Hunter’s Obsession: The Mafia King’s Prey

Kaylee's POV

It was the first snowfall of the season in Ravenport.

Sleet mixed with icy flakes pelted my face, the cold wind cutting through like tiny knives.

I didn't bring an umbrella, so I yanked my old scarf up over my mouth and nose, leaving only my eyes exposed. I kept them locked straight ahead, alert and on edge.

The scooter beneath me groaned in protest, maxed out at full throttle.

Ravenport, one of the larger cities in the Republic of Mersia, might seem busy and alive during the day, but once the sun goes down? Different story. The whole city changes—quiet, tense, dark, like it's holding its breath.

Shootings. Turf wars. You name it. Violence was just another part of the landscape here.

My name is Kaylee Lee. I'm eighteen. My adoptive dad ditched me years ago. I grew up in this city, dropped out of school, and now I work nights at a club downtown just trying to scrape by.

Screeech...

Just as I was about to turn the corner, a blinding white beam cut straight through the night and nailed me head-on.

I winced, squinting through the snow and rain to figure out what the hell just blasted me with that light.

Less than fifty feet ahead, on the shoulder of a gravel road, sat a rugged-looking SUV.

A man leaned casually against the hood, like he had all the time in the world. That chill, almost-bored vibe rolled off him like smoke—like none of this mattered.

His black shirt hugged a tall, lean frame, and his head was tilted just slightly, chin up. The brim of his cap threw most of his face into shadow, and the headlights only made it worse. Didn't matter. I didn’t need to see his face to know what I was dealing with.

My gut already knew.

Danger.

Every alarm bell in my brain started blaring. My fingers gripped the handlebars tighter as I twisted the throttle.

I had to run. Now.

But then—I froze.

Two more guys stepped out from behind the SUV. They were both wearing black jackets... and they were carrying something.

No. Someone.

A body.

It was a man—or what was left of one. His body was so mangled, so covered in blood, it was hard to tell if he was even human anymore.

His face was twisted, frozen in pure agony, like he'd died in the worst pain imaginable.

There were deep cuts and gunshot wounds all over his torso. His skull looked crushed, barely holding together. One of his eyes was hanging out of the socket, and there was this huge gash across his neck where I could see bone.

Blood still dripped from the corpse, painting a thick, dark red line across the white snow.

I held my breath, but the smell—sharp and metallic—still filled my nose.

I wanted to puke. So badly. But I didn't dare.

I pressed the scarf harder against my face, forcing myself not to make a sound.

The effort to hold my breath was making me uncomfortable.

They moved with eerie calm as they hauled the body. I couldn't stomach it anymore. I didn't want to see.

But the image was burned into my brain, even as tears blurred my vision.

If they saw me...

They'd kill me.

That thought hit me like a gut punch.

Terror shot through me and the cold that had started at my feet now crept up past my knees, all the way to my chest. My heart raced.

I had just witnessed a real-life body dump.

The man at the front, the one with the cap, casually adjusted the brim with one hand.

And in that moment—when fear had me frozen—he sensed me.

He lifted his head just enough, revealing more of his face from under the shadow of his cap.

Our eyes met.

His gaze locked onto mine,sharp and calculating.

Those eyes—light brown, cold as ice, and impossibly deep—pierced right through me.

My heart stopped.

Panic flooded in.

I had to run.

I had to get out of there.

My fingers, numb with fear, kept twisting the throttle. But my legs wouldn't move.

My whole body shook, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest.

No. No. No.

Run.

Just run.

I fumbled with the ignition over and over again.

Then—he moved.

He dropped his right hand and stood up straight, pushing off the SUV.

He started walking toward me.

Once.

Twice.

Three times—

Thank God. The engine finally roared to life.

I didn't care how slick the road was—I jerked the scooter hard and sped away as fast as I could.

Behind me, I heard it.

A low, mocking chuckle.

"Heh."

My hands jerked on the handlebars, startled by the sound.

The scooter swerved violently.

The tires slipped on the icy pavement, screeching as they fought for grip.

I let out a sharp cry, nearly losing my balance.

And then—

BANG!

A deafening gunshot shattered the stillness of the snow-covered night.

My mind went completely blank for a split second, and then a burst of searing pain exploded from my shoulder blade.

