Make It Hurt

Prologue

‘K’

Miles was crying again.

He was curled up in the far corner of the basement cell, knees hugged to his chest, shivering like a wet mutt.

There was dried blood in the creases of his lips.

He’d split them open two nights ago chewing on the end of a small, rusted pipe, thinking he could sharpen it into a makeshift blade to use on me.

Ten out of ten for effort. Zero for creativity.

I leaned my shoulder against the iron bars, fingers tapping idly on the hilt of my knife.

“I’m cold,” he mumbled, not looking up at me. “And I’m so hungry. Please… I just want to go home.”

I didn’t respond. Just stared blankly at him. He was utterly pathetic and predictable. Guys like him always were, so unsurprisingly, he’d broken pretty quickly after I took him.

Having said that, his resistance had still lasted a little longer than I initially expected. But maybe that was on me. For some time now, my focus hadn’t been what it used to, because of her. The object of my obsession.

Kennedy Campbell.

I couldn’t stop picturing her in all the little moments she thought no one saw.

Her pretty face lit by the glow of her laptop at two in the morning.

The slightly off-center furrow between her brows when she was thinking too hard.

The way her mouth twisted when she was pissed but didn’t want to say anything in case it caused trouble.

The way she always chewed on her left pinkie fingernail when she was uncertain about something.

She probably thought no one ever noticed any of those things.

She was wrong.

Miles spoke up again, voice thin and reedy. “Please… I want to go home.”

“Yeah, you said that already. But you don’t really have a home anymore, do you?” I said. “You made sure of that a very long time ago. Ten years ago, in fact.”

He swallowed audibly. “Are you ever going to tell me why you’re doing this to me?” he asked. “I gave you everything you asked for.”

“You already know why,” I said, lifting a brow. “We’ve discussed it at length, haven’t we?”

“I just meant… I don’t know why you’re still keeping me here if you’re not going to kill me,” he muttered. “Please… just tell me something . Anything. I don’t even know how long I’ve been down here anymore.”

I tilted my head. “Does it matter?”

He finally looked up at me then. His eyes were big and glassy, like a deer that had just realized it was in the crosshairs.

“Please,” he croaked. “Just stop . Stop torturing me.”

I crouched down, resting my arms on my knees as I gave him the same look people gave to strays they were about to dump at the edge of the highway. “Lucky for you,” I said. “Tonight’s the big one.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’m letting you go.”

His whole body lifted with those four words, and hope flooded his face, quick and clumsy. God, it was almost sweet.

“You mean it?” he asked. “You’re… you’re really letting me go? After all this time?”

I nodded slowly. “Absolutely. You’ll be a free man soon.”

He started crying harder and laughing with disbelief at the same time. “Th-thank you. Thank you, thank—”

I held up a finger. “There’s just one catch.”

His hope died beautifully. Not all at once. No, it stuttered and choked, like an engine gasping for fuel. Then he was frozen, every muscle tensed, the way most people got when they realized the fine print had betrayed them.

“I’m going to release you into the woods,” I said, voice smooth as silk. “And then I’m going to hunt you.”

His mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. Just air.

“If you make it out of the woods, I’ll actually let you go. Scout’s honor.” I smiled coldly. “But if you don’t…”

I let the lingering silence finish the sentence, because fear lived longer in the blanks.

The truth was: Miles wasn’t getting out of these vast woods. He’d never, ever escape me. But it made the whole thing much more entertaining to let him think it was a possibility. Added some spice. And tonight, the woods were extra dark. More of a challenge for me. More fun.

Still…

Even in this moment—knife in hand, adrenaline humming—I found my thoughts drifting. Wondering what she was doing right now. Wondering if she felt safe, or if she had some sort of sixth sense about what was coming her way soon.

I yanked Miles outside by the chain wrapped around his ankle. He was too weak to walk as fast as me, but I didn’t mind. I’d always been a patient guy.

The trees greeted us like sentinels; tall black shapes in the moonless night. I stopped at the edge of the clearing and crouched down beside Miles to unhook his chain.

“Run,” I whispered, voice low in his ear.

He hesitated.

“Go on,” I said, giving him a little shove. “You’ve got a ten-second head start. Make it count.”

To his credit, he stumbled to his feet. His legs wobbled like twigs in a stiff breeze, but he ran anyway. Or at least tried to.

I waited.

Ten…

Nine…

Eight…

I didn’t count aloud to taunt Miles. That would feel tacky in a moment like this. Instead, I watched him disappear into the trees. Listened to his wheezing breath and the crack of branches under his feet.

Then I finally started walking. Not fast. No need. He was already tiring himself out.

I followed the sound of his panic. The broken rhythm of his footfalls and the frantic rustle of leaves. I could see his shape now, stumbling over a low shrub.

Then I was on him.

I yanked him back by the collar of his shirt, and he screamed like an animal caught in a trap. I let him go, and he fell on his ass with his arms out, sobbing and begging in the same breath. “Please, I—I did what you said! I ran! You said I was free!”

“Only if you made it out of the woods,” I reminded him, stepping closer. “But come on, Miles. You knew you wouldn’t. You knew this had to happen.”

He shook his head, lips trembling, trying to form some final argument.

I raised the knife and smiled.