Page 49 of Hunting Gianna
She laughs, mean and bright. “You think I’m joking.”
“I never think you’re joking.” I toss her the rest of her clothes. “We’re maybe a half mile from the main building. We could be there before dinner’s over.”
She doesn’t move for a second, just stands there, goosebumps prickling up her arms, hair wild around her face. Her eyes are old, dark, dangerous.
“Tell me what else he did,” I say, needing her to relive it. To be angry enough to do what I need her to do.
She flinches, just once, but I see it. “He’d hit me if I didn’t do what he wanted. Not like… hard. Well not hard enough to leave bruises.”
I feel my jaw ticking. I want to carve the bastard up slow, let her watch, but I know that’s not the point. The point is what she does, not what I do.
She rubs a thumb over the inside of her wrist, nails digging into the skin. “I used to dream about killing him,” she says, voice light as a child’s. “Then I felt guilty for dreaming. I thought maybe I deserved it.”
I move fast, get in her space, grab her chin so she has to look at me. “You deserved better. Always.”
She stares back, furious and wild. “I know that now.” Then, softer, “Because of you, you maniac.”
I let her go. “So. What do you want to do?”
She grins, teeth white and sharp in the dark. “Let’s play a little game.”
I cock my head, curious.
“We hunt him,” she says, voice low. “Through the woods. Like you hunted me. If Brad falls and hits his head and dies, well, accidents happen.”
I start laughing, can’t help it. “You want to be the monster now, huh?”
Her smile widens. “Maybe just for tonight.”
I pull her close, pinning her arms behind her. “Deal’s off, then? I’m allowed to kill again?”
She leans in, lips brushing my cheek. “Only if you promise not to get blood on my shirt.”
“Deal,” I say, and we both break out laughing.Who knew my little bird could be so savage?
She gets dressed, still shivering, and I help her pull her jeans up, my fingers slow and careful. She doesn’t pull away. She lets me wring out her hair, knot it up at the base of her neck, tying it tight. When I’m done, she leans into me, heavy, like she’s letting me carry the weight for once.
We walk together, up the trail and through the dark, the forest closing behind us like a zipper. Her hand is cold in mine, but she squeezes tight, not letting go.
The main building comes into view at the bottom of the hill. It’s a monster—logs the size of telephone poles, windows as big as movie screens. The place is lit up like a promise, warm yellow light spilling out over the porch. Noah spared no expense with this place.
I glance at Gianna, and she’s staring straight ahead, jaw set.
“We go in together,” she says, “like we own the place.”
I nod.
“Ready?” I ask.
She grins, all teeth. “Born ready.”
We hit the porch and stop at the door. For a second, the world feels like it’s waiting for something.
And then it happens.
The switch.
She looks at me, something fierce and hungry in her face.
