Chapter 41
Brooke
Krueger moves ahead of me without making a sound.
He doesn't trot the way most dogs do. His body moves through the woods with a low, predatory rhythm, shoulders rolling beneath thick fur while his head stays low and his ears turn toward every small shift in the trees around us.
The forest behind the safe house is still damp from the night before. Pine needles cling to the ground in dark patches, and the cold morning air fills my lungs with the scent of wet soil and pine resin.
Seth and Beau are back at the clearing near the bunker fueling the cars before we move out. Beau had already completed a full perimeter sweep this morning, and nothing has tripped the wires and nothing has moved on the cameras.
Still, I bring my gun.
And the knife.
Some habits never go away just because someone tells you it is safe.
Krueger drifts ahead of me along the narrow trail, occasionally glancing back over his shoulder to make sure I am still following. The leash hangs loose in my hand, mostly unnecessary.
I need the air.
Training has been brutal the last few days and my body feels every bit of it. My shoulders ache from hours of drills and my thighs burn from running hills and sparring sessions that push me harder than the last.
My ass is still sore from yesterday.
But it was absolutely worth it.
I stretch my hips a little while I walk, trying to loosen the stiffness in my lower back and legs. The soreness is not enough to slow me down, but it is enough to remind me exactly how much Seth pushed my body the night before.
Krueger pauses a few yards ahead and looks back at me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I murmur. “I’m coming.”
When he circles back toward me, I crouch and brush my hand along the thick fur at his neck. His tail sweeps slowly through the leaves and pine needles.
For a few minutes the woods feel quiet.
Almost normal.
Then a rifle shot cracks through the trees.
The trunk behind me explodes in a violent burst of bark. Wood splinters tear past my shoulder and scatter into my hair.
I drop flat against the ground.
Krueger growls and sprints. One second he stands beside me and the next he vanishes into the trees, his body cutting silently through the underbrush as he disappears toward the ridge above the trail.
Another shot tears through the air.
Dirt erupts inches from my hand.
I roll behind the thick base of an oak and press my back against the trunk. My heart slams hard enough that my vision pulses with it. I force myself to inhale slowly and release the breath with control before panic can turn into something useless.
A third shot cracks through the woods.
The bark above my head bursts apart and splinters rain down across my shoulder.
I drop to my stomach and begin crawling, dragging myself through damp soil and pine needles while keeping thick tree trunks between me and the slope above. My elbows burn as they scrape across roots and gravel. My palms slip through mud while branches brush across my back.
Another shot rings out.
The sound drives straight through my chest.
I flatten myself against the ground and listen.
Then I see it.
A faint flicker through the branches higher up the ridge. A glass lens catches light for half a second, followed by the subtle shift of dark fabric pressed against the bark of a tree.
I draw my gun and lean just far enough around the trunk to fire once toward the glint.
I'm forcing him to move.
The shot cracks through the woods and shreds a cluster of leaves above his position. A branch snaps somewhere deeper in the canopy.
Silence hangs in the air for a moment.
Then his rifle answers.
The bullet slams through the trunk inches from my hip.
He is close.
The shooter stays patient.
So do I.
I crawl again, moving from one tree to another while keeping my body tight to the earth. My breathing slows as the fear in my chest hardens into something colder and more focused.
If he wants me, he will have to come lower.
The woods go quiet.
Too quiet.
Then a scream tears through the trees.
The sound is short and wet and cut off halfway through.
Something heavy crashes through branches higher up the ridge.
A deep, savage snarl follows.
Krueger.
My head snaps up toward the slope.
Leaves shake violently while branches crack under the weight of struggling bodies. A man’s voice breaks into a choking sound that hovers somewhere between a scream and a gargle.
Then the snarling grows vicious.
I scramble to my feet.
Seth appears between two pines at the same moment, moving fast toward the ridge. Beau comes from the opposite direction with his gun already raised.
“Stay behind me,” Seth says.
I climb the slope with them.
We find them about twenty yards up the ridge.
The sniper lies on his back against a fallen log with his rifle twisted beside him in the leaves.
Krueger stands over him.
The dog’s jaws are buried deep in the man’s throat.
Blood sprays across the forest floor as Krueger wrenches his head sideways and tears deeper into the wound. The sound of tearing flesh carries through the trees.
The man’s hands claw weakly at Krueger’s neck while his body kicks against the ground in fading panic. His arms tremble without enough strength to push the dog away.
