Page 125 of Prey

“I love you too.” She tilts her head up to kiss me, soft and warm and tasting like home.

Outside our quarters, Chicago sleeps. Somewhere across other countries, children wait in concrete cells for rescue that might never come. The work continues. The hunt never ends.

But here, in this bed, with this woman, I learn what it feels like to be human instead of a weapon.

Tomorrow we’ll start planning the next extraction. Tonight, I hold my family and let myself believe we might actually win this war.

Even monsters can learn to love something more than the hunt.

45

JENNA

The elevator descends past floors I’ve memorized—past the medical level, past storage, into the depths of the compound where screams can’t escape concrete and steel. My hand rests on the small curve of my belly, three months now, barely visible beneath Nikolai’s oversized shirt. He stands behind me, solid and warm, his presence both comfort and promise.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs against my ear as the numbers count down. “I can handle it.”

“No.” My voice carries steel I didn’t know I possessed until Nikolai forged it in me. “This one’s mine.”

The doors slide open to reveal the interrogation level—a sterile corridor lined with soundproof cells. Our footsteps echo as Nikolai leads me to the third door on the right. He pauses, hand on the heavy steel handle.

“I’ve had him down here for three weeks. Three weeks of thinking about what he did to you. Are you ready to take your pound of flesh for everything he stole?”

I nod, and he opens the door.

Richard Moss sits shackled to a metal chair in the center of the concrete room. Fifty-seven years old now, grayer than Iremember, but still carrying the same cruel set to his mouth that haunted my nightmares for years. His head snaps up when we enter, and I watch recognition dawn in his bloodshot eyes.

“Well, well. Little Jenna.” His voice carries that same mocking tone that used to make me flinch. “All grown up and playing with dangerous men. Some things never change.”

The words should trigger panic, should send me spiraling back to being that terrified girl locked in his basement. Instead, they wash over me like water off steel. I’ve faced real predators now, I’ve become one myself and he pales in comparison.

“Hello, Richard.” I step closer, close enough to smell his fear-sweat mixed with days of confinement. “Miss me?”

His laugh is harsh. “You always were a dramatic little bitch. What is this, a revenge fantasy? You think tying me up makes you tough now?”

Nikolai moves to the wall where tools hang in precise rows—knives, pliers, instruments designed for extracting information and pain. He selects a thin-bladed knife, testing its edge with his thumb.

“She doesn’t need to be tough,” Nikolai says conversationally, offering me the blade. “She just needed me to capture you.”

The weight of the knife feels perfect in my palm, balanced and eager. Richard’s eyes dart between us, and for the first time, uncertainty creeps into his expression.

“You won’t do it,” he sneers, but his voice wavers. “You were always weak. All those nights crying in that basement, begging me to stop. Remember how you used to promise you’d be good if I just?—”

The blade slides between his ribs before he can finish. Not deep enough to kill, just enough to remind him who holds power now. His gasp of pain cuts through the concrete chamber.

“I remember everything,” I whisper, twisting the knife slightly. “Every broken bone. Every bruise. Every time you told me I was worthless.”

“Jenna, please?—”

“Every time you came to my room at night.” The knife slides out, and I move to stand behind him. “Every time you made me believe it was my fault when that couldn’t control yourself and fucked me.”

Nikolai watches from the wall, arms crossed, predatory satisfaction radiating from his stance. This is my hunt now, my kill to make. He’s here to guide me, to catch me if I fall, but the blade belongs to me.

“Where should I start?” I ask him, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes tell me his smile behind the mask is pure pride.

“Wherever he hurt you first.”

My hand finds Richard’s left wrist, just like my left wrist he broke because I dropped a plate.