Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) by Kristine Mason
Authors: Kristine Mason
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he might never leave. Between the lush, dangerous environment, the winding channels that ran deep into the heart of the Everglades, and the uninhabited islands and wilderness, he could drop out of sight and never be seen again—unless he wanted to.
Which he didn’t.
Ian Scott was no better than a bully on the playground. Arrogant, selfish and only concerned about himself and CORE, Ian had, in a matter of seconds, destroyed his life. Thanks to Ian, there was nothing left for him. No family, no friends and no career.
Only suffering.
After he turned off U.S. Route 41 onto State Road 29, he rubbed his cheek where the ski mask had begun to itch, and tightened his jaw. Then there was Dante. That pompous prick had reduced his mission to nothing more than revenge killing . The dick didn’t know what he was talking about. Hunting Ian had nothing to do with revenge and everything to do with proving who was the better man. Ian thought his wealth and connections had made him superior over others. Strip away the expensive three-piece suits, flashy cars and corporate jet, and Ian was nothing but a pathetic, manipulating little man with a Napoleon complex. And he would be the one to knock Ian off the throne he valued above anyone and everything. He would be the one—
“Son of a bitch,” he shouted, swerving the Range Rover onto the side of the road. Ian and Cami grunted as they hit the back of his seat. He shoved the gear into PARK, then killed the ignition. After climbing out of the vehicle, he popped open the backend and rummaged through his backpack. Once he found what he was looking for, along with a flashlight, he opened the Rover’s hood. Heat from the engine made the mask he wore stifling. Pulling at the material, he tugged it off his head, then shoved it in his back pocket. He slowly waved the wand, a device he’d accidentally forgotten to return after he’d been discharged from the Marines, over the interior. Nothing.
He slammed the hood, then crouching, ran the wand along the Rover’s undercarriage. When the wand flashed red, he grinned. “Gotcha.” He reached up near the back, passenger side wheel-well and grabbed hold of what he was looking for. “Too easy,” he said, flashing the light against the small GPS tracking device. Standing, he aimed the flashlight toward the heavily wooded area surrounding the state road. He’d meant to leave the device at the rental house, but wouldn’t risk going back there now. He could turn the Rover around and return to U.S. Route 41, except that was time he didn’t want to lose. Although very few traveled down this road, especially during the middle of the night, he wanted to reach their destination and conceal the Range Rover from sight.
Decision made, he ran in the direction he’d just come from. Stopped—about what he estimated to be fifty or so yards from the SUV—and threw the device as hard as he could into the woodland. After putting the mask back on, he sprinted to the car, checked on his passengers as he climbed inside, then started the ignition.
He began to drive. Air from the opened window blew against him, but offered little relief. He rubbed a hand along his forehead, hoping to soak up some of the sweat coating his skin beneath the mask, then noticed the Rover came equipped with an air conditioned seat feature. He hit the button on the dash, then adjusted in the leather seat. “That could’ve been a major fuck up,” he said, still not happy that he’d forgotten to remove the device earlier. Even if Ian’s crew of assholes decided to come after them and found the device, they’d waste time trying to locate the starting point of his hunt. He’d be hours, maybe even days ahead of them. Still. If he hadn’t been shot, if he hadn’t allowed Cami’s screams and blubbering to distract him, or Dante and his revenge killing comment to fester, his head and mind would have been on all that had needed to be done before he’d left the rental. Had he missed
Which he didn’t.
Ian Scott was no better than a bully on the playground. Arrogant, selfish and only concerned about himself and CORE, Ian had, in a matter of seconds, destroyed his life. Thanks to Ian, there was nothing left for him. No family, no friends and no career.
Only suffering.
After he turned off U.S. Route 41 onto State Road 29, he rubbed his cheek where the ski mask had begun to itch, and tightened his jaw. Then there was Dante. That pompous prick had reduced his mission to nothing more than revenge killing . The dick didn’t know what he was talking about. Hunting Ian had nothing to do with revenge and everything to do with proving who was the better man. Ian thought his wealth and connections had made him superior over others. Strip away the expensive three-piece suits, flashy cars and corporate jet, and Ian was nothing but a pathetic, manipulating little man with a Napoleon complex. And he would be the one to knock Ian off the throne he valued above anyone and everything. He would be the one—
“Son of a bitch,” he shouted, swerving the Range Rover onto the side of the road. Ian and Cami grunted as they hit the back of his seat. He shoved the gear into PARK, then killed the ignition. After climbing out of the vehicle, he popped open the backend and rummaged through his backpack. Once he found what he was looking for, along with a flashlight, he opened the Rover’s hood. Heat from the engine made the mask he wore stifling. Pulling at the material, he tugged it off his head, then shoved it in his back pocket. He slowly waved the wand, a device he’d accidentally forgotten to return after he’d been discharged from the Marines, over the interior. Nothing.
He slammed the hood, then crouching, ran the wand along the Rover’s undercarriage. When the wand flashed red, he grinned. “Gotcha.” He reached up near the back, passenger side wheel-well and grabbed hold of what he was looking for. “Too easy,” he said, flashing the light against the small GPS tracking device. Standing, he aimed the flashlight toward the heavily wooded area surrounding the state road. He’d meant to leave the device at the rental house, but wouldn’t risk going back there now. He could turn the Rover around and return to U.S. Route 41, except that was time he didn’t want to lose. Although very few traveled down this road, especially during the middle of the night, he wanted to reach their destination and conceal the Range Rover from sight.
Decision made, he ran in the direction he’d just come from. Stopped—about what he estimated to be fifty or so yards from the SUV—and threw the device as hard as he could into the woodland. After putting the mask back on, he sprinted to the car, checked on his passengers as he climbed inside, then started the ignition.
He began to drive. Air from the opened window blew against him, but offered little relief. He rubbed a hand along his forehead, hoping to soak up some of the sweat coating his skin beneath the mask, then noticed the Rover came equipped with an air conditioned seat feature. He hit the button on the dash, then adjusted in the leather seat. “That could’ve been a major fuck up,” he said, still not happy that he’d forgotten to remove the device earlier. Even if Ian’s crew of assholes decided to come after them and found the device, they’d waste time trying to locate the starting point of his hunt. He’d be hours, maybe even days ahead of them. Still. If he hadn’t been shot, if he hadn’t allowed Cami’s screams and blubbering to distract him, or Dante and his revenge killing comment to fester, his head and mind would have been on all that had needed to be done before he’d left the rental. Had he missed
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