Page 34 of Hunted

“Of course I knew. You really think I’d take a risk like that—that I’d take the chance she’d blow her brains out all over my gym—without knowing for certain that she wouldn’t?”

He jerked back at the acid in my tone, or perhaps the callous words themselves and the visual they inherently painted.

“Of course I knew. But I also knew that she needed a make-or-break moment to decide that for herself.”

Okay, so that last part wasn’t a lie.

We all needed at least the illusion that we’d chosen our own fates.

[ 12 ]

ADDIE

KAI ENGEL – EXPLOSION

In hindsight, the tequila was undeniably a bad idea.

A fresh wave of nausea washed over me, threatening to introduce my boots to the plain buttered toast I’d managed to choke down for breakfast an hour ago. My fingers stilled halfway through their usual braiding routine before I let them drop—the strain on my scalp amplifying the thudding in my skull, and my recently acquired distaste for anything agave-flavoured.

“I hate you,” I whisper-grumbled to Ethan, threading my hair through the elastic into a loose, low ponytail instead.

He smirked in response, seemingly unaffected by any lingering aftereffects. This only served to irritate me further—at least until he spoke, which made it significantly worse.

“You do not. You do hate that we got assigned to the same team so you can’t take your frustrations out on me.” He finished with a wink, stepping up to the table as the line moved.

He grabbed an empty Glock from the rows laid out neatly on the table, gave it a quick once-over, and set it down at the next station as he filled an empty magazine with bullets.

I followed suit, picked up an identical handgun, and went through my well-ingrained weapon check. I was about to move on to Eth’s recently vacated spot when something tripped the alarm bells in my brain. My gaze dropped to the seemingly innocuous gun in my right hand, unsure exactly what had me so on edge.

Maybe it’s something obscure.

I rechecked it—slower this time—much to the irritation of the three recruits waiting in line behind me. It had no magazine loaded, no bullet left in the chamber, and nothing wrong with the trigger or magazine release. I raised the pistol at the wall in front of me like it owed me money, and looked down the line of the gun like I was about to shoot holes through the cement panels. The sights lined up perfectly and its weight felt normal, comfortable even—which probably should have concerned me.

My paranoia grew with every passing second.

The slide came off without a hitch and, at a glance, there was nothing untoward about the interior anatomy of the gun. I was about to rerack it when my skin prickled in the way it did when your body realised you were being watched before your mind was ever consciously aware of it.

Without turning, I knew at least one set of intense eyes was staring hard at me from across the room, watching my every move. That’s when I knew I was onto something.

Finally, I checked the firing pin. When I pressed the little button that should have allowed me to slide it out, no pin appeared.

This gun was unusable—whether damaged or tampered with, I couldn’t say, though my instincts were leaning heavily towards the latter.

We were heading into an assessment, after all. It was on us to check our equipment instead of blindly trusting it.

Blind trust got you killed around here, too.

“Hey,” I murmured to Eth, placing that particular weapon back into the neat rows and grabbing another. This one was perfect—smooth, clean, and practically straight outta the factory.

Eth smoothed down the last tab securing his bulletproof vest into place, picked up a second, and wandered back over. He dropped it over my head after I holstered my freshly loaded gun at my hip, brows raised in question.

“Check your firing pin,” I said, voice low.

He frowned but did as I asked. Drawing as little attention as possible, he sidled up beside me and pulled his Glock apart to check. Sure enough, no pin.

“Well, shit,” he breathed, conveying a look that held so many more unspoken words.

This was tactical sabotage.