Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (27 page)

Hudson’s slight chuckle held no amusement. “Come on, John. Don’t bullshit me. You know exactly what the answer to that is. Hell, it’s the only answer. We’re going to kill him.”

Somewhere in the Everglades, Florida

Thursday, 3:52 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

Steven Weir dropped Cami’s limp body onto the ground near a large tree. She might not weigh much, but between carrying her and the ninety pounds-plus pack for nearly three hours, his arms shook and his back ached. When she’d regained consciousness at one point, he’d considered forcing her to walk. But when she’d opened her eyes, then her mouth, he’d quickly silenced her with another punch. He’d smartened up, though, and placed duct tape over her mouth while she had still been unconscious. No way did he want to listen to the bitch scream again.

He pulled a jug of water from his pack, then took several long gulps. As it was, he worried about retracing his steps back to Ian before it grew dark. He’d notched many trees along the way. So long as he took care of what he needed to do to Cami, he could find his way back. Ian would likely be gone, which was okay. At this point, his objectives had taken a slight change in direction. He needed to deal with the CORE agents who had dared to disobey his direct orders.

He glanced to his compass, wishing he’d been able to afford to buy a GPS. During his days with the Marines, he’d spent plenty of time hiking and guesstimated he’d probably only traveled two and a half to three miles over the past three hours. Without Cami literally weighing him down, he could retrace his steps in less than half the time, which should work perfectly for his plan. The sun would set around five-thirty. If his new prey managed to find the signs he’d left behind, then they should wind up right around the spot he’d shot Cami at the same time as him. While he took care of killing his prey, Ian should be busy searching for the screamer. He’d left the notches not just for himself, but for Ian, too. Although he rather enjoyed hunting the duo, if Ian didn’t find her in time…well, it’d be a damned shame.

He grinned and set the jug on the ground, then pulled rope from the pack. As they said in real estate, it was all about the location. And this one was perfect. The shallow marsh he’d just waded through sat to the left about fifteen yards away. Soon enough, the creatures of the night would crawl out of their nests in search of food. Tonight’s special? Cami Carlyle tartare.

He took Cami by the wrist and tied one end of the rope around it, then tossed the rope over a thick tree branch, large enough to hold Cami’s slight weight. Fortunately for him, the branch was only a few inches above his six-foot-six frame. Unfortunately for Cami, she was more than a foot shorter than him. He hefted her over his shoulder again, then pulled on the free end of the rope until her bound wrist forced her arm to stretch over the branch. Then he shoved her other arm over the branch, bracing his leg against the tree trunk to keep her upright and steady. He worked quickly, wrapping the rope then knotting it, until both wrists were fastened around the branch. Once he was certain the knots were tight and would hold, he dropped his leg and let go of her waist.

Her blond head hung forward, while her feet dangled more than a foot off the ground. Perfect. Now he needed to set his bait. He turned, then bent to retrieve the machete from his pack, then fell face forward. Quickly scrambling to his feet, he faced the screamer, who stared at him with a combination of hatred, fear and smug satisfaction.

Anxious to wipe the smugness from her face, he slid the machete from its sheath, then cut off another segment of rope. She shot her legs out again. He dropped the blade, then jabbed her in the stomach with his fist. She grunted and moaned, but stopped her squirming long enough for him to wrap the rope around her legs. Once he’d tied a knot at the back of the tree, he quickly moved to stand in front of her. “I hope you enjoyed kicking me in the ass,” he said, tearing the duct tape from her mouth. Sweat had loosened it and he wanted her to be able to call out to Ian. He wanted Ian to suffer, and since the little prick was in love with the screamer, the best way to torment him was to kill her. Only he wanted to be there when that happened. He wanted to witness the man’s pain and guilt. After all, Cami’s death would be Ian’s fault, not his. If Ian had done the right thing, he wouldn’t have gone to prison. He wouldn’t have lost his wife, his kids, his money…his dad.

“I did enjoy kicking you,” she said, panting as she struggled to hold onto the branch, likely to keep the pressure off of her shoulders. “Why don’t you bend over and let me do it again.”

