Hunt Them Down(6)

“Him too,” Hunt said reluctantly, and they waited for Moore to put a mask on.

Carter opened the door, and Hunt pushed Moore inside. The reporter stopped and tried to walk back out, but Hunt shoved him forward.

“What is this? Why are you bringing me here?” Moore demanded.

Hunt gripped Moore’s neck and showed him the twelve naked bodies resting on the floor. “You did this,” Hunt said.

Moore twisted, trying to turn his head away. “I had nothing to do with this. Who are they?”

“They were human slaves.”

“Get me out of here! I had nothing to do with this!” Moore repeated, trying to get away. Hunt tightened his grip around the reporter’s neck and kicked him behind the legs, forcing him onto his knees. In one swift motion, Hunt drew his firearm and placed the muzzle against the back of Moore’s head.



Moore felt the pressure of the gun to his head. Oh my God. I’m gonna die. He had seen Hunt kill an unarmed man minutes ago. Hunt wouldn’t hesitate to kill him here surrounded by his brutal and heartless peers. Moore wanted to cry for help, but he was too terrified. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, which made wearing the mask even less comfortable.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“Did you tweet where we were going?”

Moore’s gut became a knot. Shit.

Had he caused these deaths? Was he somehow responsible for this mayhem? Without warning, a terrible odor made its way to his olfactory sensory neurons. The stench was such that he gagged on it.

“What the hell?” he heard Hunt say.

It was then that Moore, on his knees and with a gun to his head, understood. The hot, wet weight that filled his underpants didn’t lie. He had shit himself. Never in his life had he felt so humiliated and degraded. And for that, he’d make the DEA pay dearly.





CHAPTER SIX

Six months later

Miami, Florida

Pierce Hunt almost choked biting into the pizza slice. The watered-down tomato sauce did nothing to enhance the chemical taste of the seasoning or the soggy crust. Hunt was convinced the life expectancy of his fellow Americans would drop by a few years if this new recipe ever made it to the mainstream pizza chains.

“This is the best pizza ever,” his fifteen-year-old daughter, Leila, said, already halfway through her second slice.

“Absolutely,” Hunt lied between two emergency sips of Diet Coke. “Never tasted anything like this before.”

Leila stopped chewing and cocked her head to one side. “You’re such a bad liar,” she said. “You really don’t like it?”

“Why don’t we try that new taco place next time?”

“Sure,” Leila said without much enthusiasm. She took another bite and checked her phone.

“No phone while we eat, Leila,” Hunt said. “This is our time.”

“You checked yours, like, three times in the last five minutes.”

Hunt wanted to say it was for work. That he had to. After all, it was his first day back on the job after a six-month suspension. But she was right; he couldn’t ask her to do something if he wasn’t willing to do the same.

She was growing so fast. Hunt remembered when she would fall asleep on his chest with her head tucked under his chin and her toes not even touching his belly button. She had been so little then. He missed those years. He craved having them back. Not just the years, but Jasmine too. She was a great mother to Leila, and she had been a good wife to him. He was the one who had pushed her—and Leila—out of his life. He hadn’t done it intentionally, of course, but year after year, he had essentially let the DEA build a wall between him and his family.

Life was all about choices, and Hunt was wondering if he’d made the right ones. Looking at his daughter—now on her third pizza slice—he realized that his life was filled with bad choices. He’d left the army, joined the DEA, and immediately accepted the long undercover assignment that they’d offered him. If he had said no, maybe he, Leila, and Jasmine would still be a family.

His phone vibrated on the table, next to the pizza slice he had no intention of ever touching again.

“Dad?” Leila was looking at him, her disappointment evident. As he was about to take the call, her hand reached for his from across the table. “Please don’t.”

He had promised they’d go see a movie after lunch. His shift wasn’t supposed to start until six. Taking the call might mean they wouldn’t make it to the theater. She knew it. He knew it too. But he was who he was.

He took a deep breath and answered the call. “Special Agent Pierce Hunt.”



“You know this is exactly why Mom left you, right?” Leila looked out the window of his four-year-old Ford F-150.

No, this isn’t why your mom left me. But he was glad that was what she thought, because the truth would shatter the fragile relationship he was working so hard to rebuild with his only child.

“I’ll make it up to you, Leila, I promise,” Hunt said, slowing at a stop sign.

“You won’t, Pierce, and you know it,” she said, shifting her attention to her vibrating smartphone. “I’m not a child anymore.”

He loathed being called Pierce by his daughter. That meant she was royally pissed. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the call. He glanced at her, and his eyes caught something he hadn’t expected to see.