Ready Or Not (The Hunter’s Club #2)

Chapter 45

45

WOOF - FKA Rayne

I stashed a paperclip in the glass before Manson came upstairs. After he leaves, I take the clip out of my mouth as Rachel watches. Her eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Manson is leaving. This is my chance.

“I don’t think…” Rachel watches as I bend the end of the paperclip and insert it into the keyhole. Manson fucking double-locked them, which means they won’t tighten anymore, but it also makes them harder to pick.

Rachel fidgets. “He’s going to be mad.”

“I’m okay with that.” I focus as I work. That time on the couch pushed away some of the bad feelings for a bit, but they’re back, buzzing around my head. I can’t stop thinking about the mounted deer head on the wall and the bald patch on its fur. I hadn’t remembered that. Now I wish I didn’t.

“What did he do to you?” Rachel’s voice is hesitant. “Manson.”

So many things. But for some reason, all I can think about is him fucking me silly and always making sure I come. But there’s more than that. He’s always been in every detail of my life. So much so that I can’t think of a time when he wasn’t there. Well, I can, but all of those memories are bad. My life really turned around once he showed up.

I glance at Rachel, realizing I’ve been thinking about that ‘do not think’ list. Fuck! I try to cover my ass. “You mean besides being a giant dick and keeping both of us captive?”

Rachel narrows her gaze. It’s like she can see through me, so I double down. “That should be enough, little deer. Feeling a bit of Stockholm?”

Rachel crosses her arms. “No. I just…why do you hate him so much?”

I frown. “Where do we start?” Where do I start? Shit, my no-no list has me all distracted. I clear my throat. “Manson stood up for my mom. He told me I couldn’t kill her.”

Rachel frowns.

Okay, yeah, there’s the anger again. “He forced me to stay in their home until I was 18. Threatened me with the cops. Has obsessively stalked me, killed my fuck buddies, and told me who I can and can’t kill. Namely, I can’t kill anyone. Even if they deserve it.” I fish the clip in deeper. “And he killed my dog.”

My hands shake. Remembering Pup leaves a sour taste in my mouth. But, I feel the lock disengage on one side.

I glance up at Rachel, and she’s looking at me with her mouth open.

I scoff, turning the paperclip the other way. “That surprises you? So he is getting into your head. I knew you were easy to manipulate, but damn.”

At this point, I’m not sure if I’m talking to her or to me.

Rachel glares at me.

With some careful maneuvering, I hear the lock click on the other side. I slide my wrist free.

I need to hurry.

At the idea of leaving Rachel alone, I feel a twinge.

“Come with me.” The words come out before I can process them.

Rachel’s eyes dart to mine. I hold her stare.

“Come with me,” I say again, meaning them to sound like a demand, but what comes out sounds more like a…request. An odd feeling fills me. Will she come? And even odder still, why do I want her to come?

What is happening to me?

Rachel holds my gaze with her dark one for so long that my stomach twists. Finally, she opens her mouth, her voice coming out soft, “Riley, I…” she trails off.

I stiffen. That wasn’t a yes. My chest tightens, and rage washes over me. She’s picking him? Him over me?

Betrayal fills me. Is she really that dumb? I back away.

“Riley, please.” Rachel reaches out to me. “If you don’t talk to him, you’ll be stuck playing this game over and over. Always running!”

I stride over to the crawlspace under the house. My skin is hot. Why did I expect her to be different?

“Please, Riley!” She’s pleading now. “Just talk to him.”

“He can talk to my lawyer. Once I serve divorce paperwork.” I move into the crawlspace, too angry to care about the dust and spiderwebs. There’s a faint light coming from the far end of the house, where the opening is. It takes a few good kicks, but I knock it loose and crawl out, ignoring my gut as I leave Rachel behind.

Getting outside is not the elated feeling I expect it to be. It’s just…empty.

I glance around to make sure Manson is gone, and when I don’t see him, I dart toward the street. My house isn’t far, and the morning is cool.

I jog to my house, finding the garage still open and unlocked. Instead of having fun, I’m empty.

I throw things around until I find my old iPad. Unlocking it, I dig into my social media. The farther I dig, the more I remember—things I didn’t want to remember. They fill the empty void that’s usually filled with anger, taking over my body. It gets so bad that my whole body starts shaking, and I have a hard time scrolling.

But I find them. Those three pieces of shit who stole my childhood. Who stole my humanity.

Sure, I may have been destined to be a heartless cunt since I was born (and don’t get me wrong, I fucking love it), but they took without asking. They took my choice .