Bend over and take it.

He backhanded her, causing her head to smack against the tree. Aaron Moody’s haunting words had rage coiling through his body, along with the humiliation, the degradation…God, the fucking shame. If only he could have killed the man. Cut off his dick and used a broomstick to shove it up his ass. He’d fantasized about doing exactly that during the entire time he’d been incarcerated at Stateville. But his fantasy hadn’t ended there. While Moody suffered the loss of his dick, he’d take a knife and slice him open. Rip out his entrails for the piece of shit to see. He’d keep Moody alive long enough to cut the dicks off the bastards who’d helped humiliate him, then stuff the flesh into Moody’s mouth. Just before Moody choked, he’d slit his throat and—

Cami let out a scream, popping the fantasy and bringing him back to reality. He looked to the blood at the tip of the machete, which he didn’t recall picking up off the ground, then back to Cami. A small shallow slice ran down the center of her torso. Blood oozed from the cut and had already soaked her camisole. “Well, I guess you won’t be telling me to bend over now. Will you?”

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head.

“Good. Sorry about cutting your stomach. I didn’t mean to do that. I meant to do this.” He sliced the machete along her outer thigh, from below her hip to near her knee.

Cami cried out, then began sobbing and trying to twist her body free.

“Be strong, Screamer, there’s more to come.” As she screamed and wailed, he ran the blade along her left forearm, then he dropped to the ground and did the same to her right calf. “For the love of God, stop the pathetic crying.” He stood and gripped her mouth. “These are nothing but paper cuts. Ask my ex-wife. Oh, wait. She’s already dead, so that won’t work.” He let go of her mouth, then went to his pack. After he found his dad’s cell phone—which had no service and hovered at thirty percent battery power—he opened up the photos, then slid his finger to the first one he’d taken of Elaine. “It’s a good thing you haven’t eaten, because these might make your stomach a little queasy. Once you look at them a few times, it passes.”

He held the phone in front of her face. “These are great before and after pictures. Here’s one of Elaine tied in the chair. If you ignore the swollen eye and bloody nose, she’s really quite pretty.” He slid to the next picture. “I took this one after I cut open her womb. When I broke into her house, I stood outside the bedroom door and listened to her talk to her limp-dick fiancé about their upcoming wedding, and their plans to try and get pregnant right after they were married. As you can see, I didn’t think that was a good idea.”

He hadn’t been able to see straight when he’d overheard them discussing having a baby. She’d already had two with him, and had talked him into having a vasectomy eight years ago after her period had been late. Money had been tight and he’d been looking for a job. She’d worried they couldn’t afford another kid. He wouldn’t have cared if they’d had one more. Hell, who didn’t love babies? But she’d insisted on the no more baby rule, only to change her mind when Uncle Ray-Ray came into the picture.

He slid to the next picture and laughed when Cami gagged. “Yeah, this one is pretty gruesome. Even my stomach soured when I carved out her eyes. You know that saying about the eyes being the mirror to the soul? Elaine was a soulless, heartless whore. So I took her eyes.” He moved to the next picture. “And her fiancé’s tongue.”

Cami retched. He stepped back as bile dribbled down her chin.

“Now
that’s
disgusting. Understandable, but disgusting. Since you have a weak stomach, I’ll save the slide show for another time.” He took another step back, then pressed the phone’s camera function. “Let’s get a few shots for my album. You’re used to posing for the camera. Say cheese.” He snapped a few pictures, then put the phone back in his pack. After checking his watch and deciding it was time to move on with the hunt, he took another swig of water, then repacked the jug.

“Consider yourself lucky. I’d planned to cut off your ear.”

“Why?” she asked on a pathetic sob.

“To torture you.”

She shook her head. “No, why are you doing this? Who are you?”

“I’m sorry.” He smiled. “I guess I never did introduce myself. I’m Steven Weir, former Marine, former CORE agent.”

Her eyes widened and her chin trembled. “You worked for CORE?”

“Did I stutter? Yes, I worked for CORE.”

“Did Ian fire you? Is that why you’re doing this?”

