Master of Lust-Chapter 316 - -

Chapter - 316

Two days.

They had forty-eight hours of absolute, hedonistic perfection. The private cay off the coast of Fiji was a place where time didn’t exist. There were no clocks, only the sun rising and setting over the turquoise water. There were no laws, only the whims of three people who had survived hell and decided to build a heaven on top of it.

Rick sat on the edge of the infinity pool, his feet dangling in the water. The sun was setting, painting the sky in violent shades of bruised purple and bleeding orange. He held a bottle of Cristal in one hand and a half-eaten lobster tail in the other.

Behind him, inside the open-air living room of the villa, Sharon and Nadia were arguing over music. It was a playful argument, the kind that usually ended with someone getting thrown into the pool. Sharon was wearing one of Rick’s white dress shirts and nothing else. Nadia was wearing a silk robe that cost more than a mid-sized sedan.

Life was good. Life was perfect.

Rick took a swig of champagne and pulled up his System interface. He had spent a ridiculous amount of money in the last two days—food drops, booze drops, new clothes, jet skis—but his bank account still read like a phone number.

[Current Wealth: $6,850,000]

He tapped the ’Shop’ tab, idly scrolling through the ’Weapons’ section. He didn’t need a weapon. He was on a private island protected by Johnson’s satellite net and a digital ghost protocol. But old habits died hard.

M4A1 Carbine (Custom): $4,500

RPG-7: $12,000

Tactical Nuke (Miniature): [LOCKED - Level 50 Required]

"Tease," Rick muttered at the nuke.

"Who are you talking to?" Sharon asked, walking out onto the deck. She leaned against the railing, the wind catching the oversized shirt, revealing a glimpse of tanned, smooth thigh.

"My imaginary friend," Rick said. "He says we should buy a tank."

Sharon laughed, sipping her wine. "Where would we drive it? The island is two miles long. You’d just run over a coconut tree and sink into the sand."

"It’s about the aesthetic, Sharon. A tank says, ’Get off my lawn’ in every language."

Nadia joined them, sliding her arm through Sharon’s. The dynamic between the two women had settled into a strange, comfortable sisterhood, bonded by trauma and the shared attention of the man in front of them.

"No tanks," Nadia ruled. "I want a yacht. A big one. With a helipad."

"Greedy," Rick teased.

"Ambitious," she corrected.

Rick smiled, raising the bottle to his lips.

Then, the music inside the villa stopped.

It didn’t fade out. It cut. Abruptly.

The lights in the pool flickered once, then died. The villa behind them plunged into darkness. The only light left was the dying sun and the pale glow of the moon reflecting off the ocean.

"Power outage?" Sharon asked, her voice tightening instantly. The relaxed lover vanished; the cop returned.

Rick frowned. "Generators should have kicked in. This place is off-grid. Solar, wind, backup diesel."

He stood up, the champagne bottle forgotten. A cold prickle danced down his spine. It wasn’t the wind.

[Ding!]

The sound was loud in his head, urgent and jarring. A red box, pulsing with a jagged border, slammed into his vision.

[WARNING: HOSTILE INTENT DETECTED.]

[Threat Level: NEMESIS.]

[Enemy Class: The Huntsman.]

[Status: You are being hunted.]

"Get down," Rick whispered.

"What?" Nadia asked.

"GET DOWN!" Rick roared, tackling both women.

THWIP.

A bullet passed through the space where Sharon’s head had been a microsecond ago. It wasn’t a gunshot. It was a whisper of displaced air. The round impacted the infinity pool, sending a geyser of water into the air.

Rick slammed into the teak deck, covering Sharon and Nadia with his body.

"Sniper!" Sharon hissed, scrambling for cover behind a heavy wooden planter. "Where did it come from?"

"The water," Rick said, peeking through the slats of the deck railing. "Or the treeline. Johnson said we were safe!"

[System Notification: Incoming Call - Unknown Number]

Rick’s phone, lying on the deck table, buzzed.

He reached out, snatched it, and answered, putting it on speaker.

"Johnson, you son of a bitch, I thought this island was ghosted!" Rick yelled.

The voice that answered wasn’t Johnson. It was soft, dry, and devoid of humanity. It sounded like sandpaper sliding over bone.

"Ghosts leave footprints, Mr. Smith. If you know where to look."

Rick froze. "Who is this?"

"I am the consequence of your actions. Silas Warner sends his regards. And his budget."

"Silas?" Rick scoffed, his mind racing. "The grandpa? Tell him I’m busy spending his grandson’s inheritance."

"Enjoy it," the voice said. "You have approximately five minutes to spend it. I have disabled your perimeter sensors. I have neutralized your communications array. You are alone."

"You think you can take us?" Rick challenged, scanning the dark jungle line that bordered the beach. "I killed a robot dog with a watch. You’re just a guy on a phone."

"I am not a guy with a robot dog, Mr. Smith. I am The Huntsman. I do not play with toys. I hunt."

The line went dead.

"Who was that?" Nadia whispered, her face pale. She knew the name Warner. She knew what it meant.

"The cleanup crew," Rick said grimly. "Silas Warner hired a pro. A real one."

[Ding!]

[Quest: The Most Dangerous Game]

[Objective: Survive the night. Eliminate The Huntsman.]

[Reward: 100,000 XP, $5,000,000, Reputation: ’Legendary’.]

[Penalty for Failure: Death. Painful, slow death.]

"Okay," Rick said, his fear vanishing, replaced by the cold, hard focus of the Chaos Agent. "Game on."

He looked at Sharon. "Where’s your gun?"

"In the bedroom nightstand," she said. "But it’s a 9mm. If he’s a sniper, we can’t touch him."

"I can touch him," Rick said. "System, open Shop."

The blue menu materialized.

"Sharon, Nadia, crawl to the living room. Stay low. Keep the lights off. Do not go near the windows."

"What are you going to do?" Nadia asked, terrified.

"I’m going shopping," Rick said.

He scrolled to the ’Weapons’ tab. He needed range. He needed vision. He needed to turn this paradise into a kill box.

[Purchase: Barrett M82A1 Anti-Materiel Rifle (.50 BMG) - $15,000]

[Purchase: Thermal Imaging Goggles (Military Grade) - $5,000]

[Purchase: M18A1 Claymore Mine (x4) - $4,000]

[Purchase: Tactical Vest & Ammo - $2,000]

[Total: $26,000. Confirm?]

"Confirm."

The air shimmered in front of him. A heavy, black crate materialized on the deck with a dull thud.

"What the hell..." Sharon breathed, staring at the crate appearing out of thin air. She had seen him do crazy things, but conjuring matter was new.

"Amazon Prime got an upgrade," Rick muttered. He kicked the crate open.

Inside lay the heavy, terrifying bulk of the Barrett sniper rifle, the thermal goggles, and the mines.

Rick stripped off his shirt. He strapped the tactical vest over his bare chest. He pulled on the goggles. He grabbed the rifle, the cold steel heavy and reassuring in his hands.

"Stay inside," Rick ordered. "Barricade the door. If anything comes through that isn’t me, shoot it."

He handed Sharon the claymores. "Rig the entrances. Front door, back door. You know how to use these?"

Sharon looked at the mines. "Point ’Front Toward Enemy’. Yeah. I know."

"Good. Don’t blow yourself up."

Rick grabbed the rifle and rolled off the side of the deck, dropping into the soft sand below. He melted into the shadows of the undergrowth.

He was the hunter now.

** ** ** ** **