The Hunt

Chapter 4 - Heaven and Hell.

My head was pounding when my eyes blurred open, focusing on the blue aura the walls gave off and the bright light centred above my head I just had to make a solid guess that I was in the Police Station.

Right away, I coughed the moment air entered my lungs. It was fucking crazy, the air in the police departments always seemed different than anywhere else. Kya and I had joked that there were certain chemicals in the airs of these buildings to make you confess the truth.

Just jokes and conspiracies though, nothing tragic.

At this current moment, I'm gagged to the mouth and tied in the back. It was just ropes though, nothing complicated like handcuffs. Were they trying to test me? See if I can break the world record of 'how fast can a human being get out of ropes'?

The door swung open loudly and abruptly, and it wasn't a surprise when a tall brunette swept in, geared to the teeth just like before. "Timber, getting into trouble again I see."

I know I was shooting daggers at him, wanting to a burn a hole in his chest flat out. My collarbone was starting to hurt by how much I was flexing it by wiggling my hands and breathing against the gag.

Striker leant forward and took the gag out of my mouth, and I instantly had lots to say. "You have a lot of nerve—"

"Don't." He shut me down easy. I huffed at him. "So what — you were really just gonna take me in after all of that? No backstabbing or anything?"

His brow danced until it lifted. "Don't spoil all of the fun!" He dared to let a chuckle out. "And, I'm a cop if you hadn't noticed, Timber. Backstabbing criminals like you is what I get paid to do."

"So what? You happy to get your reward? Another few kilos of money to be added in your account?" I tilted my head. "Why don't you just celebrate it with a beer!" I gasped dramatically.

"You're a real comedian, aren't you," Striker grinned. "I don't drink. But no. Not yet, I'm gonna give you and Roco twelve hours and then I'll hunt you down."

"And why would you do that — just for sport?" I challenged, leaning my head forward and feeling the ropes loosen in the process.

"Because I'll fucking kill you if you don't." He swept his knife out, propping my chin higher with the tip of the silver blade. I finally found a loose break in the ropes and snapped out of them, grabbing his wrist and shoving the knife out of his grasp, sending the metal across the room.

Striker seemed slightly surprised by that, and accepted a few punches of mine, but I lost my bearings and didn't see him swinging at me right in my blind-spot, knocking me back.

I coughed for a second and got ready to throw another punch — and he fucking caught it in his hand. Doing the most predictable thing I could do, I tried to use my other hand to clock him as well.

He caught my other fist. I clearly wasn't thinking straight about this at all, because now with one silly windmill motion and a twirl of my body, he had me locked tight against him.

"Let go of me—" I yelled, thrashing around in his grasp. Feeling like a rat caught in a trap, waiting for the smell of rat-poison to sink in. "Quiet," Striker growled, leaning to my ear. "12 hours, Timber. That's all you'll get."