Blood pumps through the shredded opening in his throat in thick bursts while he tries to drag air into ruined lungs.
Krueger only releases him when Seth gives a sharp command.
“Krueger.”
The dog steps back reluctantly while his chest heaves and dark blood drips from his muzzle.
The sniper tries to breathe.
The sound comes out as a wet bubbling choke.
His eyes are wide with panic while blood fills his throat and floods into his lungs.
I step closer and look down at him.
His throat has been torn open into mangled muscle and shredded skin. Every attempt to inhale forces more blood through the ruined tissue while his chest struggles uselessly for air.
He is drowning in it.
Beau steps beside me and raises his pistol.
The shot cracks once.
The man’s head snaps sideways and his body goes still.
Silence settles over the forest again.
Krueger stands beside the body with his shoulders tense and his blue eyes locked on the corpse as though he will gladly tear into it again if Seth allows it.
Seth nudges the fallen rifle with his boot.
“Rafe,” he mutters.
Beau crouches beside the body and searches the sniper’s vest while Seth pulls a phone from the man’s pocket and unlocks it using the man’s thumb.
One message thread is still open.
Confirm the kill. Footage preferred.
The contact photo fills the top corner of the screen.
Kristie.
She has sent someone into the woods to kill me.
Krueger leans against my leg, solid and breathing hard with lingering aggression.
I straighten.
“I'm not giving this bitch another chance to try and kill me.”
Seth looks at me instead of the body.
“She wants to take me out,” I continue. “I’ll get her first.”
Somewhere far from this clearing Kristie Talbert is probably shaking hands and promising safety to voters who have no idea she has just tried to have me executed in the woods.
She won't get another attempt.
“Got something,” Travis says without looking up.
Seth crosses the room and stops beside him while Beau leans against the wall near the weapons locker with his arms folded.
I move to Travis’s other side and watch as he pulls up the data feed.
Names and face matches scroll across the screen along with heat signatures, IP locations, and drone footage from the hotel that is still circulating across different servers.
Then the killer pool appears.
A list of aliases. Status updates. Bounty notes.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
Five names remain on the screen.
Five hunters still in play.
Travis taps the header.
“She upped the price. Five million each.”
My stomach drops.
“Ten million if they get both of you and stream it live. No editing. No delay. Just full-on torture porn for the highest bidder.”
Brooke Sinclair and Seth Kincaid.
Dead or dying on camera.
Seth lets out a slow breath through his nose.
“She’s getting impatient.”
“She’s getting desperate,” Beau says. “The more we kill, the more expensive it gets. She is hemorrhaging money trying to make an example.”
“The problem is that they aren’t coming for revenge.” My eyes stay on the screen. “These new ones don't give a fuck about what happened at the manor. They are here for the payout.”
I stare at the screen and the numbers blinking beside each name.
“None of these people care about us,” I scoff. “They don’t know us. We’re just names with dollar signs.”
“Yeah,” Travis says. “That's the point.”
“They aren't the real threat,” I say. “They are tools. Hired hands. They aren't the ones writing checks.”
Silence stretches across the room.
Then Seth speaks.
“You're talking about Kristie.”
I nod.
“She is the one who wants us dead. If we take her out then the rest of the board loses the person pulling the strings.”
Seth’s jaw tightens.
“She is a high-profile mayor in California. We aren't talking about picking off some nobody in a back alley.”
“I know. That is why we don’t make a scene.”
Seth nods once.
“Go on.”
“She's a public figure,” I say. “People watch her every move. If she dies suddenly everyone looks closer.”
“So what is the alternative?” Seth asks.
“She doesn’t die publicly…She just disappears.”
Seth leans back slightly and studies me.
“There is no crime scene,” I continue. “There is no body to find and no evidence pointing anywhere. One day she is campaigning and smiling for cameras. The next day she's gone.”
Beau folds his arms.
“That kind of disappearance makes headlines.”
“For a while,” I say. “There will be search parties and press conferences. Then the story fades and she becomes a missing person with no answers and no closure.”
Seth keeps his eyes on mine.
“Killing her would eliminate any bounty for us.”
“Yes,” I add. “No one can retaliate properly. The people funding her will start looking over their shoulders instead of pointing fingers at us.”
He considers that before giving a small nod.
“That, I can work with.”
I lean back slightly and smile.
“I have some ideas.”