Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
My phone vibrates, and I pull it out as I stand up, a grin curving my lips. “Hold that thought. Good talk, Dr. Duret. You tell my dad or Julian any of this, and I’ll strangle you with your precious plants. Compris?”
She doesn’t recoil. Just keeps staring at me with her usual expression. Guess I’ve been threatening her with murder for so long, she doesn’t take me seriously anymore.
I walk out of her house, staring at the screen.
So right after I stole Osborn’s bike, I had to tell him. Otherwise, how would he know it was me and not some other thief?
Hayes worked his magic and got me his number, so I texted him earlier.
Me
If you apologize, I might give your bike back.
I attached a picture of his bike parked in a warehouse.
He just got back to me, while I was gossiping about him in Dr. Duret’s living room.
Speak of the devil, am I right?
Osborn
If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask.
I don’t want your meaningless attention. I’m telling you that I’ll be holding your bike hostage until you apologize.
Apologize for…?
Everything.
How about you apologize for stealing my ride?
Nah. You, however, need to do something to get your mode of transportation back.
I like being threatened.
You won’t like it when your ride magically disappears.
What if you magically appear in front of me instead?
Charming. Is that how you get people to fall on their knees for you?
Sometimes. Is it working?
No. Try harder.
Noted, baby.
Why the fuck are you calling me that?
Calling you what?
“Baby.”
Because.
That’s not a reason.
Wasn’t offering one.
You’re the definition of a migraine.
Does that mean I’m living rent-free in your head?
You wish. Are you going to apologize?
Let me think about it. In return, I’ll give you a gift.
Sounds cheap. No, thanks.
Careful, Armstrong. I’m finding you extremely amusing.
Everyone does.
Everyone isn’t me.
I don’t see the difference.
The difference is that it’s not good for you if I keep finding you amusing.
Fuck Osborn with a broken hockey stick dipped in glitter.
Amen.
It doesn’t matter that he didn’t get back to me for three days straight. Because I’m having fun tonight!
And by fun, I mean that I’m going on a hunt.
Technically, it’s Jude’s hunt. Some people stood by and watched in a public square as his mom was stabbed to death over twenty times. Nasty business, I know.
And Jude is on a revenge mission since he also has mommy issues—we bonded over that, isn’t it poetic? Spoiler alert, Dr. Duret says it’s not.
His form of revenge gets my heartfelt stamp of approval. Because here’s the thing, the cameras for that incident were wiped clean by Julian—starting to see the pattern with that control freak? He probably did that because he didn’t want Jude to be distracted by what he believes is “meaningless” revenge.
However, Kane managed to access one of the camera’s recordings before it got deleted. In true nerdy Kane fashion—also spelled overachiever, if you wish—he made a list of the people who were there.
Every so often, he gives Jude a file, and the big man starts by stalking them, making their lives hell, manipulating them to kingdom come. Then, at the final stage, he kidnaps and releases them into the forest, hunts them down, and kills them.
It’s the most satisfying shit ever, if you ask me.
Mostly because I always get to participate, and if I’m fast enough, I even manage to kill some of the suckers.
Today, unusually, Kane joined, probably chasing some demons so he won’t think about Dorothy—his sort-of girlfriend, whom I still don’t approve of, FYI.
Can’t trust anyone who dated that sucker Osborn—even if it was only for a couple of weeks.
Anyway, Jude and I are suited up in full black—gloves, shiny knives, the whole homicidal starter pack. Big man even put on a raincoat so he “doesn’t get too drenched in blood.”
Boo. That’s literally the best part.
“Ready for some fun?” I ask as we stand on the porch, staring into the kind of pitch-black darkness that horror movies warn you about.
Sometimes the dark feels like it wants to eat me alive. Other times—like today—it’s basically my emotional support void.
The only place I can actually breathe.
Jude released tonight’s target fifteen minutes ago, and we watched the sleazy middle-aged bastard—whose eyes are on my personal to-do list—bolt into the forest like a terrified raccoon.
“You can have all the fun you want, but his life is mine,” Jude says, standing on the other side of Kane, twirling his hockey stick.
I tilt my head in Kane’s direction. “No weapon?”
He tucks his phone away—finally prying himself from whatever doomscroll he’s been married to—and shifts his jacket just enough to reveal his gun.
“Man, you’re so boring.” Jude shakes his head. “I bet it comes with a silencer, too.”
“Naturally. Can’t leave evidence behind.”
“This is literally my family’s forest, and we have the cleanup team on standby.” I stride to Jude’s side and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Just say you hate life, unlike me and the big man.”