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“Three, four,” I continue in the eerie tone provided by the app. “Are you ready for more?”
Again they turn, craning their necks to get a good look at us. But all of us are keeping our distance, making it harder to see our downcast faces.
“Five, six.” This time I step to the left, and each of the Cunts do the same, making it seem like the circle we’ve created is spinning. “Find the right one in the mix.”
I take another step to the left.
“Seven, eight. You don’t want to be late.”
“You’ve fucking known her for years. Which one is she?” Rusty barks, and I’m surprised at the voice that answers.
“I don’t fucking know,” Adam snaps. “Maybe that one.” I peek up in time to see him pointing at one of the Cunts. “Or that one.” He points at another.
Irina hisses, “Gunner, you’re the one who’s obsessed with the bitch. Find her and kill the others so we can get out of here.”
“Nine, ten,” I continue, interrupting their squabbling. “Never leave revenge up to the men.”
I force a laugh that sounds like a cackle as it reverberates through the clearing, which makes Irina flinch. Huh, I guess she doesn’t like it when the tables are turned.
When Rose and Izzy showed what they’d come up with, I was in awe. It never would have occurred to me to draw inspiration from the iconic nursery rhyme from the Nightmare on Elm Street movies.
“What do you want us to do, Prez?” Adam asks, sounding unsure. Whether it’s of the situation or what his next move should be, I don’t know. And frankly, I don’t care.
I allow myself to feel satisfaction at seeing him—all of them—look less cocksure. It’s about fucking time they learn they’re not the predators. Tonight, they’re the prey.
“Fucking shoot them all,” Rusty growls.
“No,” Gunner bellows. “Don’t fucking hurt her. Only I get to do that.”
Irina sighs. “Fine. Then you shoot each of the bitches in the foot or something. Surely you’ll recognize her scream.”
Grayson
What the fuck has Zoe done now? I can barely believe my eyes at the large group of women all dressed the same, with blonde hair flowing out the sides of the hoods. And the distorted voice coming from all directions, speakers we can’t see projecting the voice that sends a fucking chill up my spine.
She’s fucking brilliant.
Her ass is going to be glowing fucking red from my hand when this is over. She made her own plans as Reaper bait, her quiet whispers with the Cruz Cunts, who must be the ones dressed like her, over the past few days slamming to the forefront of my mind.
Shit, had she already set this up with Cain beforehand? Did he know about her plan to include the women in this trap all along?
I’ll fucking kick his ass for keeping it from me if he did.
My princess planned this fucking well, something I’m undecided about sharing with her. She deserves to hear it, but it may have to wait until I’m not so fucking angry.
I’m impressed. But also, fucking pissed. Hence why her ass is going to fucking glow.
As the women circling Rusty, Irina, Gunner, and Adam in the clearing keep moving slowly, loud distorted cackles make our prey shift nervously as they try to figure out what to do.
“What do we do?” Munroe asks at my side, but Slasher answers for me.
“We protect all the women.”
It’s a complication even though it’s a brilliant one.
My princess is giving those sick fuckers a taste of their own medicine, and I don’t take my eyes off the Reapers in the middle, watching their faces morph with concern.
I especially watch Gunner as Irina suggests shooting the women.