“He didn’t just fire me, he had me arrested. Two months ago I was released from Stateville after serving six years for killing a man who’d murdered eight men. He’d taken the lives of Chicago cops, FBI agents and several Marines. And
I
stopped him.
I
gave the victims’ families justice. Instead of praise, I was given a prison sentence.” He hefted the pack over his shoulders. “Now I plan to deliver a new brand of justice. You can thank your boyfriend for your current position.”

He turned and checked his compass. He’d need to travel east for a mile, then north. If he hustled double-time, he could beat whoever was following him and ambush them ahead of schedule.

“Wait,” she shouted. “Don’t go.”

Surprised, he turned. The blood from her leg and calf wounds had trickled to her feet and now coated the tops of her slippers. The slice along her torso looked as if it had already stopped bleeding, but the one along her forearm dripped from her elbow and splashed across her breast.

“I didn’t realize I was such good company.”

“Please, I can’t defend myself this way.”

Fucking ditz. “That’s the point. But don’t worry. I’ve made it so Ian will find you. I can’t let you die out in the Glades by yourself with no one watching. And I want Ian to watch.” He took a few steps toward her. “My ex-wife divorced me, took my kids, my house and my money, then let some asshole move in and play daddy in my absence. When I decided to hunt Ian, I wasn’t planning on involving you, until I watched how my ex grieved and suffered when I stabbed her lover in the dick with a broken wine bottle. I’ve made it clear that I want Ian to suffer, too—so clear I’m starting to sound redundant even to myself. The best way to do that is through you.”

He touched her cheek. “Now that you’ve stopped screaming and aren’t as annoying, I actually feel a little bad about that.” He grinned, then started to laugh. “Sorry, I can’t keep a straight face. I’m completely lying. I feel nothing for you. But don’t be surprised if you feel something tugging at your bloody feet. Hang in there, Cami,” he said with a wave, turned then took off running.

*

A cramp pinched Lola’s right side. She gripped her waist, then moved to a slow jog. “Mind slowing down for a minute?” she called to Ryan, who was farther ahead by at least fifteen to twenty feet. Who the hell knew? She couldn’t gauge distance in this mishmash of overgrown trees and bushy plants.

“Do you need to stop?” Ryan slowed, turned, then jogged toward her. “How about some water?”

“Water would be good,” she said, pulling off her pack. She stretched her back. Her foot hurt, but she didn’t want to remove the boot and mess with her bandage. Her legs ached from all of the running and hiking. She just needed to sit for a minute. She glanced to the pack nestled in ground cover, then bent to sit on it.

“Don’t touch that,” he shouted, and rushed toward her.

She tried to jump back up, but lost her balance and instinctively put her hands out to catch her fall. Ryan grabbed her by the waist before she hit the ground.

She clung to his pack and waist, looked from his mouth, then to the ground, telling herself the only reason she was suddenly breathless, and that her heart rate had spiked, was due to the alarm in his voice. Not because he was holding her, or because his hard body was flush to hers. “You scared the crap out of me. Don’t touch what?”

“You dropped your pack in stinging nettles. If you touch it with your bare skin, it causes a rash.”

“All of these plants are starting to look the same to me. Thanks for saving me from a rash.”

“You can tell the stinging nettles by the white flowers at the top of their stems,” he said, still holding her close.

She should step back. But she was tired and his arms were strong, and…damn the way he held her was almost a hug. She could use one. A long comforting embrace. A shoulder to lean on and help her push through the rest of this mission, as Ryan kept calling it. Exhausted, scared and worried out of her mind, she wanted to know someone cared, not only about her mom, but—call her selfish—about her. If he hadn’t been making conversation, or she wasn’t asking questions about the Everglades, or about him and his life here, her mind kept straying to her mom. The worry distressed her to the point that she wanted him to give her some distance, so that she could let out all the emotions festering inside and have big cry fest.

Thinking about wanting to unleash those emotions had her chin quivering and her eyes burning with the onslaught of tears. Worried he’d think she was weak, she looked down and stepped back.