Page 33 of Hunted

He staggers but doesn’t fall.

Good.

I need him vertical.

He lashes out again, fingers grazing my collarbone. My shoulder goes numb instantly, weight dragging like gravity has doubled.

Fuck.

I pivot, roll with it, and fire the pulse dart point-blank into his chest.

The resonance detonates through him.

The fear-paralysis-submission glamour combo he tries to spin collapses into static. He howls, stumbling, venom leaking uselessly from hands that no longer obey him.

‘Nice try,’ I tell him, breathing hard now, sweat slicked beneath my jacket. ‘But if this is your best move, you should’ve stayed dead.’

He snarls and comes at me anyway.

We crash into a stack of containers. Steel groans as I hook the Mercy Pin into the base of his neck and depress the injector. Paralytic toxin floods his system in seconds. He locks up mid-motion, eyes wide, mouth still trying to shape threats he’ll never finish.

I bind him fast, seal the transport restraints, and tag the pickup beacon before my shoulder decides to fail me.

By the time I step back, my pulse is high and my limbs feel heavy with the deep ache that comes from burning more energy than planned. I’m not bleeding or compromised, but I’m tired in a way one breath won’t fix.

Mission accomplished. It should feel good.

It doesn’t.

I text ‘Job done’ to Jax as the transport lights flare in the distance.

He calls immediately.

‘Speak,’ I snap.

‘You sound a little rattled, babe,’ he says instead of hello, dark amusement lurking in his voice. ‘But damn you’re good. Almost as good as me. We should team up again soon.’

‘Love to, but I have my hands full for the foreseeable. Now say your piece. I really don’t have time.’

A pause. Then, ‘He’s been digging.’

My spine goes cold. ‘Digging where?’

‘Everywhere,’ Jax says. ‘Word is he started a while back but things kicked into gear for real three months back. Almost a hundred graves disturbed across the city. Quiet work by a stealth crew no one’s heard of.’

My throat moves in a way I loathe to call fear. ‘Go on.’

‘They were all women. Early twenties. Brunettes when they were alive.’

Shit shit shit.

My grip tightens on the phone. ‘Why?’

‘No one knows,’ he says. ‘That’s the problem. No bodies missing afterward. No theft. Just… checking. Like he was verifying something.’

‘You have names?’ I ask, heart in my throat.

Another pause. Longer this time. ‘None that lead anywhere. Sorry, Cross. This one’s a dead end. And so am I. Don’t call me again.’ The call disconnects.