Hunted

Marcus

Chapter 17

There's something wrong with me. Maybe it's the fact that I've been drowning myself in alcohol just to stop thinking about her. But it doesn't matter how much I drink, how many times I try to shut it down—her scent, her eyes, her face—they're all burned into my mind. She's everywhere, and no matter what I do, I can't escape it.

Goddamn it.

I've been looking for ways to make her life even more miserable, but the more I try, the more she gets under my skin.

The car door slams as Jeremy slides into the passenger seat. "Blood-soaked and dirty, huh?" he mutters, wiping his hands. "Any chance you could stop being a motherfucker and hand me half of the payment?"

"I haven't got the money yet," I reply, turning the key in the ignition.

Jeremy shrugs, unfazed. "I'm taking half, with or without your cut, before Vaughn decides to step in."

"He's not interested in the money," I say, my tone flat.

Jeremy raises an eyebrow. "That's a first. So, what does he want this time?"

"Nothing," I respond, watching the road ahead as the car roars to life.

Jeremy chuckles, a dark sound. "Well, that is a first."

"She's not going to hand over her assets willingly. We need to apply pressure, make her understand what's at stake. But honestly, her money is the last thing on my mind. I want to drag this out... make her feel every moment of it, drain her, little by little."

Jeremy leans back in his seat, lighting a cigarette. "She's got nobody. Those two friends of hers from high school? Ariella and Tina? She's been out of touch with them for years."

I think back to those days—how she always seemed distant, but always attached to me in some ways, like she was walking through life in her own world. It wasn't easy to overlook her then. Now, it's impossible.

"And?" I reply, my voice cold. "When I say take, I mean break her. Injure her. I want her terrified, desperate, with no way out."

"I'm calling Vaughn," Jeremy mutters as we approach the building.

I pull the car to a stop in front of a towering structure, all sleek glass and sharp edges. The façade gleams under the city lights, reflecting the world below in distorted fragments. The entrance is framed by marble pillars, and a doorman stands stiffly near the revolving doors. The place reeks of money, but it's soulless—just another expensive cage.

We step inside, the lobby cold and immaculate, filled with silence that only wealth can buy. Jeremy and I head straight for the elevator, the polished steel doors sliding shut behind us with a quiet hiss. The ascent is quick, the hum of the machinery barely noticeable.

When we reach Naomi's apartment, it's clear my instructions have been followed. The place is stripped bare. Her life, boxed up and ready to disappear. An overstatement, really—I'm not throwing this stuff away. I'm taking it with me, like everything else that's hers.

After we got back to town, I had my men clear out her room, piece by piece.

Jeremy lights a cigarette, wandering toward the bed. He tugs at the sheets with a grin, clearly making himself comfortable. "I'm staying here tonight. Got a guest coming over."

"Find somewhere else to get your cock sucked," I tell him, my voice sharp.

He smirks, unfazed. "Why would I? I've got a free bed right here, no strings attached."

I shake my head and walk over to Thatches, my right-hand man. His posture is straight, always ready for orders. "Anything else I need to know?"

"No, Boss," he replies, his voice steady. "I made sure her name is wiped off every list. No trace of her left."
I glance at my watch. "She'll be here in less than two hours. I want everything cleared out in one."

Thatches gives a quick nod and steps out to oversee the final sweep. I walk over to Jeremy, who's leaning against the large window, cigarette in hand, the smoke curling up into the dim light. The city sprawls below us, its distant hum barely reaching the high floors.

"She didn't deserve this," he says, his voice low, almost thoughtful, as he watches the streets far below.

I press my hands against the window sill, staring out at the city lights. Cold, distant, just like everything else. "I had my life taken from me," I reply, my voice hardening. "She doesn't get to keep hers either."

Jeremy exhales slowly, the smoke thick in the air between us. He doesn't say anything more. He doesn't need to.

My eyes land on the bag, stuffed full of her things, hastily packed. One of the pockets has spilled open, and a picture has slipped out, lying face up on the floor. I reach down, picking it up.

It's a picture of us. Of me, giving her a kiss on the cheek. We were just kids back then. I remember that day—her father had finally handed over his phone after she begged for what felt like forever.

"For memory," she'd said, her face lighting up with that soft smile of hers.

"You've got more than enough memories," I'd told her, even back then, trying to keep myself in check, trying to control what little I could.

But she only shook her head, stubborn, as always. "It can never be too much," she said, her voice full of innocence. "Besides, see? This one's my favorite."

I stare at the photo now, my thumb brushing over the edges of it. The way she smiled back then—so unaware of the storm that was coming. So blissfully naïve. And maybe that's what gets to me the most. The purity she carried with her, like she was untouchable, like the world wouldn't eventually chew her up and spit her out.

Jeremy flicks his cigarette into the room, the ember glowing briefly before it dies out. I glance down at the photo in my hand, the edges worn, the image frozen in time. I fold it carefully and shove it into my pocket, the gesture almost subconscious. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, but I'm keeping it. I shouldn't, but I do.

I miss that kid. The one she used to be. Innocent, untouched by all this. If she had stayed that way, none of this would be happening now. Things would've been different. Simpler.

But that's not the world we live in, is it?

Jeremy stands by the door, his gaze following mine for a second before he moves on, indifferent. "You miss her."

"I want her fucked up."

We step out of the apartment, the stale air replaced by the sharp bite of the evening. Down below, a line of trucks stands ready, engines idle. Naomi's life, everything she's clung to, is packed into them—furniture, clothes, memories. All of it about to be hauled away like garbage. She'll have nothing left.

Nothing to come back to.