There wasn't even time to scream—just a short, strangled whimper escaped my throat.

The next moment, both me and the scooter crashed hard onto the icy gravel road.

The pain was unbearable—like a thousand fire ants crawling out from my shoulder, spreading through my body, flooding my limbs with numbness and agony.

I couldn't even tell which part of me hurt the most.

The scooter lay tipped over beside me, its wheels still spinning, making a soft mechanical whirr.

Warm liquid soaked through the fabric at my shoulder, then trickled down into my palm.

It was blood.

And then it hit me—it was just a graze. The bullet had only torn through the flesh.

If it hadn't been for the sudden swerve when the tire slipped, the shot would've gone straight through my heart.

His aim was terrifyingly accurate.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting the sharp tang of blood, my whole body trembling uncontrollably from pain and the cold.

I have to stay calm.

"Kaylee, you can't die here!"

I forced my eyes to stay open, though waves of dizziness kept crashing over me.

I saw the blood—my blood—spreading across the ground.

I didn't want to die.

Tears spilled over, hot and angry. I wasn't ready. I refused to die like this—quietly, anonymously, like I never existed.

Three sets of footsteps shattered the silence, steady and deliberate.

They were getting closer.

Their boots crunched rhythmically over the icy gravel, closing in, blocking off every chance of escape.

Like they already knew I had nowhere to run.

The man in the front didn't fire again.

I tried to get up, but the pain in my shoulder and the slick ground made it impossible.

I collapsed back down.

The movement made the wound even worse, as my clothes tangled around it.

He was enjoying this—like some twisted game of cat and mouse, watching his prey struggle in vain.

Three dark figures loomed over me, their shadows stretching across the ground beneath the SUV's headlights.

Pure, suffocating panic swelled in my chest.

Ignoring the pain, I yanked my scarf higher over my face and pushed myself off the ground, stumbling into the woods to my right.

"Mr. Hunter."

"Go after her."

I'm not originally from the Republic of Mersia, but I grew up in Ravenport. I know these streets, these woods, like the back of my hand.

I've heard of all the major players in town—how they smile in public but scheme behind closed doors, constantly fighting for power until someone finally breaks the peace.

But I'd never heard of anyone called Mr. Hunter.

My brain was racing, but my legs didn't stop for a second.

The pain in my shoulder was almost unbearable, nearly numbing. Thank God, my heavy coat soaked up most of the blood.

I stumbled through the underbrush, clumsy but fast—faster than them.

They didn't know this terrain. I did.

Their only guide was the trail of footprints I'd left in the snow.

I could hear them behind me, still chasing, but their steps were growing more strained, more distant.

I allowed myself a flicker of relief—but I didn't dare slow down.

Then, suddenly, the trees parted, and up ahead, I saw a lake covered with a thin layer of ice.

My footprints ended at the shore.

So did the sounds of pursuit.

The lead man scanned the lakefront, his cold gaze landing on the last imprint in the snow.

He smirked.

I held my breath, curling behind a patch of dried reeds, completely still.

The icy water lapped at the soles of my boots.

The cold was unbearable. The pain in my shoulder burned deep. My teeth chattered so violently that I thought they might break.

But I knew—I'd won.

"Mr. Hunter, she got away..."

It was one of the two guys following me.

The air went dead silent for a few seconds.

I could practically picture the look on their faces—like they'd just seen a ghost.

One of them lowered his voice, muttering with a mix of disbelief and paranoia.

"Damn... you think she's a ghost or something?"

The other guy immediately shot back, "Jace, you ever seen a ghost ride a scooter?"

Just as the argument started to spark, it was snuffed out instantly—like someone had hit mute on reality.

It was him.

He didn't need to say a word. His presence alone was enough to freeze your blood.

"Mr. Hunter, what do we do now? She saw everything."

Jace's voice had steadied, now filled with unwavering obedience.

The man didn't answer immediately.

I heard the soft click of a lighter.

Then a faint inhale, like he was taking the first drag of a cigarette.

Through the sparse reeds, I could almost see him—standing there, calm and detached, eyes fixed on the distant town like it was just another piece on a chessboard.

And then I heard it.

The sentence that dropped on me like a slab of ice. Casual, almost amused—but deadly.

"Find her."

His voice was quiet. Almost bored.

"And take her out."