Page 49 of Mine To Hunt

“Please. Don’t…” The words come apart as she sobs, fragile, unraveling. She folds tighter, arms wrapped around herself like a shield that’s already failed. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”

I stay where I am. Close enough for her to feel my presence. Close enough for the terror to settle in fully. This is the moment where everything changes. Where she understands how completely the world has shifted beneath her feet.

And how little space there is left to run.

Pulling the syringe filled with midazolam from my pocket, I injected it swiftly into her arm. I always keep it handy for times like these.

“No…” She murmurs, blinking hard. “What… what did you… do to me?”

Her eyes lose focus, drifting instead of fixing on anything solid. She reaches for balance and finds none. Her limbs grow heavy, movements delayed, uncooperative. The fight drains out of her not all at once, but in stages. Awareness dulling, resistance softening.

I watch the moment it happens.

Turning back to him, my hand closes in his hair, fingers firm, unquestioning, and I pull him up just enough to bring my mouthclose to his ear. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to. The truth carries its own weight when spoken quietly.

“She isMine To Hunt.”

The moment hangs there, suspended, long enough for it to register. Even if he doesn’t fully understand it. Then I slammed his head against the floor with brutal force, and he went limp, unconscious. I end his resistance. His body slackens, collapsing into stillness as consciousness slips away.

Silence follows. Both of them are out now.

I take my time leaving the house, moving through it like I belong there. Outside, the night is calm, indifferent. I pull the car around front and open the trunk. Lifting them is effortless. Their weight barely registers. Only obstacles temporarily in my way.

The drive passes in a blur of empty streets and steady breathing. I secured her loosely in a chair, my thoughts already shifting to the interloper. I'd kill him first, then turn my full attention to her.

A hard slap hit his face, turning his head and splitting his lip like a overripe fruit. Blood dripped down his chin, warm and sticky, as his eyes opened in confusion. He groaned, "Who... are you? What the hell is this?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I grabbed a dull knife, its edge worn out but great for slow, painful cuts. No quick slices, just rough, tearing wounds to make the pain last.

I began with his arms, pressing the blade on his pale skin and pulling it slowly. The skin held at first, then split with a wet rip, like tearing wet paper. Shallow cuts crossed his arms like a grid of hurt.

Blood bubbled up in red drops, filling the lines before spilling over and soaking the ropes tying him to the chair. He yanked against the ties, his muscles straining for nothing. "Stop! Please! What do you want?"

Deeper cuts now. I stabbed the knife into his thigh, twisting it as I pushed, feeling it scrape bone. Muscle ripped with a squish, and hot blood shot out in pulses, splattering the floor in red designs.

His scream was raw and loud, bouncing off the walls. "Ahh! Fuck! Please." He jerked around wildly, the chair groaning, his body shiny with sweat and blood mixing together.

I kept going to his hands, those shaking, weak fingers. First the tendons. Snip, snip. The knife cutting through the tough strings with a gritty feel, like slicing rubber in meat. Blood leaked from the cuts, and his fingers flopped loose, like dead bits of skin and bone.

He cried, tears running down his face with snot and spit. "No. No more! I'll do anything! I’ll give you money. Please stop."

But I didn't care about his words. I grabbed each finger and twisted until the joints cracked like dry sticks, the snap loud over his crying.

Bones broke and poked through the skin in sharp white pieces, blood fizzing around them. He shook hard, puking yellow stuff on his chest, adding a sour smell to the room.

The hammer felt heavy in my hand, its cold metal ready for big damage. I swung it at his ribs.Crack. Crack. Crack.Each hit shaking my arm. Bones broke like thin glass, pieces stabbing inside and popping his lungs with wet sounds.

Air whistled from the holes, blood bubbling from his mouth like pink foam as he gasped. "Can't... breathe... please..." His chest moved unevenly, sinking in with each hard breath, ribs scraping together in a mess inside.

I saved his face for the end, that scared look. First the nose. I smashed the hammer down, crunching the soft part like eggshells, blood spraying in a light mist that spotted my clothes. His nose holes spread flat into a mushy blob, blood running down his throat and choking him.

Then the cheeks, caving them in hard, skin splitting to show broken bone under, muscles twitching on their own.

Last, the eye socket. A strong hit that shattered the thin bone around his eye. The eyeball stuck out weirdly, veins popping in red lines, the white part filling with blood like a burst fruit.

He made bubbly noises, his body shaking in last jerks, arms and legs flopping weakly as his body shut down, skin turning pale under the mess.

The rush from it was weak, not the big thrill I wanted from victims I picked myself. The ones I followed and enjoyed slowly. This guy? He was just extra, forced on me by the situation.