Without glancing at me, she turns and strides toward one of the men. Bending over, she grips his arm and rolls him onto his side. As his face tilts toward the star-streaked sky, my gaze falls on the imprint he’s left in the sand. I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it.
I rarely found amusement in… fuck, anything. Years spent chasing my mission had dulled my emotions, leaving me on autopilot, moving through life like a ghost. But spending time with Estella—hearing her jokes, feeling her lightness—something inside me began to stir, slowly awakening from a long, stubborn slumber.
Now, I find amusement exactly where I shouldn’t, yet I can’t bring myself to complain.
She lowers the scorpion toward the man’s nose, and we both watch as it instinctively clamps onto it, his broad, potato-like nose blanching under the pressure.
“Nice job,” she murmurs quietly before pulling back, leaving the scorpion on his face.
I blink, unsure if I heard her right. She must catch my confusion because she rolls her eyes, and her lips twitch with impatience. “It means nothing yet.” Her chin tilts toward the bodies scattered around us. “They’re still alive.”
I lift my wrist, checking the time. A thin thread of excitement winds through me, a tremor of nervous energy humming under my skin.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks, suspicion coloring her words.
I keep my eyes on my watch, feeling her gaze burn through me. “A few more seconds,” I say simply. From the corner of my eye, I watch her turn, searching for something—or someone—I’m waiting for.
A low grunt slices through the night, and we both jerk our heads toward the sound. One of the men stirs, his movements sluggish, weighed down by sleep. Drowsy confusion clouds his features for a moment before snapping into sharp fear, and then twisting into anger. He lunges to rise, mouth opening for a curse, but his reflexes betray him.
I pull my knife out in one smooth motion, grab his shoulder to steady him, and slice his throat. He gurgles, blood erupting from the wound and running in dark rivers down his white shirt. He thrashes, and it takes his system forever to finally give up—each shiver stretching the moment until his body finally goes slack.
I release him, letting his body crumple into the sand like a discarded sack of potatoes, and lean in with deliberate precision, snatching the pendant from his chest. Diamonds frame it, sparkling cruelly—worth a fortune he’ll never wear from now on.
The rush of the kill ripples through me, sharp and intoxicating, but the action is brief, so it vanishes almost as quickly as it came. The adrenaline fades, leaving a hollow quiet behind. And then, absurdly, like a fucking clockwork mechanism resetting itself, a mundane craving rises through the haze.
I want aburger.
“Just wanted to look him in the eye. At least once,” I say, wiping the blade clean on the hem of my T-shirt before sliding it into my pocket. “Also took a little souvenir for my collection.”
She chews on the corner of her mouth, eyes narrowing into thin, sharp slits as she studies me. “Souvenirs are lame. But okay,” she says lazily.
“What, you never kept any? Not even when you first started?” I press, curiosity threading my voice.
She rests her hands on her hips, tilting her head side to side as if weighing the answer. “I used to keep a journal. It was like therapy for me,” she admits.
A chuckle rises in my chest, but I clamp it down before it escapes. “Did it help?”
Her eyebrows lift, a flicker of surprise crossing her expression. “As you can see—no, it fucking didn’t,” she replies, letting out a short, self-mocking laugh. “So, how did this tiny kill make you feel?”
“Hungry as fuck,” I confess, and for a brief moment, the tension in the desert air loosens, like the edges of a storm just passed.
She glances at the still-sleeping bodies scattered across the sand. “And the rest of them are just gonna stay here till morning?”
I flex my neck before giving the corpse a sharp kick. It rolls aside, lifeless, thudding softly against the desert floor, landing exactly where I need it to.
“No,” I say, letting a hint of intrigue coil through my voice. “But for the rest, we need to head back to the SUV.”
Without waiting for her response, I pivot and start walking away from the camp.
Estella freezes, a sharp hiss sliding past her lips, and a few moments later, she catches up. “What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps. “Hey, asshole! I’m talking to you! Did we just go all this way so you could grab a fucking souvenir?”
A smirk curls my lips, a new, unfamiliar thrill twisting inside me. Since meeting her, my emotions have been a tangled mess—an intoxicating chaos I can’t quite name. And now, the darker side of me savors her confusion, paying her back in kind.
She’s cryptic, always has been. Tonight, the coin flips. Now I get to be the asshole, keeping her on edge, letting her chase answers she can’t quite catch.
I ignore her ridiculous attempts to get my attention—even the moment she practically jumps to reach my face. She’s maybe five-eight, but next to me, she looks deceptively small, all sharp fury packed into a compact frame.
When we’ve put enough distance between us and the camp, I stop abruptly, turn, and slip the binoculars from the cord across my chest before holding them out to her.
