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

by Kristine Mason

  She hugged him back, and relished his compliments. For the first time in her life, she was proud of herself. She pulled her mom into their embrace and, looking over Cami’s shoulder, she stared at Ryan’s back. “I couldn’t have done this without Ryan.”

  Ryan glanced behind and gave her a sexy grin, before looking back to the water. “This is a pretty fancy fishing boat. We have another twenty minutes. Ian, mind explaining those drug dealers?”

  Ian let go of them. “In a minute. Are you two aware of the man hunting us?”

  “Steven Weir,” Lola said. “We learned about him this afternoon. Dante, John and Hudson took the jet from Chicago. They should be down here by now.”

  Ian nodded, then looked to her mom. “Steven won’t stop.”

  Lola followed his gaze, then quickly drew her mom closer to the light from the cockpit. “Mom, you’re hurt. Oh, my God. What happened to you?” she asked, staring at the blood staining Cami’s clothes.

  “Steven,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek. “He…he’s already killed two people. When he tied me to a tree, he showed me pictures of what he did to them. The only reason he didn’t kill me then was because he wanted Ian around to watch. He’s sick, honey. Ian’s right. He won’t stop.”

  Outrage and fear had Lola’s hands shaking and tension straightening her back. “We can talk about him once we reach the others,” she said. Her mom had obviously been through enough.

  Ian put an arm around her mom. “We can discuss anything in front of your mother.”

  Not this. Not a man’s execution. She thought back to what had happened to Ryan in Pakistan, the trial and the guilt that had followed. Her mom, even Ian, had no idea what CORE had done or the rules they had broken, and she didn’t want her mom to be forced to testify against her own daughter, should the authorities discover what CORE had been devising.

  “That’s fine. But I’d still like to wait for the others.”

  Ian stared at her, then shook his head. “At least answer me this—why are Dante, John and Hudson down here?”

  “I think you know the reason.”

  His lips tugged into a slight snarl. “Good.” He kissed the top of her mom’s head. “That son of a bitch doesn’t deserve to live.”

  Somewhere in the Everglades, Florida

  Friday, 1:33 a.m. Eastern Standard Time

  Dragging in deep breaths, Steven dropped to a knee and wiped the sweat pouring off his brow. A cramp seized his right side. Blood coated the handle of the flashlight he held in his left hand. The alligator bite hurt like a motherfucker. But he had to move forward. He had to know who let off the gunshots. Ian and Cami couldn’t have been the ones doing the shooting, of that, he was certain. But the agents from CORE? Maybe a gator or panther had invaded their camp and they had shot their way out of danger, which made the most sense to him. It also meant they weren’t too far away.

  Now that he’d made it around the marsh, he sheathed the machete and pulled out his Browning. He stood and swept the flashlight until he picked up his boot prints and the two other sets not belonging to him, as well as Ian’s footprints.

  To maintain the element of surprise, he quickly swapped the bloody flashlight for the night vision monocular. Once his world had turned an eerie shade of green again, he hurried along the trail they’d made. Within minutes, he found the tree where he’d left Cami hanging, and kept jogging. As he’d hoped, Ian had rescued his damsel in distress, which was good. He wanted them together only so he could tear Cami apart. Literally. He wanted to cut her limb by limb while Ian sat bound and gagged, unable to do anything but suffer. Thanks to the little prick, he could add an alligator bite to his long list of reasons to hate the son of a bitch.

  He hated the CORE agents just as much. If they’d been the ones who had fired the weapons, they would likely be on alert for other animals. Or maybe they’d decided to move camp. Either way, he’d stay on this trail and find them.

  Up ahead, the monocular touched on another crop of mangroves. He might have to risk exposing his location and bring out the flashlight again. The tree roots had been a bitch to climb over during the day—in the dark he could lose his footing and break a bone.