I tell myself I don’t care, gathering my Glock and some other items. I wouldn’t change who I am now, even if I had a choice.

But some tiny part of me wants to know what it would have been like to love and to be loved back, to feel something other than rage and emptiness.

I have no transportation here, but that’s fine. As I walk back toward the road, I have to stop to puke. I’m so full of memories, and I can’t get them out.

It’s not long before an old farmer drives by, and I pull my half-mask over my nose and steal his truck. He looks shocked to see a gun in a woman’s hands, let alone pointed at him.

Whoopsie. Misogyny is gonna cost you a Ram 1500.

As I drive toward my first target’s house, my body hums with energy. I almost puke again as forgotten images rush through my head, and I try to shove them out. But it doesn’t work. Eventually, the only thing that stops me from thinking about them is Manson’s annoying, demanding voice saying I’m being reckless and I’m going to get caught.

As if. It’s me. I never get caught.

My first target lives near Noel’s old place. When I get to his house, a nice two-story red brick, I boot the door in. That action sucks a little bit of adrenaline back into my body. Immediately, a wash of cool air hits me, and I grin under my mask. Cool. I won’t sweat my nuts off while stabbing him to death.

“Honey, I’m hooome.” I saunter through the nice house. It smells like old people because, of course, it does. He would have aged twenty years since I last saw him.

Reckless. Be careful .

“Ready or not, here I come.”

I fire off a round, the sound exploding in my eardrums, removing Manson’s annoying voice. Maybe the old man will hear it and get good and scared for me.

I boot my way into the downstairs study, and suddenly, he is there. He’s scrambling to get the window open. He’s wearing an Oklahoma Sooners shirt and is fat with wispy white hair that doesn’t cover his baldness.

I grin as he whirls on me. He gasps, “The fuck?”

I smile. “Not my name. Terrible guess.”

“Get out of my house.” My target frantically tries to open the window while still looking at me.

“Hmmm.” I stop walking towards him and cock my head. “How about no?”

“Nancy!” the man screams.

“Well, that is definitely not my name.” I point my gun at his leg and fire a round. He buckles, screaming.

“Gonna guess again?”

The man clutches his knee, screaming.

I roll my eyes. “Nope.” I fire another round into his other leg.

I squat in front of him, watching in wonder as the wounds slowly get red with blood. Bullet wounds don’t look like they do in the movies, especially from a smaller caliber gun. The entry wound is small and easy to miss. It’s the exit wound that’ll perk the clit.

If Rachel was here, I could explain all of this to her.

Anger fills me as I think about her. She could have been here to see this with me, but she chose not to. I lean into the rage, letting it take hold of me. It’s much better than that empty numbness—the numbness lets the bad thoughts in.

“You remember me?” I sink down to the man’s level. He’s staring at his legs, eyes wide. He’s in shock, probably not even feeling it after the initial fright.

“Let’s play a game. You remember animal hide and seek?”

He turns his cloudy eyes up at me.

I grin. “You run and hide. I’ll chase. Then we’ll see what happens next, hmmm?”

The man makes a choked sound, rage filling his gaze. He tries to stand up but stumbles. I may have taken out some important muscles. Whoopsie.

I turn around, covering my eyes. “One. Two. Three.”

I hear nothing behind me, and it annoys me. He’s not playing the game. Fucking hell, I wish Rachel were here. I wish she was watching me with those big, pretty eyes full of horror. Horror and admiration.

“Ready or not, here I come.” I turn around.

The man hasn’t moved. Which just pisses me off. I grab him by the collar, yanking him forward so he falls on his hands. “Crawl, bitch.”

That gets a reaction out of him. It’s pain. I get a slight dose of pleasure watching him suffer, but it’s ruined when he still doesn’t move.

I glance around again, trying to imagine Rachel standing by the couch. But it’s not doing it for me. I want her here. Now.

I kick the man’s head in disgust. He just crumples.

My breathing picks up. This is not what I needed it to be! That shaking is back. Images of what this man did come one after another after another.

I stumble back, beating the side of my head, trying to break them free. They wouldn’t be here if I had a distraction. If Rachel was watching, he’d just play my motherfucking game.

What I do from there is a blur. All I see is a lot of blood, and all I hear is a lot of ringing in my ear. The next thing I remember is being back in the car on my way to Manson’s.

I won’t let her ruin this for me. Rachel doesn’t get to decide to just not come. She doesn’t get to decide anything. She’s mine , and I’ll make her fucking remember. She’s coming with me.