I pull out my pack of cigarettes, light one, and place the packet back in my pocket. I’m not much of a smoker, but sometimes, when the urge strikes, I like the way it tastes.
And the thing I like the taste of best is not here.
Silence fills the field where we wait, giving Derrick a head start.
The hunt, the game, is about to begin, and every member standing here is excited. It electrifies the air around us.
Cracking my neck and blowing out a puff of smoke, I toss the cigarette on the ground and crush it under my black boot. The members gather around me while I slide on my mask. The only light comes from the half-moon hanging in the sky, so it’s not as bright as we like.
But it will do.
“In the shadows, we hunt. In the night, we kill,” I say, and everyone repeats the words.
The quietness takes hold once again, and we all turn and start walking to the edge of the forest. Even with our masks in place, I can tell each member apart by what weapon they carry. I use no weapon, which is what I prefer. I like the feeling of breaking a neck with my bare hands. It’s a rush that I don’t often feel in the ring when I fight, because killing a man in an underground fighting ring is illegal. And while what we’re doing right now is highly illegal, we are removing scum from the earth. So, I suppose the hunt could, in a morbid way, be considered a service to the world.
Granted, most normal people don’t have the urge to kill people, unlike the members of the Forsaken. But we’ve found a way to quiet that urge by hunting the worst of the worst and sometimes, just sometimes, those that fucking piss me off.
Dried grass crunches under my boots as I stop just outside the forest. Everyone else has already taken off into the darkness of the trees, and I’m left standing here alone. I consider lighting another cigarette, but then a twig snaps to my left. Turning my head in the direction of the sound, I see someone lying on the ground about twenty yards away.
How dumb can you be?
I always hang back for a few minutes, and this is one of the reasons I do. None of the cars have keys in them, but if the prey knows how to hotwire a car, it could be a problem.
I turn my back on the person and walk toward the trees. It’s dark, so he doesn’t actually see me stop behind a thick trunk, but I watch him as he makes his way to the cars. I consider lighting another smoke and watching him for a while because the members will be annoyed if I kill him so early on in this hunt.
As I observe him, it hits me that I don’t really want to be here.
I would rather be with Cressida.
And that thought is so fucking maddening.
Annoyed with where my thoughts have strayed, I step out from my hiding spot and approach the makeshift parking lot. I see Derrick pick up a rock and use it to break a window on one of the cars. It shatters, and he immediately sticks his hand through the jagged opening to unlock the door. He pulls the door open, slides inside, and shuts the door behind him. Then he leans down like he’s checking the floor, or under the dashboard.
Maybe this fucker can hotwire a car.
He doesn’t notice me as I sneak closer, pick up the rock he dropped, and smash it into the side of his head. It’s a good-sized rock, and I struck him hard with it, so it leaves a gash on his temple. Blood flows freely from the wound, and he raises his hand to press it against the cut.
With him distracted, I wrench open the car door, haul him out, and drop him to the ground at my feet. Because of my mask, he doesn’t know who is leaning over him.
“You thought you were clever,” I say with a smile he can’t see.
“P-Please. I can p-pay you,” Derrick stammers as he tries to get up.
I put my foot on his chest to hold him down.
“I don’t need your money.” Maybe if I were a lesser man, I would take his bribe and then kill him. But I can’t be persuadedby money. I have more than enough of my own and don’t need it. It’s one of my strengths—knowing how to make money.
I press my foot down hard onto his chest until I hear a cracking sound. He wraps his bloody hands around my foot, trying to push it away. But I don’t budge.
“Please.Please.” The photographs from his file, the ones of him with young women, still lay scattered nearby. Those women probably uttered those exact same words to him.
Bastard.
He tries to catch his breath when I lift my foot from him, but I’m pretty sure I’ve broken some of his ribs. He struggles as he tries to stand, hunched over in pain. But he’s in flight mode, which means he’s trying to get the fuck out of here, no matter how injured he is. Before he can take a single step, I move up behind him and wrap my hands around his neck.
Then I squeeze.
And then I squeeze even harder.
