The Hunt

33. Rhett

33

Rhett

The northern wing of Wildercliff Manor loomed in the distance, its spires jutting against the afternoon sky like jagged teeth. It felt like the perfect metaphor for this fucked-up place—nice enough on the surface but designed to devour anyone who got too close.

I fucking hated it.

I gritted my teeth and pushed forward, my mind spiraling through the chaotic memories of the last day. My anger over the Patriarchs’ betrayal had been simmering since my confrontation with JJ, but right now it felt ready to boil over, destroying everything in its path.

Every society member had been fed the same lie, groomed to believe we were all warriors in some grand tradition, protectors of the Hunt’s sacred legacy. What a fucking joke.

We weren’t warriors . We were just big, brutish pawns in a sick game, shuffled across the board for amusement and profit. The Patriarchs didn’t actually care all that much about skills or merit. What they really cared about was filling their pockets at the expense of innocent people, letting them die at the savage hands of their ignorant pawns. Guys like me.

Then again… not all Wilders were ignorant pawns.

JJ had known the truth about the society all along, courtesy of Peter, but it had never bothered him. He’d joined this year’s Hunt anyway, presumably because he enjoyed killing innocent people. And considering what Ev had told me about his sexual proclivities, he probably would’ve fucked the corpses of the victims if he wasn’t worried about being seen by the cameras that covered most of the island.

Sick fuck .

Then there were guys like Matt and Jordan. Also sons of Patriarchs. I wasn’t sure if their fathers had filled them in on all of the society’s dark secrets, but they behaved with an arrogance and impunity that could only come from knowing the rules would never apply to them. The way they’d treated Nikki was a perfect example of that. Fucking predatory pricks.

Not so long ago, I thought Ryan Gardner was an exception to the rest of us—a sleazy asshole who needed to be dealt with after he’d wormed his way into the society and behaved badly. Now I knew better.

Ryan was an asshole, but clearly, he wasn’t an exception, and he wasn’t punished because the Patriarchs disapproved of his behavior toward women. He was punished because he lacked the power and privilege of other certain members, making him the perfect example to keep the rest in line. But guys above him in the social pecking order wouldn’t have been punished for the same crime at all. Guys like JJ, Matt, or Jordan.

Or me, because my father was a Patriarch too. A man who sat at the table where every decision was made, every lie spun. But not once had he told me the truth. Not once had he pulled me aside and said, ‘ This is what’s really going on in the upper rungs of the society’.

I wondered why he’d never told me anything. Did he simply not trust me? Or was he waiting for the right moment, some grand reveal when it would serve a distinct purpose for him?

Or maybe he never intended to tell me at all. Maybe he saw me as just another pawn.

It didn’t matter in the end. Whatever my father’s reasons were, I wasn’t going to sit back and let him—or the other Patriarchs—use me anymore. Not without a fight.

Ev’s ingenious scheme would help with that.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I yanked it out to see a message from Nikki. Just got the pics you sent. They’re perfect. We’re sending them to Ev’s friend now.

I tapped out a reply. She’s definitely on board?

Nikki: Yup. Ev explained it all to her when we called. She was shocked (I mean, duh, who wouldn’t be??) but she understands the danger, so she’ll keep it under wraps until we say go. She’s also come up with the PERFECT caption for the post. Where are you at?

Me: Heading to the northern wing now. Gonna try to get my father’s phone.

Nikki: Good luck. Really hope you can get all that stuff…

After I entered the northern wing, I headed for the society’s common room on the first floor and pushed open the heavy oak door.

The scent of cigar smoke and aged whiskey instantly hit me. The room was a blend of old money and indulgence: mahogany-paneled walls, leather armchairs, and a bar stocked with liquor that probably cost more than most people’s yearly salaries. A fire roared in the oversized hearth on the far side, casting flickering shadows over the faces of the men scattered throughout the room.

My gaze swept the space automatically, cataloging who was there. Most of the Wilders were present, drunkenly laughing or arguing over bets, and a few hunters were there too, presumably having returned for some R knew I was stalling him so I could hold onto his phone as long as possible. But then he exhaled deeply and ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re right,” he muttered. “Absolutely right. Sometimes you just get so used to having things done for you that you forget how to be a decent person. Or a decent husband, in this case.”

