Page 71 of Death Rydes Shotgun

I turn on my heel and break into a full sprint.

I dive into the pitch-black wall of the forest, my boots slamming through the thick mud, tearing through wet ferns and sharp briars as I run for my life.

The rain pelts my face like needle points, and my lungs burn with cold air, but I don’t slow down. I push deeper and deeper into the dark, heading straight toward the distant gravel road where my car is hidden.

Behind me, rising above the roar of the thunder and the howling wind, a booming, gravelly voice echoes through the dark trees like a curse bound to my skin, dripping with alarming, promise-filled malice.

“Your darkness calls to mine. We belong to each other. Remember, pretty girl! You can run... but I’ll always chase you!”

Twenty-Two

Bound by Blood & Violence

RYDER

4:30 AM

The cold steel of the deputy’s handcuffs snaps shut with a heavy, satisfying clack, securing his own right wrist tightly to the exposed iron pipe running along the cabin wall.

I step back, wiping a mixture of rain, mud, and sweat from my brow, and look down at the unconscious officer slumped against the floorboards.

A quiet, dark chuckle rumbles deep in my chest.

She knocked a cop out for me.

Harmony—my sweet, terrified, dark little vixen—picked up a log of oak and took down a law enforcement officer just to set me free.

A surge of absolute, arrogant confidence floods my veins, hot and intoxicating.

I’m in her blood now, and no amount of rain can wash what we’ve been through together away. She’s a storm, and I’m kneeling at her feet.

She can run all she wants, but that act proved what I’ve known all along: she’s bound to me. She didn’t just escape; she tied her fate to mine in blood and violence.

It doesn’t bother me in the slightest that she bolted into the dark woods the second my back was turned.

Deep down, she wants me to chase her. She needs this twisted, macabre game of ours just as badly as I do. It’s the only thing that makes her feel alive, the only thing that matches the darkness she’s been carrying since the night Noah died.

She’s spent this entire night trying to deny what we both know to be true—she enjoys watching the blood flow in the streets of Blackwood just as much as I do. And soon, she’ll admit it out loud.

I bend down, patting down the officer’s utility belt until my fingers brush against a heavy leather strap. I unbuckle it and slip his service weapon—a heavy Glock 17—from its holster, checking the chamber before tucking it securely into the waistband of my boxer briefs.

Next, I reach into his raincoat pocket, pulling out a heavy ring of brass keys.

The keys to his police cruiser.

Just as I pocket the keys, a low, groaning gasp echoes off the wood.

The deputy’s eyelids flutter open, his pupils dilating as he tries to process the splitting pain at the back of his skull. He blinks hard against the dim firelight, his head rolling back against the pipe as he realizes he’s cuffed to the wall.

His eyes snap up to mine, filled with instant, burning rage.

“You…” he rasps, his voice rough and slurred. “You won’t get away with this, you sick bastard.”

I tilt my head, letting a slow, amused smirk spread across my face. “Get away with what, officer?”

“Assaulting a law enforcement officer!” He tugs violently against the iron pipe, the metal rattling loudly in the quiet room.

I take a slow step forward, dropping to a low crouch right in front of him. I get so close that his erratic breath fans across my cheek, my dark eyes boring straight into his soul.