Run Little Fawn (Hunter’s Mark #1)

Chapter 6

THE FAWN

The bus rumbles to life, the vibrations shaking me out of my spiraling thoughts. I force myself to focus on the present, on the practicalities of my situation. I need a plan, a strategy, some way to stay one step ahead of the Hunter.

First things first, I need to find a place to lay low, to regroup and gather my wits. Somewhere I can hole up and figure out my next move.

I check my duffel bag to make sure the cash is still there. It's more money than I've ever had, but it feels like a pittance compared to the enormity of what I'm up against.

Still, it's a start. Enough to buy myself some time to think.

As the miles slip by and my life fades into the distance, I let my mind wander, trying to make sense of the impossible situation I find myself in. I try to picture Lucian's face, to conjure up some image of the person who's turned my life upside down, but all I can see are those piercing gray eyes behind the mask.

Last night was such a haze, I don't remember if he had any distinguishing features other than hot as fuck, but in a menacing way that should've been a bigger red flag if I'd been thinking clearly. I just hadn't thought anyone actually acted like that in real life. All the psychos I've ever known have been perfectly normal people. Or greasy.

Lucian is neither.

Far from it.

What does he want from me?

I'm so… normal compared to him. What twisted pleasure does he get from hunting me down like an animal, from toying with my life like it's some kind of sick game?

But even as revulsion courses through me, I can't deny the traitorous thrill that races down my spine at the memory of his touch, the way his fingers felt against my skin in the heady darkness of the coat room.

It's wrong. So fucking wrong.

I shake my head, disgusted with myself, and rest against the window.

Hours slip by, the landscape outside my window shifting from suburban sprawl and the distant city to rolling hills and wide open sky. I doze off at some point, my exhaustion finally catching up with me, but it's a fitful, restless sleep, plagued by dreams of glinting silver masks and the echo of a clock ticking down to zero.

When I finally jolt awake, the bus is pulling into a nondescript station in a town I've never heard of. As far as this line goes. I gather my things, my muscles stiff and aching from sitting for so long, and step out into the cool evening air.

The town is small, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone and strangers stick out like sore thumbs. I keep my head down as I make my way to the first motel I see, a run-down little place with a flickering vacancy sign and peeling paint on the doors.

The clerk barely glances up from his phone as I pay for a room in cash, too engrossed in whatever game he's playing to spare me more than a cursory once-over. I take the key with a mumbled thanks, my heart pounding in my throat as I make my way to the room at the end of the row.

It's not much, just a double bed and a tiny bathroom with a shower that's seen better days. But it's a roof over my head and a door that locks, and right now, that's enough.

I drop my bag on the bed, my hands shaking as I dig through it for the pepper spray and the knife. I unwrap the knife and set them both on the nightstand within easy reach, a paltry defense against the looming threat that feels like it's breathing down my neck.

I don't know what to do with myself except pace the confines of the room. My mind races, spinning with half-formed plans and desperate strategies, each one more far-fetched than the last.

I need a gun. Something to even the playing field, to give me a fighting chance against the Hunter who's chosen me as his prey.

But how the hell would I even get one? There are permits, licenses, background checks. I've heard there are ways around that by buying privately, but I have no idea where to begin. Not if I don't want to get killed by the person I'm trying to buy a gun from before the Hunter even gets a chance to try.

Anyway, with my luck, I'd end up shooting myself in the foot before I ever got a chance to use it on him. It's not like I have any idea what I'm doing with one. Nobody ever taught me. Nobody even wanted to teach me.

No, I need to be smarter than that.

First, I need to sleep, to rest and recharge before the Hunt begins in the morning. I need every ounce of energy I can scrape up, not just for my body, but for my brain.

But even as I crawl into the lumpy motel bed, my mind won't quiet, won't stop spinning with endless possibilities of what's to come. I doubt I actually got away from a psycho who managed to text my fucking best friend and my mom.

I close my eyes, trying to will myself into unconsciousness. But sleep dances just out of reach as the red minutes tick by on the digital clock glowing on the bedside table.

Just as I'm finally starting to drift off, a sound jolts me back to full alertness. Buzzing, insistent and unmistakable.

A phone.

For a moment, I'm confused, my exhausted brain struggling to make sense of the noise. But then it all comes rushing back.

The package, the phone, the ominous instructions to keep it with me at all times.

Except I didn't. I left it behind, abandoned on my coffee table like the ticking time bomb it is. Just like I left my phone. So how the fuck is it buzzing now, in the middle of the night, in a motel room hours away from my apartment?

Dread curls in my stomach as I sit up, my eyes scanning the room for the source of the sound. And there it is, sitting innocuously on the dresser by the door. The black burner phone, its screen lit up with a single notification.

A sense of dread and violation washes over me, shaking me to my core.

He found me already. The game hasn't even begun, and he fucking found me. He was here, in this room while I was sleeping, and he…

With trembling hands, I reach for the burner phone, my heart pounding in my throat as I swipe to unlock the screen. One new message from an unknown number.

Keep this with you for important updates. Remember, the Hunt begins at 7 AM sharp.

A sob catches in my throat, a mix of fear and frustration and sheer, unadulterated panic. They found me. Of course they found me. What the fuck was I thinking, trying to run from an organization with the resources to infiltrate every corner of my life?

Oh, right. I don't have a fucking choice.

I hurl the phone across the room, a scream building in my chest as it hits the wall and falls to the floor with a dull thud. I bury my face in my hands, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the enormity of my situation crashes over me like a tidal wave.

There's no escape. No way out of this twisted game that doesn't end with me dead or worse. The rules are clear, the consequences deadly. I have no choice but to play along, to dance to the tune of my puppet master until the final curtain falls.

But even as despair threatens to swallow me whole, a tiny spark of defiance flickers to life in my chest. They may have me cornered, but I'm not going down without a fight. If the wolf wants his fawn, he's going to have to work for it.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders as I rise from the bed. I retrieve the phone from where it lies on the carpet, my fingers steady as I slip it into my pocket.

Seven in the morning.

That's my deadline, the ticking clock counting down to the start of the most dangerous game of my life.

But I'll be ready.

I have to be.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.

I crawl back into bed, my mind racing with plans and contingencies, with every scrap of knowledge I've ever gleaned from true crime documentaries and survival shows.

I may be the fawn in this fucked up fairy tale, but I'll be damned if I make it easy for the big bad wolf to devour me whole.