Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Why did I spend hundreds of dollars on this ridiculous dress?
To what? Impress Reon? To prove I’m not some broke-ass woman. A woman who could fit into his world.
Now, the expensive dress is barely doing a fucking thing to keep me from freezing.
You should have worn the jacket. I realize that now, but it didn’t match the dress, and moreover, I wanted to impress Reon.
I want to slap myself now.
It leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
Worrying about fashion now seems trivial, and the need to impress feels foolish with hindsight. I curse my misplaced priorities, and the bitter taste of regret lingers in my mouth, a constant reminder of my stupidity. I’ve never wanted to make an impact on anyone in my life, yet here I am, fighting for my life because I tried to impress the one man I should steer clear of. A man whose world I should not be a part of. A world that is poison and deception. Blinded by an infatuation, I was willing to dive headfirst into an abyss of ignorance.
Danger and deceit are a luxury I cannot afford. With each passing moment, the realization sinks into my being—I have entangled myself in a web of carnage and slaughter, with myself as the bait.
My world is about surviving.
I survive—it’s what I’m good at.
My father gets locked up. My mother dies. My aunt, who raised me, was a drunk. And I survived it all.
That’s what women do.
No one should underestimate us.
Getting back up, I wrap my arms around my waist, determined to keep going. Keep surviving. Keep running for my life.
“Oh, look, there you are. Thought I’d lost you.”
I run again. I know I am lagging, and no matter how hard I try, my feet are failing me. I hear more voices and twist in the opposite direction.
How many assholes are out here hunting me?
I know there is Arlo, Soren, this fucking dick who stabbed me, and Reon. How many more participate in the Hunt?
I should have asked more questions.
I should know more.
What are the rules?
Does anyone survive?
I already know the answer to the second question, even if I don’t want to remember it. Or even say it out loud.
No one survives the Hunt.
No one.
They have been doing this for years and will probably continue for many years to come. Police chiefs, senators, lawyers, and judges are all involved.
And yet, here I am, a nobody, trying to run for my life but failing.
“Lilith.” I hear Reon’s yell through the void. At least, I think it’s his. I’m becoming so tired, so cold, and so disorientated that I’m about ready to give up.
I can’t run any farther.
How much longer can my feet carry me before they can’t take another step?
Stopping at a large tree, I hide behind it and try to calm my breathing.
It’s not working.
“I can hear you.”
Sucking in a breath, I hold it as I hear his footsteps coming closer and closer. I can’t tell what direction they’re coming from, but I try my hardest to listen. As soon as I hear them to my left, I drop down and reach for something on the ground. I find only dirt, mud, and fallen leaves before my hand lands on a thick stick. Gripping it tightly, I stand back up and hold it to my chest. Closing my eyes, I try to calm my breathing and simply listen.
“You breathe so heavily,” he says. And I strike, my stick making contact with something but breaking on impact. “Fuck, did you just hit me with a stick, you crazy bitch?”
I turn to run, but he grasps my hair and pulls me back. I fall onto the ground, the wind knocked out of me. I hear some rustling as he stands over me. That broken mirror mask covers his face, but I can just make out his eyes, which are locked on mine.
“Lilith.”
There it is again, Reon calling my name.
What will he do when he finds me dead?
Will he be the one who has to bury me?
Was this all contrived, and Reon was in on it?
“I was told to leave you for him, that you were his prize. But if we did get to you first, to make it so your face is unrecognizable.” He grunts, and I see the knife in his hand. “I wonder how long you can survive without your face.” The asshole leans down, and as he does, I lift my leg and kick him between the legs. He groans, his hands going straight to his crotch to cup himself, and the knife drops. I manage to catch it with shaky hands before it pierces me. Gripping the knife, I get on all fours as he lies next to me, grunting and groaning, and I crawl over to him.
“Fuck. You,” I whisper, careful not to draw attention to myself. I lift the weapon he planned to use on me and stab him in the throat. Blood spurts out as the knife goes in deep, and the impact ricochets up my arm. The warm, sticky liquid hits my arms and face as I pull it out, and a small, unhinged laugh leaves me as he tries to cover the wound with his hands, his eyes behind the mask wide and disbelieving. “One down, however many to go.” I smile at him as I hold the knife, and it feels liberating.