I stole another glance at the phone screen. Export progress: 2% complete.

Fuck . This was going to take a while. I would need to drag this restaurant conversation out for as long as I possibly could.

“Could you look up that Italian place by the marina?” I asked. “I think the name is Amore something.”

Dad nodded and sat down. Once he’d opened up the laptop, he glanced at me over his shoulder. “Where did you say it is? The marina?”

“Yup.”

He turned back to the computer and typed rapidly. “There’s one called Ciao Amore on Victor Street,” he said. “It’s not at the marina, but it’s close. Is that the one you mean?”

“Maybe,” I said, dragging the two syllables out as much as I could. “Whatever the place was, it had some sort of truffle arancini that Mom absolutely devoured last time we were there. That’s why I’m thinking we should book it for her birthday.”

Dad nodded, peering at the screen. “I’ll look at the menu,” he murmured.

While he did that, I looked back at his phone screen. Export progress: 13% complete.

Goddamn, this was fucking slow.

I gritted my teeth and sucked in a deep breath. I had to stay calm, or else my father might begin to suspect I was up to something.

“I don’t see any truffle arancini,” he said.

“You might be looking at the takeout menu. Sometimes it’s different to the regular one.”

He leaned in a little closer and clicked something. Then he nodded. “Ah, yes, you’re right. I didn’t even notice that,” he said. “All right, here’s the in-restaurant menu. Let me see… ah! Yes, here we go. Truffle arancini.”

“Great.” I kept staring at his phone screen. Export progress: 29% complete. “Oh, shit. Wait.”

Dad glanced back at me. “What’s wrong?”

“I just remembered. I went there with some of the Wilder guys last year, and JJ ended up getting food poisoning. He shit his pants right there in the restaurant. It was fucked.”

“Oh, no. That sounds awful.” Dad grimaced. “And disgusting.”

“I can’t believe I forgot about that,” I said, shaking my head. “Anyway, we don’t want to expose Mom to a straight-up health hazard on her birthday. So what’s that other place she really likes down at the marina? The Greek one.”

Dad frowned slightly. “I don’t remember going to a Greek restaurant.”

“We went there a couple of years ago for Erin’s birthday. Mom really liked the spanakopita and said she’d like to visit again someday.”

He turned back to the laptop. “Let me see,” he said, typing again. “Is it Dionysos? That seems to be a Greek place, and it’s at the Havenport marina. Although I don’t remember ever going there.”

Export progress: 56% complete.

“That could be it, but I’m not sure. The name doesn’t really sound familiar,” I said slowly. “Check the menu for spanakopita, I guess.”

Export progress: 63% complete.

Shit. This fucking app really needed to hurry the hell up. I couldn’t keep a conversation about Greek restaurants going forever.

“I don’t see anything like that on the menu,” Dad said, frowning at the screen. “This must be the wrong place.”

“Maybe you should go back to Google and search for ‘Greek restaurant Havenport spanakopita,” I suggested. “That’ll probably work.”

“Good idea. Just give me a second.”

Export progress: 79% complete. It was getting faster now. Thank fucking god.

“Here we go,” Dad said. “There’s another place called The Olive Grove, and they have spanakopita.”

I feigned recognition, nodding fervently. “Yeah, that’s the place. Do they have a contact email for reservations? Or just an online form?”

Export progress: 89% complete.

“They have both, but I’d rather just call them. It’s quicker,” Dad replied. He glanced back at me and jabbed his thumb toward his phone. “Are you done with that? I should call them now, before I forget.”

For fuck’s sake. The export bar was still stuck at 89%.

“Yup, I messaged Mom,” I said. “Although… I just realized I should probably message Erin too. I feel like I’ve been a bad brother. I’ve barely even seen her this year.”

“It’s tough with her being at boarding school,” Dad said, nodding slowly. “I feel like I’ve barely seen her either.”

The export bar finally started moving again. Export progress: 94% complete.