  He slowed and dropped the monocular away from his face. But an odd shape grabbed his attention. He quickly raised the monocular. There, in a sea of green, was a small tent. Careful of his steps, he quietly moved forward, keeping his gun trained on the tent. His left arm throbbed as he kept the monocular to his eye, but he wouldn’t dare drop it now. Not when the assholes could ambush him or—

  He tripped, then jumped, when the double snap of a firecracker went off next to him. Panicking, he swung in a circle, ready to shoot anything that came near him. Using the monocular, he looked to the ground and discovered his own damned tripwire. Raw fury clawed at him, making his vision swim. How dare they use his tripwire to trick him?

  They were so dead.

  And obviously not here. Otherwise they would have come after him.

  He moved closer to the camp, kicked the sleeping bag that had been tossed outside onto the dirt, then checked the tent. Tight quarters for two large men. Maybe the two CORE agents were no better than Moody and liked dick. Whatever. He couldn’t care less, so long as he found them and put a bullet in their heads.

  Deciding to forgo the flashlight and keep his cover, he used the monocular to follow their trail into the mangroves. Fortunately, there weren’t many trees, and once he rushed through the creek and into the woodland, he spotted a clearing. He peered through the monocular, noticed water and…a house?

  Staying to the edge of the woods, he ran toward the house. As he drew closer, he realized it wasn’t a house, but a trailer. He crept closer and closer. The glass on the door had been broken. No surprise. The place looked as if it had been here for decades. Still. Could Ian and Cami have found the trailer? What about the agents? He aimed the monocular to the ground near the path leading to the door. The ground cover made it impossible to see any tracks. Blood from his left arm fell onto the plants in fat droplets. He needed to re-dress the wound, but also needed to find out where the CORE agents had gone.

  Keeping the monocular and his gun raised, he edged closer to the trailer. The small window to the left of the door came to his eyelevel. He looked inside, then jerked away. His temper flaring, he threw open the trailer door, then quickly rushed to one of the men lying prone on the floor. His hands were bound behind his back and coated with blood, his legs had been tied together, too. Steven flipped him over, grabbed him by the hair, then smacked his face a few times.

  The man groaned. “What the hell?” he asked, his words slurred as if he were drunk. “Zack? Help me, man.”

  “Who’s Zack?”

  When the man’s eyes fluttered open, the monocular made him look as if he had been possessed. Steven let his head go, turned and stared at the other man on the floor. He also lay face-down and had his wrists bound behind him. Leaving the two men, he checked the rest of the trailer. After finding severed fingers and cocaine that someone had dowsed with water, he made his way back to the men. He pocketed the monocular, turned on a lantern, then grabbed a jug of water. He dumped half the jug on the first man, who sputtered and shook his head, then poured the rest onto the other man.

  “Rise and shine, dickheads,” he said, hauling the man he assumed was Zack onto his back. “I need some answers.” When he didn’t move, Steven backhanded him. “Now.”

  Zack winced. “All right, all right. I’m awake. What the—?” He widened his eyes and looked from him to the douche lying on the floor. “Who are you?” he asked, swallowing hard.

  Steven grabbed the first aid kit setting on the trailer floor. Rather than waste his supplies, he’d use theirs. “You first.”

  “Don’t say anything,” the other man said, and scooted himself into a sitting position.

  “You with Del Rio?” Zack asked.

  “Damn it, I told you not to say—”

  “No, and I don’t care about the
drugs you have in the back.” Steven opened the first aid kit. “You should, though. It’s going to be a long time before your coke dries out.”

  Zack closed his eyes. “Shit, Chase. Smitty is going to kill us.”

  “Actually, I’m going to kill you,” Steven said, unwrapping the bloody elastic bandage from his arm. “I can drag it out or I can make it quick and painless. It’ll depend on how you answer my questions.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Steven glanced away from his arm and raised a brow. “Chase, right? Look, you guys are obviously not too bright. Dealing in drugs might be lucrative, but you’re better off getting involved in human trafficking. If a shipment goes missing, it could easily be replaced. Cocaine? Not so much.”

  He clenched his jaw and fought a wave of nausea and dizziness as he removed the blood-soaked gauze. The flesh around the loose stitches had doubled in size and oozed blood. He would need additional sutures, but didn’t have the time. His priority was to dress and clean the wound, and find out what these two dickheads knew.

