Hunter

Debt

Hunter

Mason pulled me out of Saintwood High and brought a personal teacher to homeschool me. He also hired someone to train me in fighting and using weapons.

An ex-special force military man named Dominick Moretti showed me how to field strip a gun, clean it, and shoot. I wasn't sure what he did for a living, but he wasn't someone you wanted to fuck with.

Dominick had black hair, was built like a shit brick house, and had a coldness to him. He also had a thick Italian accent.

"You want to pull your gun before your enemy dies and shoot to kill." Dominick pulled his gun, aimed it at the target, and fired off rounds. Then he lowered the gun, set it down, and turned to me. "Never let your enemy get the upper hand."

"How do you know who's the enemy?"

"You treat everyone like an enemy. People would rather put a bullet in your head than help you."

We heard clapping and turned to see a man dressed in a designer suit creeping toward us.

"Bravo." The man stopped in front of us.

"Ah, Elliot Jones. Pleasure," Dominick said.

"Always a pleasure Dominick."

My eyes flicked between Dominick and Elliot. Before I reacted, Elliot whipped a knife past my head. My head whipped around to see it land on the wall behind me. What the fuck?

Elliot walked over to the wall, yanked the knife from the wall, and strolled back to us. "One rule you must remember. Not all enemies carry a gun. You always bring a knife to any fight."

I looked at Elliot without saying a word. I'm sure he's still pissed when I shoved a knife into his foot.

Elliot flipped the knife around and held out the handle to me. "Here. Take it."

"Is this some trick?" I asked.

"If I wanted you dead, you would lie in a pool of blood."

There was a hidden meaning in Elliot's words. I didn't doubt he would end my life in a heartbeat. I took the knife from him and rolled it in my fingers.

Elliot pulled out another knife. Jesus. What's with this guy? "Follow me."

I followed Elliot to a spot. He flipped the knife, caught it by the blade, and threw it. The knife landed in the center of the target. "When you throw a knife, you must use precision with your arm. You want it to land in the target. Now, you try."

I glanced at Elliot, took a stance, and threw the knife as shown. The knife landed near the target.

Elliot walked to the knife, yanked it out, returned it to me, and handed it to me. "Try again, but focus."

I held the knife in my hand, visualized a target, and whipped it at the paper. The knife landed right between the eyes of the target.

"Better," Elliot said.

"Why are you helping me? I shoved a knife in your foot."

Elliot arched his brow. "You can thank Mason for me not ripping out your throat. Mason sees you as an asset. I find you a liability."

"I'm not afraid to die."

Elliot's lips curled into a smirk. "You take all the fun out watching you die a slow, painful death. I prefer to watch people beg for their lives."

I squinted my eyes, trying to figure out Elliot. Taking a life didn't bother him. "You don't seem too bothered to end someone's life."

"Fear is a useless emotion. People will feed on it. I hate people."