Run Little Fawn (Hunter’s Mark #1)

Chapter 8

THE FAWN

The parking lot outside the 24/7 bar is a sea of cracked asphalt and faded paint, the neon signs casting an eerie glow over the handful of cars scattered across the lot.

Two hours. That's all I have left before the Hunt officially begins, before the twisted game I've been forced into kicks into high gear. Two hours to put as much distance between myself and the wolf on my heels as possible.

I scan the lot, my eyes searching for the perfect mark. I need a car, something cheap but reliable and unassuming that won't draw too much attention on the road. And I need it now, before the clock runs out and my head start disappears like smoke in the wind.

That's when I see it—a rusted-out Ford pickup, its paint chipped and its bumpers dented. It's the kind of car that screams "broke college student" or "down-on-his-luck blue-collar worker". In other words, it's exactly what I need.

I watch as the probable owner stumbles out of the bar, heading right toward it, his gait unsteady and his eyes glassy with alcohol. He fumbles with his keys, nearly dropping them twice before he manages to unlock the driver's side door.

Showtime.

I step off the curb, my steps quick and purposeful as I approach him. He looks up as I draw near, his brow furrowing in confusion and annoyance.

"Hey, man," I say, keeping my voice low and friendly. "I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I'm in a bit of a bind and I need to buy your truck."

He blinks at me, his mouth hanging open in a slack-jawed expression that would be comical if the situation weren't so dire. "Wha'?"

I pull out a wad of cash from my pocket, the bills crisp and new. "Three grand, cash. No questions asked. I just need the car, like, now."

His eyes widen, his gaze darting between the money and my face. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head, the alcohol-soaked gears grinding as he tries to process my offer.

"Three grand?" he slurs, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. "For this ugly piece of shit?"

I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. "It still runs, doesn't it?" I ask pointedly.

"Sure does." He narrows his eyes, a sudden spark of cunning flaring to life in their depths. "Make it four and you got yourself a deal."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he's going to try to haggle, even in his drunken state. But I don't have time for this, not with the clock ticking down and the wolf drawing ever closer.

"Fine," I snap, thrusting the money into his hands. "Four grand. Now give me the keys."

He blinks again, his fingers curling around the cash as if he can't quite believe it's real. And then a slow, stupid grin spreads across his face. "You got it, sweetheart."

I take the keys, my hands shaking. I can't believe I'm doing this. I adjust the duffel bag on my shoulder and go around for the door when the drunk calls, "Hey. Cou'd ya give me a ride?"

I give him a look of disgust, considering he was about to get behind the wheel like this a minute ago. "Take an Uber, you've got the cash," I mutter, slamming and locking the door behind me. I leave the asshole dazed and confused, gaping after me as I peel out of the parking lot.

She starts up right away, which is a relief. And a bit of a surprise. But I figured if I went for anything nicer, the owner wouldn't be too keen on selling it to a random stranger in a parking lot without notaries and all that bullshit.

But it runs, and that's all that matters.

I merge onto the highway, the traffic blessedly light at this late hour. I keep my eyes on the road, my mind racing as I try to plan my next move.

I'll have to ditch this car soon enough, trade it in for something else to throw off any potential pursuers, but I figure this should buy me a day at least. And I need to stock up on supplies—food, water, maybe even a weapon if I can find one in a similarly unofficial fashion. After the Hunter showed up in my hotel room, I've decided it's worth the risk.

There's gotta be a flea market somewhere a state or two from here with an unscrupulous vendor willing to sell me a gun without any fanfare.

But first things first—gas. The needle on the fuel gauge is hovering just above empty, the light blinking an angry red in the darkness of the cab. Of course that drunk asshole wouldn't think ahead.

I take the next exit, pulling into a 24-hour gas station just off the highway. The fluorescent lights flicker and buzz as I fill up the tank, casting harsh shadows across the cracked concrete.

As I wait for the pump to click off, I rummage through the junk scattered across the back of the truck bed beneath a pile of blankets and tarps. Just a few old tires and rusty junk the owner was probably planning on selling for scrap. The back of the cab isn't much better. Fast food wrappers, empty soda cans, a few crumpled receipts. But wedged between the seats, I find a treasure trove—a battered leather jacket that smells faintly of cigarettes and a baseball cap with a logo I don't recognize.

I slip them on, pulling the cap low over my eyes and zipping the jacket up to my chin. It's not much of a disguise, but it's better than nothing. At least I won't be quite so recognizable if anyone comes looking for me.

The pump clicks off and I replace the nozzle, my movements quick and efficient. I climb back into the driver's seat, my heart pounding as I pull out onto the highway once more.

I've been driving for about an hour when the burner phone buzzes in my pocket, the vibration startling me out of my anxious thoughts. I glance at the screen, my blood running cold at the message displayed there.

The Hunt has begun. You have seven days, little fawn. Run fast and run far, but know that I will always find you. - H

H?

Oh. For Hunter.

Cute.

My hands tighten on the wheel, my knuckles turning white with the force of my grip. He's taunting me, the bastard. Toying with me like a cat with a mouse, secure in the knowledge that he holds all the power.

But I won't let him win. I can't. Too much is at stake—my life, my freedom, my very sanity. I'll run as far and as fast as I can, and when he catches up to me?

I'll be ready.