  “Holy shit, man.” Zack sucked in a breath as he rolled onto his side, then moved to sit against the trailer wall. “Did a gator get you?”

  “It did,” he answered, then poured one of their water jugs over the bites. He held back a groan and closed his eyes, fighting the pain, the nausea. “Right before I rammed my machete into its skull.”

  “No kidding? Makes what the bitch did to my leg look like a razor cut.”

  “Shut up, Zack.”

  Steven glanced to Chase. “Which bitch would that be?”

  “Don’t say a word.”

  “Whatever, man. I don’t give a shit what happens to her,” Zack said, looking down at his leg, where blood covered a portion of his pants. “She stabbed me, and the old dude with her shot me. Chase, too.” He met Steven’s gaze and smiled. “Are you the reason she’s sliced up?”

  Steven poured more water along his arm. “I am.”

  Zack looked to Chase, his eyes glittering with an eagerness Steven didn’t understand.

  “And you said they ruined our coke?” Zack asked.

  “They did. Although whatever you had in the flamingos might be okay. Quite clever, by the way.”

  Zack grinned. “My idea,” he said, and leaned his head against the wall. “If you help us out of here, we’ll help you catch them.”

  Steven shifted his gaze to Chase. “I don’t think your partner likes that idea.”

  “I don’t.” He squared his shoulders, and narrowed his eyes at Zack. “If you weren’t so hell bent on raping the—”

  “You were going to rape her?” He hated rapists. He never used to, until he’d spent six years being surrounded by Moody and his men. Steven used his good arm to push himself off the floor, then approached Chase. He reached down and ripped the man’s t-shirt from him, since it was cleaner than Zack’s.

  “What the hell, man?”

  Ignoring Chase, he used the shirt to blot the wound, then rinsed it again. “Back to this rape. Zack, was that your plan?”

  “No. I was messing with Chase. I mean, dude, she was old and covered in blood.” He chuckled. “I’m not that desperate. Actually, I wanted to take her with us and give her to Smitty. He’s the guy we run the coke for. I thought—”

  “Shut up,” Chase shouted. “He’s not going to help us. He’s playing you.”

  Steven gently pressed the t-shirt against the stitching, then dropped it and picked up his Browning. “You’re right,” he said, then pulled the trigger.

  Zack cried out as blood trickled from the bullet hole in the center of Chase’s forehead. Then Chase slumped forward.

  “What the fuck?” Zack shouted. “What the mother—”

  “Enough,” Steven yelled. “I had enough of his whining. And when I’m done, I’m done.” He searched through the first aid kit. When he didn’t find any antiseptic wipes, he turned to Zack. “Got any alcohol in this shithole?”

  Tears streamed down the man’s face as he stared at Chase’s lifeless body.

  “Answer me,” he roared, causing Zack to flinch.

  “Kitchen cabinet,” he said on a sob. “Oh, shit, man. Why’d you do that? Chase…he’s…” He hiccupped. “He was my best friend. I’ve known him since we were kids. He was—”

  “A brother to you. Touching.” Steven searched the cabinets. When he found a bottle of vodka, he opened it, then clenched his jaw and poured it over the bites. “Son of a—” He drew in ragged breaths and leaned against the counter as the pain climbed up his arm and radiated throughout every inch of his body. Seconds later, he regained his composure, then stumbled toward his pack and Zack’s first aid kit. “He was a pain in the ass,” he said, taking a seat. “You’re obviously the brains in this operation, while he was nothing but a talking vagina.” He looked to Zack. “Do you understand? You saw a way out of your predicament, while all he did was whine like a baby. Tell me this—who put the fingers in the toilet?”

  Zack sniffed. “Chase.”

  “And the person the fingers belonged to?” he asked, spreading antibacterial anointment along his arm.

  “Me. I…I slit his throat. His body’s behind the trailer.”

  He placed fresh gauze along the sutures. “You’re not only the brains, but you have balls,” he said, then grunted when he wrapped a fresh roll of elastic bandages around his arm. “I could use a man like you. Now, tell me more about the couple who was here.”

