Page 17 of Death Rydes Shotgun

Before I step into the full glare of the entrance lights, I reach under the hem of my sweater. My fingers slide over the cold, familiar leather pommel of the hunting knife fixed to my hip.

My dad gave it to me before he left this town for good, insisting his baby girl needed real protection on dark roads.

The heavy steel blade rests snugly inside its custom leather scabbard against my ribs.

I adjust the belt, ensuring the hem of my shirt covers the handle completely, before slamming the car door shut and clicking the remote lock.

I take a deep, steadying breath.

The carnival’s sensory overload isn’t the only thing that has my steps faltering.

I hang back, watching others walk past the officers.

Seems they’re only checking bags and not the people themselves.

I have no bag, only my cell phone.

Upon entering the fairgrounds, the night sky is transformed by the neon pinks, electric blues, and deep emerald greens reflecting off the massive, creaking Ferris wheel turning at its core.

The air fills with the sounds of tiny, mechanical calliope music from the carousel, the heavy bass of carnival games, and the overwhelming noise of hundreds of oblivious voices.

I step into the tide of people, my eyes automatically darting over the heads of the crowd.

I tell myself I’m scanning for threats. That I’m keeping my guard up because of the heavy police presence. But the sharp, persistent ache in my chest betrays me.

I’m looking for Ryder.

I’m looking for Death.

My gaze sweeps over every tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark jacket.

Every time a shadow shifts near a game booth, my heart stutters, half-expecting, half-hoping to see those dark, icy eyes fixed on me from across the midway.

The memory of his gravelly voice whispering in the confinements of my car causes a sudden flush of heat to course through me.

He’s out here somewhere. I feel it in my gut.

“Harmony?” The voice is hesitant, almost drowned out by the scream of teenagers riding the Tilt-A-Whirl nearby.

I turn on my heel, stepping out of the main walking lane, and freeze.

Standing beneath the yellow glow of a cotton candy booth is Blaire.

She looks different, but undeniably the same. The sharp, polished girl who used to rule the high school hallways beside me is dressed in a simple dark hoodie and jeans, her black curly hair pulled back in a loose pony.

However, the sharp, untouchable edge she wore like armor in high school has softened into something worn, tired, and guarded.

I haven’t seen or spoken to her since the summer after our graduation.

I step closer. “Blaire?”

She takes a step backwards, her eyes widening before she settles, wrapping her arms around her mid-section.

Blaire takes a hesitant step forward, opening her arms, and pulls me into a tight, quick hug. She smells like spun sugar and funnel cake.

When she pulls back, her hands linger on my upper arms, her eyes searching my face.

“I can’t believe it’s really you.” Her voice trembles slightly. “What are you doing here, Harm? Last I heard, you moved three hours outside of town.”