Hunt Me Hard
CHAPTER 1
MAXI
The screaming stops.
I liked it better with the screaming.
I’m no psychopath. Probably. But screaming means alive, and silence could mean anything from hiding to dead. Screaming also makes me feel not so alone.
My right calf cramps. I ignore it, so it cramps harder. Of course. When does anything go my way?
I press my fist to my mouth and breathe through my knuckles. In spite of using my hand like an air filter, I still manage to suck in the pile of the dust swirling around me, the dust I upset by storming into an abandoned little mall store that’s been untouched for God knows how long. Something warm crawls from my hairline down to my eyebrow. It could be sweat. Or blood. Or a spider.
God, I hope it’s not a spider.
Somewhere behind me, water drips in a rhythm, as if it’s trying to get me to relax. As if it wants to mess with my heightened senses. Like I’m going to fall for that. If I survive the next ten minutes, I’m going to find that fucking drip and murder it. Assuming the armed men roaming this nasty abandoned mall don’t get to me first.
Which, to be honest, would be my own damn fault.
The irony is, nobody kidnapped me. Nobody dragged me through the entrance of this shithole at gunpoint. Nope, I came to what was once a glorious shopping mall called the Rothwell Galleria on my own volition. These days, it’s just called the Rot, and now that I’m here, I can see why.
Yup, I signed my name to a contract, having walked through the gate of the Rot on my own two dumbass legs, actually congratulating myself for having balls. Huge balls. Legendary balls. Lady balls, that is, as I hide behind a counter that once sold makeup, inhaling dust and trying to ignore an excruciating leg cramp.
Something scrapes across the tile just outside the abandoned store where I’m hiding, and I hold my breath. Through the gap under the store’s bent security gate, I can see out into the Rot’s concourse. There’s the fountain I used to throw pennies in as a kid when I believed good luck was actually a thing, and next to it, a bench with one end ripped loose from the floor. I remember hanging out on that bench with my girl posse when, like a typical adolescent idiot, I’d show off the loot I shoplifted with my sticky fingers.
Those were the days. Well, until I got caught and got my ass beat for shoplifting from one of the foster families I lived with. Can’t remember which one it was, and I plan to keep it that way.
The scrape is followed by footsteps, sneakers I’m pretty sure, slapping against the tile. Fast, uneven, coming closer. A woman bursts into view out by the fountain, far enough away to keep my hiding spot safe but close enough so I can watch her.
I recognize her from the contract signing. She was two people ahead of me in line, the one with a shaved stripe over her left ear and enough swagger to let me know she really thought she’d win the Hunt. I thought she was full of it, though. People with real confidence don’t need to showboat it. She even made some joke when the guy in charge explained the consequences of losing. I don’t remember what she said, but I remember chuckling, pretty much just to go along with everyone else. The truth is, I was working hard on convincing myself I hadn’t made a catastrophic mistake by joining the Hunt.
Guess who’s not laughing now?
I shift my still-cramping leg to get some height, and peer through the filthy glass of the makeup counter. I make out that she’s lost one shoe, leaving her bare foot slicked with blood. Her shirt is ripped at the neck, and one sleeve hangs loose around her elbow. She keeps looking behind her instead in front of her.
“Come on,” I whisper.
Her bloody foot lands on something sharp, and her scream slices straight through me. She pinwheels, goes down near the half-bolted bench, and cracks one knee against the tile. I wince on her behalf. We might be in competition with each other, but I hate to see someone go down like that.
She’s already scrambling up when three men walk out of the darkness behind her.
Walk.
That’s the part that makes my stomach drop. She’s running for her life while they look like they’re crossing a parking lot.
The biggest dude has a red strip of cloth tied around his arm. He rolls his shoulders as he approaches her, loose and easy, like he’s warming up. The woman gets one foot under her and pushes upright, but the injured foot collapses. She slams against the bench again, catching herself with both hands.
One of the men laughs. “She thought she was fast.”
She turns, gripping the bench. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
“Still talking shit, just like when she signed the contract. Baby, you have no idea how a smart-ass bitch like you makes my dick hard.”
He takes a step closer and fake lunges at her. It has the desired effect and she cringes.
But she’s not giving up yet. “Come closer and I’ll show you what else I can do.”
Damn. Wish I could tell her that false bravado ain’t gonna cut it. I should know. My mouth has been writing checks my ass can’t cash all my life. But I keep quiet. This is not the time to share my wisdom.
The men spread out, I guess for show, because God knows the woman isn’t going anywhere. They circle her, each throwing taunts that have her spinning around to see which guy’s going to grab her first.
My fingers close around the box cutter in my pocket, the one I smuggled in past the weapons check. Turned out, the “security” guy who patted us down at the entrance missed a pocket when I asked him if we hadn’t gone to high school together.
We didn’t, but I smiled and puffed my tits out enough to throw his horny ass off track.
The box cutter is hardly a weapon if I’m going to be honest with myself. The blade is rusted and the slider is jammed. Hell, I found the thing on the ground on my way here. An auspicious start, I thought at the time.
Still, I could do some damage with it. One good slash. A lucky stab.
The woman tries to dart left. Honestly, I don’t really understand why she’s trying, but when Red Cloth catches her wrist, she punches him in the mouth. Good one, not that it’s going to really help her situation. But the guy’s head snaps back, sending a nasty little spark of satisfaction through me. Yes. Do it again, girl.
He recovers pretty much immediately and when he grabs her wrist, she knees him, twists, and rips herself free. For one gorgeous second, she’s clear. Then she’s not.
The second man catches her around the waist.
She explodes. Elbows, nails, teeth. Impressive. Her head slams backward into his nose with a wet crunch, but he hangs on and punches her in the ribs. Her breath leaves her in a broken bark.
Red Cloth grabs the front of her shirt and tears it open, revealing a dingy old bra, which he also rips off in one swoop. Tits exposed, she screams, and the third man catches her legs. She kicks him in the face, but he hangs on. The other one takes her arms and drags her away from the fountain, her bare heel painting a red streak across the tile.
“Let me go!” she screams.
Red Cloth wipes blood from his lip. “You signed up, honey.”
“I forfeit.”
He laughs.