  “Not much to say. They ate our food, drank our water…when we found them, they were sleeping right where you’re sitting.”

  He looked at the blanket on the floor. “Did you have weapons here?”

  “Yes. I…I think they took them.”

  “And you arrived here how?”

  “Boat. The keys were in my pants. I don’t feel them anymore.”

  He clenched his jaw, then his fist and looked to the bandage around his arm, waiting for the blood to rise. It didn’t. For now. The alligator bite was the least of his concerns, though. He grabbed the lantern, and ignoring Zack’s shouts, stood, then quickly rushed from the trailer. Following the scent of saltwater, he ran to the left. When he reached the shore, the rage he’d been tamping down, surfaced. He tipped his head back. “Son of a bitch,” he yelled into the night, then dropped to a knee, dragging in deep breaths. “You son of a bitch.” He picked up a clump of mud and threw it, then stood and ran back to the trailer.

  When he looked at Zack, he wanted to bash the man’s skull. He wanted to hurt him so badly and let him know that this was his fault. He and his stupid friend had let his prey get away. They’d spoiled his plans. They’d taken the hunt and—

  “Was anyone else with them?” he asked, now concerned about the CORE agents. Their camp hadn’t been far from the trailer, and they could have reached Ian and Cami in time to help them escape on Zack and Chase’s boat.

  “Don’t know. The woman knocked me out with a frickin’ tackle box.”

  Steven shoved a hand through his hair and paced.

  No. No. No!

  This couldn’t be happening. He’d planned this for six long years. He’d endured the rapes, the beatings…had been the model prisoner with the hope, the anticipation, that he’d be released early. And he had been. But not early enough.

  He stared at Zack, but didn’t see the man. Instead, he saw his father’s headstone. Ian had stripped him of so damned much. Elaine’s eyeless head filtered past the rage. Quick snippets of that night emerged. Hearing her laughing as she snuggled close to Uncle Ray-Ray. Smashing the wine bottle across the prick’s head, then plunging it into his crotch. Tearing out her womb, setting them on fire…

  Ian.

  He’d made him do that. And now he had sped away on a boat belonging to a couple of dumbass drug dealers.

  Who would have thought? He shook his head and started to laugh. Now he had to hike all the way back to the fucking road. The inflatable kayak was useless. To paddle with a mangled arm would be stupid and take forever to accomplis
h.

  “W-what’s so funny?” Zack asked. “Didn’t they take the boat?”

  He stared at the pathetic man. “It’s gone. But that now means I have to a lot of walking to do.”

  Zack gave him a tentative smile. “You mean us, right? You said you could use a guy like me, and I told you I’d help you out. If it wasn’t for them, me and Chase would be on our way to Siesta Key right now.”

  “I did mean us,” he lied. “How far are we from the nearest town?”

  “Other than Everglade City, there’s nothing but campgrounds, and you’re not going to stumble onto one for miles and miles.”

  “By boat, how far are we from Everglade City?”

  “In my boat? Twenty to twenty-five minutes.”

  Which meant the little prick and the screamer, along with the CORE agents, could be climbing off the boat right now, while he stood in this shitty trailer contemplating a day’s worth of hiking back to the road.

  “There’s a canoe behind the trailer. It’s not much, but it floats. We could probably make it to the bay off the Gulf in about ninety minutes. From there, it’d probably take us another four to five hours.”

  Six and a half hours versus twelve. Sold. Although he had no desire to bring Zack along, the man might not have two good legs, but he had two good arms. “You can get me there?”

  “If you’ll help me get my boat back.”

  Zack licked his lips and stared at him as if he were negotiating the deal of a lifetime. Which he was—his life.

  “Done.”

  Zack grinned, then rested his head back against the wall. “You won’t regret it, man.”

  Zack would. Other than the man’s arms, he had no use for the drug dealer. Zack had thought he’d negotiated his way out of being stranded in the Everglades with two wounded legs. Instead, the man had made a deal with the devil. Now Zack’s short life belonged to him. And soon enough, so would Ian’s and the rest of his army of assholes.