6. Preston #3
“Ready for some fun?” I ask as we stand on the porch, staring into the kind of pitch-black darkness that horror movies warn you about.
Sometimes the dark feels like it wants to eat me alive. Other times—like today—it’s basically my emotional support void.
The only place I can actually breathe.
Jude released tonight’s target fifteen minutes ago, and we watched the sleazy middle-aged bastard—whose eyes are on my personal to-do list—bolt into the forest like a terrified raccoon.
“You can have all the fun you want, but his life is mine,” Jude says, standing on the other side of Kane, twirling his hockey stick.
I tilt my head in Kane’s direction. “No weapon?”
He tucks his phone away—finally prying himself from whatever doomscroll he’s been married to—and shifts his jacket just enough to reveal his gun.
“Man, you’re so boring.” Jude shakes his head. “I bet it comes with a silencer, too.”
“Naturally. Can’t leave evidence behind.”
“This is literally my family’s forest, and we have the cleanup team on standby.” I stride to Jude’s side and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Just say you hate life, unlike me and the big man.”
Jude slams his stick against my shoulder. “Don’t kill him. He’s all mine.”
“Finders keepers,” I singsong, then jump off the porch.
“Motherfucker!”
I hear Jude curse, but I’m already gone, slipping between the trees I know by heart.
A lot of shit has gone down in this forest—including the old-fashioned “character building,” where Kane, Jude, and I got dumped out here and were told to fend for ourselves.
And that’s not even counting all the nights I wandered out here alone. It’s never scared me.
Just…triggered the occasional epic meltdown, but no witnesses, so it doesn’t count.
Imagine if Dad or Lenino had seen me?
RIP, my beautiful body.
Back in the present, I’m sprinting at full speed—basically the only advantage I have over Jude.
Branches and leaves smear across my peripheral vision, and then I catch a glimpse of his massive frame.
Fucking bitch.
He’s not taking my hunt.
I push harder, using every bit of leverage I have, tracking the prey by sound, by movement, by the sharp, sour smell of his fear.
The man’s steps thunder through the forest, heavy and eager, his terror cutting through everything. I can smell it. Feel it crawling under my skin.
The moon flickers behind clouds, barely giving us anything.
But I don’t need it.
I’ve always been at my best in near darkness—where no one can see me.
I catch the man’s shadow and launch myself at him without a single second of hesitation, driving my knife deep into his side.
“Hello, motherfucker. This is your grim reaper reporting for duty.”
The man screams, the sound loud and grating, but it doesn’t touch anything in me.
My vision is red, splashed by his hot blood, and my hand is steady as I shove him against the tree and stab him again and again.
And again.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish, motherfucker.
And just like that, I’m faced with the same shadow that manifests in front of me when I’m stabbing people to death.
The face in the darkness, the one I can’t see properly but know exactly who he is.
“Shh, Preston.”
Stab.
“Stay quiet.”
Stab.
“Don’t make a sound.”
Stab!
Judging by the burning in my arm, I think I accidentally cut myself during the frenzy.
Doesn’t matter.
It’s not really the stabbing that gets me high. It’s the way life leaves their eyes right in front of me. I’m the last person who sees them alive.
Their fucking god on earth.
A rustle yanks my attention, and I whirl around, ready to fight Jude over who gets to finish this motherfucker off. “You better back—”
I stop.
Because it’s not Jude.
The figure in black, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed like he owns the whole damn forest, is definitely not my best friend. The build is similar, sure, but this one wears a solid white mask, and he smells different.
Leather and forest.
Like something that stepped out of the dark just to…what?
Watch me? Hunt me?
“Who are you and how would you like to die?” I tilt my head, probably looking monstrous with blood dripping down my arms and my knife buried in the squirming man’s torso.
The stranger—and he is a stranger, because this forest is off-limits to literally everyone, even Vencor—doesn’t answer. He just straightens from the tree and crooks a finger at me.
Come find out? Is that what he’s saying?
Jude’s heavy footsteps pound somewhere to my right, and in the blink of an eye that I take to check, the stranger is already darting between the trees.
Fucking hell. I can’t believe I’m abandoning a kill, but there are bigger issues here. Such as, why is a masked stranger in my fucking forest?
I yank my knife free and sprint after him. Annoyingly, I lose him and start to slow near a large tree.
There’s a hum in the air—a tension that crawls under my skin, sliding from my spine to the tips of my fingers.
All of a sudden, a large, gloved, very familiar hand wraps around my throat from behind, dragging me back against a hard chest.
Tingles explode across every inch of my skin as hot breaths brush the shell of my ear.
“Hello again, baby.”