What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(78)

The flush darkened, his shoulders hunching even as the disciple tried to remain defiant.

“She wasn’t my first.”

“Liar.” Hunter took another step forward. He could catch the scent of cigarettes and the bottle of bourbon the man had been drinking after they’d finished killing the women. It made his nose flare with disgust. Only the weak needed the crutch of nicotine and alcohol. “You were a wannabe and I gave you what you needed. Direction. Courage. Freedom.” He deliberately paused. “I made you my disciple.”

Executioner took an instinctive step back before he realized what he was doing. Stiffening his spine, he glared at Hunter.

“You tried to turn me into a spineless ass-kisser like the rest of your groupies.”

He shrugged. There was no arguing with his logic.

“There are leaders. And there are followers,” he said. “I’m a leader.”

“Well, I’m done following,” the man snapped. “We torch the bodies, then go our separate ways.”

Hunter slipped his hand into his pocket. He wanted to play with the man, but already the sun was beginning to crest the horizon. Time was running out.

“Executioner, or should I call you Lou?” he mocked. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

“You don’t have any feelings.”

“You’re wrong.” Hunter took another step forward, and then another. Until he was standing a mere inch from his companion. Killing should be an intimate thing. Something that he could savor. “I feel anticipation.”

The man scowled. “Hey, back off.”

Hunter stood his ground. “Haven’t you wondered what happened to your companions?”

“Not really.” Like most narcissists, this man was incapable of thinking about anyone but himself. Hunter hadn’t worried for a minute whether he would start to question the disappearance of the others. “I assume that they got tired of your stupid game and moved on. Just like I’m going to do.”

Hunter pulled his hand out of his pocket, revealing the pistol he had clutched in his fingers.

“I suppose you could say they moved on,” he agreed with a low chuckle.

The disciple glanced toward the gun, then back at Hunter’s wide smile. He looked more baffled than terrified.

“What are you doing?”

Hunter gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I suspected that you weren’t very smart, but even you should realize what I’m doing.”

He pointed the weapon directly against the man’s forehead. It seemed to at last prove that he wasn’t screwing around.

“No, please,” the man rasped, lifting his hands in surrender. “You were right. I’m nothing without you.”

Hunter smiled. He could almost smell the fear in the air.

This was what he craved. The control. The knowledge that he was in absolute control of life and death.

“I’m your god,” he breathed.

The man nodded, sweat dripping down his face. “Yes.”

“The sea was wet as wet could be, the sands were dry as dry,” he quoted softly. “You could not see a cloud, because no cloud was in the sky.”

Executioner frowned in confusion, but before he could speak Hunter squeezed the trigger.

The gunshot echoed through the nearby canyon, making Hunter’s ears ring. He preferred to kill with his hands. Not only was it more satisfying, but a gun had the tendency to attract unwanted attention.

On the other hand, if you wanted someone dead, there was nothing more efficient.

And he wanted his companion dead.

Stepping back, he watched as the man tumbled forward, revealing the impressive hole in the back of his head. Any doubt of whether it was a survivable wound was answered. No one could live with most of his skull blown open.

In fact, Hunter was fairly certain he was dead before he hit the ground.

With a grimace, he circled the lifeless body and grabbed the man’s ankles, pulling him until he was next to the pyre. Then, grabbing the red plastic container he’d left next to his backpack, Hunter sprinkled his disciple with gasoline.

The pungent smell clung to the air as he tossed the empty container onto the top of the pyre. A reminder that he needed to be careful as he shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the lighter.

Using his thumb to strike a flame, he leaned toward the large pile of kindling he’d stacked at the bottom of the pile. There was a loud swooshing sound as the dry wood instantly caught fire.

Nothing like a California drought, he acknowledged as he scurried away from the sparks that were already dancing on the breeze.

Within minutes the flames had grown into an inferno, easily destroying the bodies. At the same time the sun moved above the horizon, spilling golden rays across the beach. Not perfect timing, but close enough.

Turning, Hunter moved to grab his backpack and hurried up the trail. As much as he might want to linger and enjoy the sight, he wasn’t a fool. The state park authorities were always on the lookout for fires. They would be swarming to this area the second they caught sight of the smoke.

Besides, the smell was hideous.

Once he reached the top of the trail, he moved across the nearly empty parking lot. He halted at the small compact car that Executioner had rented when he reached California. He didn’t think the man was smart enough to suspect that he might become a victim, which meant he might have left something behind that would reveal their identities.