Another footstep rang through the air as my eyes snapped to the right. Only one of us was leaving this forest alive, and it wouldn’t be Preston.
I slipped off into the trees and cautiously made my way in that direction.
Our yearly hunting trip was one of the few father-and-daughter activities I looked forward to. Trina would bitch the entire time because she didn’t have a curling iron or running water. I took the opportunity to enjoy nature and learn things, like how to disguise my clothing to blend in with the surrounding area.
Mud, leaves, and a few branches were all I needed to craft a homemade camo suit. It wasn’t perfect, but I wouldn’t be easily spotted.
After that, I only had to worry about staying quiet. Not a simple task when moving through terrain like this, but not impossible. It all came down to timing. The closer I got to Preston’s footsteps, the easier it was to match my strides with his. Soon enough, I caught a glimpse of a familiar jean jacket.
I stopped and hunched down in a bush to watch my prey. I thought he might’ve spotted me for half a second, but he didn’t move in my direction. Preston didn’t move at all. Nor could I hear his footsteps.
Something wasn’t right.
Creeping slowly closer, I kept my eye on the patch of denim I could see through the leaves. An adrenaline rush tightened my grip on my makeshift weapon, but it died away. It wasn’t Preston I saw standing there.
It was his jacket hung on a tree.
“Tricky, tricky Preston Whitley.”
“I thought so.”
I screamed at the whisper warming my ear and sprang forward. My entire body tensed, jarring something I’d completely forgotten about. The thing shoved up my ass.
My hatred grew as Preston stepped out and dropped his eyes to the stick in my hand. “You shouldn’t play with sharp things, Little Bird. You might hurt yourself.”
How in the hell did he sneak up on me? Oh well, he was here now.
I lunged forward, swinging the stick with all my might.
Preston ducked under my strike, then spun around and caught it when I came in for another attempt. But I refused to let go. I firmed my hold and glared up at him.
“You have shit for fighting skills.”
Preston tugged on the stick, and I tugged back.
“If my fighting skills are shit, why are you trying to disarm me?”
It wasn’t going to work. We pulled the stick back and forth, Preston was using only one hand, and I had two, but still. This was my weapon, and I was not giving it to him.
We stayed there silently, staring each other down while the breeze cooled my face.
“What’s wrong, Preston?” I sang while giving him a mock frown. “Scared I might hurt you?”
A shiver ran up my spine when a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I’ll tell you what, Little Bird, how about you play with your weapon….” My blood ran cold when a soft click rang through my ears. “And I’ll play with mine.”
Fading sunlight glinted off the very sharp edge of a knife. I’m not sure what came over me, but the next thing I knew, I drove the heel of my hand up into his nose, and my knee slammed into his groin. A grunt pushed past his lips. That was all I heard or saw before spinning around and bolting back into the foliage.
All I could think as I ran was that I’d left my weapon behind. Or did I? The thing in my ass was metal, much stronger than wood. But could it be used for that?
Only one way to find out.
Let me just say taking that thing out was about as uncomfortable as having it put in. Standing in the middle of the woods with my hand down my pants certainly didn’t help. But it was worth it. Not only was it pointed, but the thin stem before the diamond end fit nicely between my fingers.
I looked at the cone sticking out by my knuckles and the gem on the other side by my palm. Something formerly in my ass wouldn’t be my first choice, but it would do some damage. Who needed brass knuckles? It was kind of funny. I’d been cursing this thing's existence, and now it might be my salvation. How was that for irony?
Now I just needed my target.
