouth never stops moving. She shrieks the second she sees me, wrist-cam lifted high like she’s about to livestream a fucking meet-and-greet.

“Oh my god! You guys, look who I found—it’s The Hunter!”

She actually fucking poses. Lips puckered, peace sign raised.

And beside her, Chase Durant, contestant three. Twenty-one. Five-eleven. Dirty blond surfer-cut hair falling into his blue eyes, jaw cocky, grin wide. Forest frat boy. He angles his wrist-cam for the perfect shot, like he’s on a stage and the whole world’s waiting for him to crack the joke.

“Yo, this is gonna go viral, bro! Legendary! Say something cool, man. C’mon!”

They laugh. Both of them.

And that’s what snaps me.

The laugh.

Like Liv isn’t out there tearing herself apart for me, bleeding fear into the ground, giving me the purest high I’ve ever had while these two treat it like a fucking vlog.

“Say something cool?” I echo, voice low and guttural.

My pistol’s already raised.

Two shots. Crack. Crack.

Chase goes first. The smile rips clean off his face as the bullet punches straight through the center of his forehead. His blue eyes roll back as his body drops like a sack of meat, surfer-cut hair falling forward, already coated in blood. His feed cuts out mid-frame, lens splattered in red.

Sierra freezes, her lashes trembling with the sudden horror dawning too late.

Mascara smears down her cheeks, and her lips part for the scream—one she will never finish.

The bullet between her eyes snaps her head back, pink-blonde hair jerking around as she crumples, peace sign still half-raised before she collapses in a tangle of limbs.

They fall into the moss like dolls tossed aside.

No theatrics. No flourish. They didn’t earn it.

They weren’t part of the hunt.

She is.

I step over their bodies, yank Chase’s cam, and smash it into a tree until it explodes in shards. Sierra’s feed blinks red once more before I grind it into the dirt with my boot.

“Fucking influencers,” I mutter. “This isn’t your stage.”

Their blood pools black in night vision, but the forest swallows them whole. Erased, and fucking irrelevant.

My eyes are forward. Always forward.

She’s still out there. Still running.

I move faster, closing the gap. The ground dips, then rises, pulling me toward the ridge I know she’ll head for. She’s smart. She moves like someone who doesn’t belong here but refuses to die quietly.

She wants the money.

Which makes her perfect prey.

She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m the only one who decides how long she gets to breathe. The only one who chooses when she falls.

I hear her before I see her. The snap of twigs, the sharp curse under her breath. She’s slowing. Her body’s betraying her.

I crouch behind a thick oak, eyes fixed on the stutter of her cam. She bursts into view, shin bloodied, hair wild and damp, chest heaving. She looks wrecked already. It makes my cock ache.

One step forward.

She jolts like she’s being shocked. Spins, eyes wide, lips parted, panic plastered across her face.

“Go on then,” I rasp, voice thick with hunger. “Run for me, little clickbait.”

She bolts. The forest detonates around her.

She stumbles, gasps, recovers, runs harder.

Her cam blinks red, bouncing wildly, broadcasting every desperate stagger.

I tear after her, boots eating ground, breath steady, cock pressing hard against my zipper.

I could take her down right now. End it.

Grind her into the dirt while the world watches.

But not yet.

Because the chase is everything. The chase is the drug. The chase is what keeps me hard.

“Faster,” I growl, voice booming low. “Earn it, clickbait. Earn every fucking breath.”

She falters. A cry slips out. My laugh follows, low and merciless.

“You hear that?” I snarl, close enough now that my words chase her spine. “They’re watching you bleed, sweat and cry for me. You’re their little clickbait, but I’m the bastard who gets to play with you.”

I lunge, fingers closing around the back of her shirt. She screams as I yank her back, her body slamming against mine. My other hand clamps her hip, dragging her against the hard line of my cock through my pants. She feels it. I know she does. Her breath hitches sharp and panicked.

I bend my mouth to her ear, my voice a growl against her skin. “That’s what you do to me. Running, panting, shaking, you make me want to tear you apart right here.”

She thrashes, kicks, claws. Perfect. Delicious.

I let her go, then shove her forward so she stumbles, barely catching herself on a tree before she takes off again.

My laugh echoes through the forest.

“Don’t stop now, clickbait,” I growl. “Push those legs ‘til they give out. The second you hit the ground, I’ll be there to remind you who owns your breath.”