Page 41 of Ready Or Not

I roll my eyes and turn back to the man. “Answer the fucking question.”

He’s sucking in shallow breaths. “What?”

“Did you use one of these? To kill the deer?” I flick my Glock at him.

“Y-yes?” He gulps.

I smirk. “Really. You used a small-caliber handgun to take down a grown-ass deer?”

The man’s eyes dart between mine.

“As an experienced hunter, you ought to know that a 9mm won’t take a deer down quickly. Right? You’d probably use a 50 cal, right?”

He nods furiously.

I shake my head. “Do you know what I hate, user1995?”

His eyes widen.

“Liars.” I smile at him sweetly, but I don’t let the smile reach my eyes.

“Riley.” Rachel tugs at my hand. She knows where this is going. She’s smarter than he is ‘cause he still looks at me with a blank look. What a waste of space. He does nothing to contribute to my world getting better. Instead, he leaches off the success of others. Just like the other people I fuck with. Usually, I do a deep dive into my posers. Flirt with them online. Get them to flirt with me. Then, I send the evidence to their girlfriends, their moms, and their jobs.

But this one had none of that. No girlfriend, no job, and a mom in dementia care. So, I guess I’ll have to get a little more creative.

I hear Manson’s voice in my ear.Prove yourself.

My lips curl in a smile. “Cover your ears, bambi.”

I let go of her hand, then fire a round into the man’s hip.

For a second after the explosion, there’s silence. The man looks down at his hip in shock.

Rachel has her hands over her ears like a good girl. I kiss the top of her head.

“What the fuck?” That seems to snap her out of her trance. She definitely doesn’t like loud noises.

I’ll get a silencer.

Rachel turns and darts to the front door.

For fuck’s sake. The fun has just begun. I lunge at her, snatching her up before she can get outside.

“Don’t touch me!” Rachel screams.

“Shhhh.” I slam her into the front door, pinning her there.

“No, get off me!” Rachel is fighting for real now. What’s wrong with her? Little miss dead-things-collector shouldn’t have a problem with me adding to the bones count. I won’t even shoot him in the head. His skull will be perfect.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man on the couch lean down. He’s grabbing his phone.

“Rachel, I’m going to shoot again,” I warn her. Instantly, her body locks up, and I hate that. I want her to watch what I’m about to do.

A thought comes to my mind, and I don’t think; I just do. I dart over the couch, grab the pocket knife from the coffee table, and pounce. The man is still trying to call 911, the adrenaline making his fingers clumsy.

I slit his throat. The blood sprays everywhere, warm and heavy and alive.

Well, not for long.