Chapter 18 #2
I hadn’t fully realized how much of an advantage Mia’s shoe choice would give her. Everyone would be looking for high-heel-shaped tracks she wasn’t providing. Maybe any Converse tracks would be mistaken as fellow hunters.
“What if someone tries hiding nearby instead of running?”
His eyes sharpened. “We had one who tried hiding close—behind the generator shed, if memory serves. She thought we’d search far and miss what was near.”
“Smart.”
“Not smart enough. I found her within minutes.” His smile turned predatory at the memory. “When I dragged her out…” He paused, savoring it. “Claimed my prize right there, actually. The others watched. It was a nice teaching moment.”
Teaching moment. My hand twitched with the need to wrap around Oliver’s throat. Not yet. Not until Mia had more distance.
“Almost time for your advantage.” Oliver gestured toward the door. “Ten minutes to use however you desire. Use them wisely.”
I headed for the door, then paused by the fireplace. The kindling box caught my eye—thin stakes of wood for starting fires. I grabbed one, testing its point against my thumb. Hardly big or sharp enough to use as a weapon, but would definitely work for what I needed.
“Good hunting, Coop.” Oliver raised his espresso in a mock toast as I left.
Outside, I headed south because that’s the way they’d most expect Mia to go.
The slope was gentler here, the path obvious even in the dim light of the moon.
I pressed the stake into soft earth at an angle, creating marks that could pass for heel prints if you didn’t look too close.
Every few yards, I added stumble marks, drag patterns, the story of a panicked woman in an impossible dress trying to flee.
The false trail led three hundred yards to a stream that cut through the property. Perfect. Let them think she’d tried to hide her tracks in water. Let them waste precious time following the stream both directions while she was nowhere in either direction.
Shouts erupted behind me. My ten minutes were up. The others were loose.
I doubled back, this time leaving obvious boot prints heading east. Fresh tracks that screamed follow me—and someone would. They’d think I knew where Mia would run, so following me would be the best way to follow her.
The forest came alive with crashing footsteps and excited voices. No skill in most of their movements, just enthusiasm and blood lust. City boys playing at being predators.
Many of them followed the heels, but a couple found my tracks and began following them. Two shapes materialized through the trees—the tech moguls, apparently maintaining their partnership. They charged through the underbrush like wounded buffalo, following my breadcrumbs without question.
Perfect. Oliver’s rules said no weapons, but he’d never said anything about hunters taking each other out of the game.
Every man I dropped was one less threat to Mia.
One less pair of hands that could grab her, hurt her.
If I could thin the field enough, maybe knock out half of them, her odds would improve dramatically.
I circled behind them, placing each foot with practiced silence. Eight years of moving through hostile territory, eight years of being the thing that killed in darkness—muscle memory took over.
The first one never saw me coming. I swept his legs while driving an elbow into his kidney, and he went down hard.
His head connected with a rock with a wet thud that meant concussion at minimum.
The second managed to turn, attempted to start raising his hands, but my palm strike to his solar plexus doubled him over.
A knee to the temple finished it. Both down, breathing but useless.
They’d wake up puking and disoriented, if they woke up at all.
“Impressive.”
The voice came from directly behind me. I spun to find Snake leaning against an oak, that scarred face showing something between approval and anticipation. He’d been watching the whole time.
“Just thinning the competition.” I kept my tone casual while cataloging distances, angles, options.
“Competition.” He pushed off the tree, and I saw the knife in his hand—a serious blade, not some pocketknife but a combat weapon. “I guess that’s a good way of thinking of this.”
“Pretty sure that’s against Oliver’s rules.” I nodded at the blade, keeping my tone conversational while calculating distances. “No weapons, remember?”
Snake laughed, the sound like gravel in a blender. “You think Oliver gives a shit if I gut you out here? He’ll probably thank me for removing a problem. Plus, he also says no gear but then uses thermal goggles and has sensors all around this place.”
Fuck. No wonder he’d been the victor so many times. The mud I’d told Mia to use would help with the thermal or night vision goggles, but the sensors could definitely tip things in Oliver’s direction.
“I don’t have time to fuck with you, Snake. Get the hell out of here.”
“You’ve been around for six weeks, acting like you own the place. Getting special treatment, private meetings with Oliver.” The knife shifted to a forward grip.
“This is about jealousy? Really?”
