Page 56 of Death Rydes Shotgun

There’s a brutal power that radiates off every inch of him.

And in the blackest corner of my sick, twisted mind, a horrifying thought takes root: the storm raging outside isn’t the one I want to drown in.

I wonder, with a sickening pang of self-loathing, why I’m so helplessly addicted to this macabre game of cat and mouse we’ve been playing all night.

Why does the terror feel like fire in my blood? Why does the danger make me feel more alive than I have in fifteen years?

Another jagged flash of lightning tears through the window, illuminating his god-like features in stark, blinding white.

My eyes greedily trace every line of his harsh jawline, the perfectly mouth-watering shape of his plump lips, and the bulges of dense muscle rippling across his arms and torso.

Rainwater cascades off his damp skin in hungry, heavy lines, sliding down his collarbones and pooling at his waist, feasting on his bare flesh as it goes.

Ryder catches the direction of my gaze.

His hooded eyes darken, growing thick and heady with a sudden, suffocating lust.

His voice drops into a low, lethal hunger. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to forget I have manners and fuck you right here and now. I’ll even let you keep the knife.”

A wicked, boyish grin spreads across his face—a sudden flash of white teeth that sends a betraying surge of heat pooling low between my thighs.

Involuntarily, my back arches.

His threat wasn’t a promise of violence; it was a promise of passion.

He wants me just as badly as he wants to break me.

A sudden, desperate light bulb flickers in my brain.

If I play that card—if I use my body to distract him, to feed his dangerous appetite—then maybe, just maybe, I can keep him at bay a little longer.

I don’t need to defeat him. I don’t even need to win whatever sick game he’s playing. I just need to outlast the storm, keep him occupied until the sun rises or his guard drops low enough for me to strike.

I slowly lower my shoulders, letting the terrified rigidity bleed out of my posture.

Keeping my eyes locked on his dark gaze, I slowly drag my tongue across my dry, swollen bottom lip.

Ryder’s eyes snap instantly down to the movement, his breath catching in his throat as his pupils dilate until they drown out the dark iris beneath.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my back pocket, startling the shit out of me.

The vibration hits like a bucket of ice water, zapping me right out of character.

With trembling fingers, I fumble the phone, and it hits the hard floorboards with a thud.

Ryder glances down before raising his gaze to meet mine.

He quirks an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to get that?”

Is this some sort of sick test? Is he testing me to see if I’ll scream bloody murder?

Slowly, I bend down and retrieve my phone.

Before I can press accept, Ryder speaks. “Put it on speaker.”

I do as commanded and hit speaker after answering the call.

“Hello?” a woman’s shaking voice says through the receiver.