Page 52 of Hunting Gianna
"Maybe," I admit, the word hanging between us like a confession. "Is that fucked up?"
He laughs, low and warm. "Welcome to my world, little bird."
We move deeper into the trees and the dark is so poignant I struggle to see in front of me. Knox seems to flow through the shadows, not even a single misstep. I find myself mimicking him, rolling my feet from heel to toe, slowing my breathing to match the rhythm of the forest.
Behind us, the lights of the lodge have long disappeared. Ahead lies only darkness and the promise of something I've wanted for so long without knowing it.
It strikes me then—the deal I made with Knox. No more killing. But here I am, hunting a man through the woods like an animal. I should feel guilty or afraid, but all I feel is a strange sort of clarity, as if I'm finally seeing the world without a filter.
"I don’t know how I feel," I whisper, not slowing my pace. "I’ve never… never even hurt a fly."
Knox's hand brushes the small of my back, a touch so light I almost imagine it. "Well, Gianna, this is what you wanted. The truth of who you are is always in the parts of you that you don’t want to confront. But fear not, baby girl, it’s not just you. This is us."
Us. The word sinks into me, warm and dangerous.
"He was horrible to me, but does he deserve to die?"
“Yes.” The word is a rasp.
“I definitely am starting to believe that.”
Knox's breathing changes, becomes deeper, more deliberate. "And how does that make you feel right now?"
I consider the question, turning it over like a smooth stone. "Powerful," I finally answer. "Like I'm taking back something he stole."
The forest floor dips suddenly, leading us into a shallow ravine. The moonlight is stronger here, painting everything in silver and shadow. I spot it before Knox does—a flash of white fabric against a fallen log about thirty yards ahead. Brad, huddled against the rotting wood, breath clouding in the cold air.
Knox spots him a second later, a predatory stillness washing over him. He gestures for me to stop, then points to the left. I understand immediately—we'll circle, cut off his escape.
I move quietly, heart hammering against my ribs, not from fear but from the electric thrill of the hunt. It finally makes sense why Knox likes to hunt me. This is amazing. Freeing. Primal. The ground is softer here, muddy from yesterday's rain. My shoes sink slightly with each step, but I don't care. All I care about is the look on Brad's face when he realizes there's nowhere to run.
I reach my position just as Knox begins his approach from the other side. Brad doesn't see us yet. He's too busy checking his phone, the blue light illuminating his face in ghostly hues. Fucking idiot. Even now, he thinks technology will save him. He curses when he realizes there’ no reception.
Knox moves like a shadow given form, slipping from tree to tree until he's directly behind Brad. I hold my breath, watching as Knox gathers himself, muscles coiled tight. Then he launchesforward, a blur of motion that ends with Brad face-down in the mud, Knox's knee driving into his spine.
The scream that tears from Brad's throat is loud, raw with terror. He thrashes wildly, but Knox pins him effortlessly, twisting one arm behind his back until he howls.
"Please," Brad gasps, mud spattering his lips. "I have money. I'll give you whatever you want, just—"
His words cut off as he sees me stepping into the moonlight. His eyes widen.
"Gianna, I thought you were joking. I didn’t actually think you were fucking insane. What the fuck? Is this—" He struggles against Knox's grip, face contorting. "Is this your boyfriend? Jesus Christ, you psycho bitch, call him off!"
Knox laughs, the sound muffled behind his mask. "That's not how you talk to a lady."
To punctuate his point, Knox slams Brad's face into the ground. Blood sprays from his nose, dark against the pale mud. When Knox lets him up again, Brad's eyes are wild, darting between us.
"Look, Gianna, I'm sorry, okay? Whatever I did—"
"Whatever you did?" My voice comes out softer than I expect, almost gentle. "You know exactly what you did."
Brad's face shifts, a calculating look replacing the fear for just a moment. "We had problems, sure, but this? This is insane. You need help, baby."
The old nickname hits me like a slap. I step closer, crouching to meet his eyes. "You hit me when I wouldn't suck your dick. You showed me pictures of other women and told me they were better than me. You made me feel worthless, and you enjoyed it."
Knox's head tilts, the mask regarding Brad with alien curiosity. Then, methodically, he begins to hit him. Not wild, angry blows, but precise strikes—to the ribs, the kidney, the back of the head. Brad's screams grow weaker with each impact, until he's just whimpering, blood bubbling from his split lip.
When Knox finally stops, Brad is barely conscious, held upright only by Knox's grip on his collar. The forest is silent except for Brad's wet, labored breathing and the soft patter of blood dripping onto dead leaves.