“This is about you being a problem that needs solving. After I gut you, I’ll find that sweet little thing myself. Oliver will be grateful. Grateful enough to share, maybe. Been thinking about that mouth of hers, what it would feel like around my—”
The rage that flooded through me was absolute zero, so cold it burned. But I kept it leashed. Anger made you stupid, and stupid got you dead.
“You talk too much, Snake. That’s why Oliver is never going to give a fuck about you. You’ll always be expendable to him.”
He lunged without warning—no tell, no windup, just explosive movement. The blade came in low, aimed for my liver, a killing strike from someone who knew their business. I twisted, felt the blade catch my shirt, tear through fabric. Too close.
Snake pressed the advantage, the knife weaving patterns in the air between us. He was good—trained, experienced, comfortable with violence. Each attack flowed into the next, no wasted motion, every strike potentially lethal.
But I’d been trained by the best killers the government could produce, and I’d surpassed them all.
I gave ground, let him think he was winning. Let him get confident. The knife whistled past my throat, close enough I felt the wind of its passage. Another thrust toward my ribs—I deflected with my forearm, accepting the shallow cut to get inside his guard.
My elbow crashed into his nose with a crunch of cartilage. Blood exploded across his face, and his next strike went wide. I trapped his knife hand, twisted until I felt tendons tear, but he didn’t drop the blade. Instead, he drove his forehead into my face.
Stars exploded across my vision. We separated, circling now, both breathing hard.
“Should’ve just let me have her, Coop.” Blood streamed from his ruined nose, giving his scarred face a demon’s mask. “Could’ve stepped aside when I told you I wanted a turn with her.”
“Not in this lifetime, asshole.”
He came again, faster this time, desperate.
The knife flickered like lightning—high, low, a feint toward my eyes then a real strike at my femoral artery.
I caught his wrist, but he was ready for it, his free hand driving a punch into my ribs.
Pain bloomed across my side but nothing broken, just bruised.
We grappled for control of the knife, both my hands on his knife wrist now. Snake was strong, stronger than his lean build suggested. He forced the blade toward my throat as we strained against each other. His blood from his broken nose dripped onto my face, hot and metallic.
“Gonna take my time with her,” he hissed. “Make it last. Make her beg.”
That was his mistake. The words broke my control.
I drove my knee into his groin with everything I had. He doubled over, and I wrenched at his knife hand, twisting until bones snapped. The knife fell between us. We both dove for it.
Snake got there first with his good hand, slashing wildly as he came up. The blade caught my reaching arm, slicing through fabric and skin. I jerked back, and he pressed forward, driving me against a tree.
“Should’ve killed you weeks ago,” he gasped, reversing the knife for a downward strike. He was surprisingly skilled at using the knife in his other hand.
I caught his wrist with both hands just as the blade descended. We stood locked, the knife point inches from my chest, trembling between us as we fought for control. My arms shook with effort. Snake leaned his full weight behind the blade, and it crept closer.
The tip touched my shirt. Pressed through fabric. I felt the sharp bite as it broke skin.
With a desperate twist, I redirected his force sideways and spun him into the tree. His hand holding the knife hit the trunk hard. I grabbed for the blade, and we fought for it, spinning away from the tree. The knife was between us now, both our hands on it, twisting and turning as we struggled.
Then Snake’s foot caught a root. He stumbled, fell forward, and his own momentum drove him onto the blade.
The impact jarred through both of us. Snake’s eyes went wide, staring at me in shock. Blood bubbled from his lips.
“You don’t—” He tried to speak, hands clutching at the knife between us.
I let go and stepped back. Snake dropped to his knees, then fell sideways, hands still wrapped around the knife’s handle. His mouth moved—curse or plea, I didn’t care which.
He was dead. I checked to make sure, then rolled his body behind a fallen log. Someone would find him eventually, but not immediately.
I looked down at my arm. His knife had tagged me—a shallow cut across my bicep, maybe three inches long. Annoying more than serious, but bleeding enough to need attention. I tore a strip from Snake’s shirt, wrapping it tight. The makeshift bandage would hold.
My ribs ached from his punch and my hands were shaking from adrenaline, but I was functional. Definitely good enough to keep going. Every second I could buy Mia mattered.
I headed back into the forest, leaving Snake’s corpse to the coming dawn.
I needed to find Oliver before he found Mia.