“Okay.”
“Someone will be there to get you. Count on it. Coop, what about you?”
“Mia is the priority here. I’ll take care of myself. Thanks, brother.”
The line went dead. I helped Mia down from the blind, both of us moving fast but controlled. The old wood groaned under our weight, and somewhere in the distance, an owl called—that hollow sound that always meant death for something small and helpless.
But not Mia. Not today.
“Listen to me.” I gripped her shoulders then started checking her dress for trackers, since Oliver had placed one before. Nothing this time—they might have been in the shoes. “While you’re running, find mud puddles, creek beds, anything wet and dirty. Smear it on every bit of exposed skin. Your arms, your face, your neck. It’ll help hide you.”
Oliver had said no NVGs or thermal optics, but that was right now, while he had the obvious advantage. I didn’t trust him not to start using them if he couldn’t find Mia right away.
“While I’m running?”
“Every chance you get. Don’t stop long, just grab handfuls as you go. All over yourself and the dress, make yourself look like part of the forest.” I pulled her closer, speaking directly into her ear. “And the self-defense moves we practiced. If anyone gets close enough to grab you?—”
“Throat, eyes, groin.” Her breath was warm against my neck. “I remember.”
“Don’t hesitate. Don’t hold back. Your survival is all that matters. If you find a vehicle before Travis gets Warrior Security on-site, you take it. Hot-wire it, hijack it, put it in neutral and roll it down the fucking hill. Whatever you have to do.”
Her fingers curled into my shirt. “What about you?”
“I’ll buy you time. Slow them down, misdirect them.” I pulled back to look at her face, memorizing every detail—the determined set of her jaw, the fear she was fighting to control, the strength that had always amazed me. “Mia?—”
“Don’t.” She pressed her fingers to my lips. “Don’t say goodbye. Don’t make this final.”
So I kissed her instead. Not gentle, not sweet—desperate and fierce and full of everything I couldn’t say. When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
“Run like hell,” I whispered.
She nodded once, turned, and plunged into the forest, the darkness swallowing her whole. I stood frozen for three heartbeats, listening to her footsteps fade, then sprinted back toward the compound.
The main area was coming alive—lights blazing, voices carrying through the dark, air thick with mist that turned everything dreamlike and surreal. I burst into my cabin, tearing off the suit jacket and dress shoes. Tactical pants went on in seconds, boots that could handle rough terrain, long-sleeved black shirt that would disappear in shadows.
The Glock stayed in the dresser drawer—every instinct screamed to take it, but if Oliver caught me armed, I’d be disqualified. Unable to hunt. Unable to protect her. The ceramic knife usually hidden in my boot’s false sole stayed there too, tucked away like the gun. I’d have to rely on my hands and training alone. Oliver’s rules were clear: no weapons. Break them, and I’d be out of the hunt entirely, leaving Mia defenseless against the others.
The lodge blazed like a beacon when I arrived. The buyers clustered in groups, comparing notes on strategy, flexing their hands and rolling their shoulders like fighters preparing for a bout. Their excitement was thick as blood in the air.
Oliver stood by an espresso machine, looking like he was hosting a dinner party instead of organizing a hunt for human prey. His tactical gear probably cost more than the majority of people made in a year—all black, form-fitted, designed for intimidation rather than function.
“Espresso?” He held up a delicate cup, steam curling like accusation. “Fresh beans from a small farm outside Rome. Flown in yesterday.”
“Pass.”
“Pre-hunt nerves?” His colorless eyes dissected me over the rim. “Or merely eager to begin?”
I forced my shoulders to relax, made myself lean against the wall with studied casualness. “Curious about something. You always win these hunts?”
He set the cup down with a soft clink that somehow sounded like bones breaking. “Not always. Though I confess, my success rate is…substantial.”
“Doesn’t that get boring?”
“My dear Coop.” His laugh was polished, empty. “Winning was never the point. The prize has its charms, certainly, butit’s thepursuitthat feeds something primal in us. Man testing himself against prey, the way nature intended.”
Every word made me want to put my fist through his face. Real men protected. Real men stood between danger and the innocent. Real men didn’t turn terror into entertainment.
“I’ll admit, I do add certain…theatrical elements.” He checked his watch with practiced nonchalance. “The surprise reveal, for instance—prey not knowing their fate until moments before. Creates such authentic fear. And requiring them to run in their evening attire, particularly the heels…” A shrug. “They leave such distinctive tracks. Like following drops of blood through snow.”