“One second,” I said.

I tapped out a message to Erin. Hey, it’s Rhett. My phone’s not working, so I’m borrowing Dad’s. Our hunting trip is going well. I think Dad was worried I’d accidentally shoot myself in the foot, but we’re all good. How’s school? Did you have any cool Halloween parties?

The export was finally complete. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief and removed the Wilder app from the recently-accessed application bar. Then I handed Dad’s phone back to him. “All done,” I said. “You can call the restaurant now.”

He glanced down at his screen and snorted as he read the message I’d just sent to my little sister. “I wasn’t worried about you accidentally shooting yourself,” he said. “You’re one of the best hunters we’ve had in years.”

“She doesn’t know that, though. She doesn’t even know what we’re doing out here,” I said. “So I figured I should just keep the discussion light.”

“Good point.” He smiled faintly. “Anyway, I’ll call this place and make the reservation for your mother’s birthday now.”

“Great. I’m going to head back out to the hunting grounds.”

“Good luck out there. I know today’s been a bit slow for everyone, but I think it’s just because of the weather. It’ll pick up soon. Always does.”

“Yeah, the weather’s been shitty, but to be honest, I’ve been kinda lazy, too,” I replied. “But I just needed a break. I’m ready to get back out there now.”

Dad’s smile widened. “Make me proud, son.”

“I will. Those assholes out there won’t see me coming at all.”

I wasn’t technically lying. I just wasn’t being clear about which specific ‘assholes’ I was talking about.

Once I left my father’s suite, I texted Nikki again. Got the stuff from the app. Ev was right—there’s a ton of shit in there that the rest of us don’t have access to. I haven’t looked at it yet, but I’m sending it to Ev’s email right now. She can log in on your phone, right?

Nikki: Yup. We’ll forward it to her friend for later. Are you heading back out to the hunting grounds now?

Me: Yup. You two ready for your side of things?

Nikki sent through a photo a few seconds later. Ev was staring at the camera with raised brows, barely recognizable with her auburn wig, black-rimmed glasses, and makeup.

Me: Holy shit. You made her look like a different person.

Nikki: Yup. I don’t think a single soul on this island will recognize her.

Me: Nice work. Seriously.

Nikki: No prob. Anyway, good luck out there. Next few hours might be rough for you, considering what you have to do…

Me: I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about Ev getting caught. Be careful, okay?

Nikki: You too.

I put my phone away, strode out of the manor, and headed toward the nearest tunnel entrance, my boots hitting the gravel with a sharp crunch. The cold air bit at my skin, keeping my head clear despite the simmering rage inside. My mind was locked on a single goal: eliminate the competition.

There were originally thirty hunters altogether, but JJ was gone, and I didn’t have to count myself in that number anymore. I’d also spotted seven hunters in the common room twenty minutes ago, which brought the total number of active hunters on the grounds to twenty-one.

I didn’t need to kill them—not unless I had to—but I’d be damned if I was going to let them keep hunting and killing the players. A few well-placed shots, and they’d be out of the game for good, unable to move or fight.

When I finally reached the edge of the hunting grounds, I paused for a breath and scanned the area ahead. Somewhere within that haze of dark trees, my first target was waiting. Hunter 17. I’d noticed he always stuck to this part of the island, so he was the easiest one for me to go after first.

I kept moving, trudging through the underbrush. Finally, I had 17 in my sights, walking around sector B2 with his eyes trained on the canopy above, like he was expecting to find a player hiding up on a branch somewhere.

I moved silently, my boots barely making a sound against the dirt as I crept closer, keeping to the shadows. Then I took a slow, steady breath and crouched behind a bush, my rifle coming to my shoulder. The steady click of the safety falling away was the only noise in the crisp air.

I exhaled and squeezed the trigger. The sharp crack of the gunshot rang out, and the hunter dropped, his leg buckling beneath him as the wound in his ankle started pissing out blood. “Fuck!” he shouted, voice ragged with pain. “What the fuck was that?”

I smiled thinly and ignored his cries, slipping back into the trees.

One down... twenty to go.