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She bites into her bottom lip, pulls, gaze flickering around the room as if she’s looking for a way out. But the windows are wide open, as is the door behind her, and all three of Cerberus, waiting patiently on the patio, aren’t so much as looking her way. Willow can run if she likes, but she’s still going to have to make the deal.
“Deal,” she says. “Do your worst, Luca.”
She tries to yank her fingers out of my grip but I hold on to them, lifting her hand to my mouth. I kiss her knuckles, gentle and sweet.
“Anything for you, Lynch.”
36
Psycho Cupid
Willow
It’s a lovely day—fartoo nice for a hunt.
I’m dressed practically: black leggings and a vest over a sports bra, thick boots on my feet. Luca’s Japanese kitchen knife, in its fancy wooden sheath, is tucked into my boot. He never gave me my penknife back, as if there’s a silent agreement between us that we’ve now swapped knives. It wouldn’t surprise me if he sleeps with my knife under his pillow or uses it to cut my initials into his skin like the obsessive creep he is.
I wouldn’t put any of it past him. He killed for me, after all.
When I run out of the house on my fifteen-minute head start, the sun is high in the sky. The air is warm and fragrant, a cool wind blowing through the brand-new foliage of the woods on the edges of Luca’s gardens.
There’s no point in worrying about tracks—Luca has his stupid tracker. I opt for speed instead, making my way straight into the woodland where I know he’ll struggle with his signal. I won my first two hunts by virtue of my tricks; something tells me they won’t save me this time.
This time, I’m just going to have to outrun him, plain and simple.
The treeline draws closer, and I pick up speed. I check my watch as I dive through the trees—five minutes left. He’s not even started yet. I’m doing well.
That’s my last thought before the ground gives out under me. Branches crack and snap. I fall, hard and jarring, into a ditch. It’s fairly shallow—about chest height—but so unexpected it sends me pitching to the ground. My torso collides hard with the edge of the ditch. I gasp into a mouthful of grass, spit dirt out. I stop to catch my breath.
Ditches. The fucker dugditches.
Times must be hard for Luca to be pulling out warfare tactics on me.
I scramble out of my ditch and climb to my feet, testing my legs. They’re wobbly, and my scarred leg is the worst for wear because my knee caught the sharp edge of a rock in the ditch when I fell. It’s not enough to stop me, but it’ll be enough to slow me down. Shit.
Well,shit. Luca must really want me to meet his mum.
Licking my lips, I look around at the woodland stretching out around me. The ground is dense with leaves and brush and moss and fallen branches. What if there’s more ditches? There’s no way I could tell, but what are the odds that Luca would stop at one trap?
Knowing him, he’s probably had a full army of peasant workers out digging ditches in his woods. Knowing him, the ground is probably riddled with traps for miles.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself.
I look back over my shoulder, nibbling the inside of my cheek as I consider my options. I could go back to the house, make a stand there. I’ve fought Luca before, I could fight him again. Especially now I know Luca isn’t as amenable to the idea of my death as I once thought.
If I head back to the house, Luca will know almost straightaway, and the closer I get to his house, the better his signal will be. He knows his property better, too. He could cut me off long before I reach the house. And he knows I’ll be willing to put up a fight—there’s no chance he’s not prepared this time.
Fuck. He has the advantage wherever I go, whatever I do. My head start isonlya head start, and his shitty heart isn’t anywhere near as debilitating as his mother made it out to be in all those pitiful interviews she did when he was a kid.
Luca is rich, clever and quick. He’s inhisdomain, with access to technology, drugs, probably weapons. Definitely my knife. Wherever I go on his property, he’ll have the advantage.
But if I keep going, there are more ditches, invisible traps waiting for me wherever I might step.
What is it they say again?
Better the devil you know.
The sun shines brightand unforgiving in the cloudless sky when I emerge from the shadow of the treeline. In the distance, past the gardens and courts and topiaries, the house is a shining fortress of glass.
