Page 86 of Death Rydes Shotgun

Beside her, I draw my blade, the steel scraping softly against my leather gloves as I step into formation.

The storm howls softly above the canopy, but down in the dark ravine, the air settles into a cold, foreboding silence, ready for the slaughter to begin.

Twenty-Seven

Locked Out of Heaven

HARMONY

6:35 AM

Goddamn, it feels good to finally be me. To shed my skin like a snake, and expose my underbelly to the warm intoxicating blood of my Halloween kill.

It was so exhausting having to keep up this ruse with Ryder.

The utter freedom that settles over me hits me in waves. The huge, crushing surge of relief hits me out of nowhere, so strong it makes my knees buckle.

My shoulders drop, and I drag a long, deep breath of freezing mountain air into my lungs.

The last frail threads of my sanity, the ones I’ve spent fifteen long years painstakingly knotting together, snap completely.

I look up at Ryder through the wet fog, the rain washing the mud from my skin, and for the first time in my life, I don’t try to hide the darkness inside me.

When I saw what Ryder did to that masked man on the porch, I wanted to bathe in the stranger’s blood under the moonlight. If the moon had been visible, that is.

There had to have been a reason I was drawn to Ryder since he first got into my car, and now I know why.

I just confessed to running his best friend down in cold blood on a dark stretch of highway, leaving Noah to drown in his own blood in a ditch. And Ryder? He isn’t looking at me with hatred or horror. He’s looking at me like he wants to throw me over the nearest rotted log and fuck my brains out right here on the forest floor.

I see it; the pure, unadulterated hungry flame burning in his inky-black eyes, it gives me permission to shed my skin.

The innocent victim—the fragile, grieving girl fleeing from a monster—dies right here in the rain. In her place, I let the real nightmare step forward.

“Fifteen years, Ryder.” In a hushed tone, my voice falls into a rough, delighted murmur that makes the chilly drizzle feel warm against my skin. “Every single Halloween night since Noah. I couldn’t stop. It became an addiction. The thrill of picking someone out, watching the light leave their eyes while the rest of the world is busy wearing stupid masks and eating candy…”

I take a slow step toward him, my boots sinking into the wet moss, my eyes locked on his with a brilliant, psychotic clarity as the final piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

Ryder isn’t standing in these dark woods to avenge Noah’s death. He isn’t here to punish me for running his best friend over. He’s here because he’s been in love with my dark side all along.

“You’ve been watching me.” I shake my head, a low, breathy laugh escaping my lips. “For fifteen years, you knew. You knew what I was doing on Halloween night. You watched me hunt, and you still let me play my little game of innocence. You let me pretend to be the fragile, traumatized girl in front of you.”

I tilt my head, my jaw clenching as a sudden realization hits me. “Why did you let me go so long with the ruse, Ryder? Why let me play innocent if you knew what I was?”

Ryder shrugs, his large, muscular shoulders relaxed despite the freezing rain dripping down his chest. “I wanted to see if my being here would stop you from doing your Halloween ritual.” A dark, wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I wanted to see if I was enough to satisfy the hunger inside you, or if you needed the blood as much as I do.”

“P-please! God, please!” Xander’s pathetic, frantic wailing shatters the moment.

He clutches his bleeding, mangled thigh against the base of the lightning-struck oak tree, tears and mud smearing across his terrified face. “Please, just let me leave! I swear I won’t say a word to anyone! Please, Harmony⁠—”

My head jerks in his direction, my gaze shining with intense, cutting annoyance.

My voice cracks through the quiet forest like a whip. “Shut the fuck up! Stop being so fucking rude while grownups are speaking!”

Xander instantly chokes on his own sob, clapping his muddy, blood-slicked hands over his mouth, his chest heaving in silent, desperate hyperventilation as he cowers against the bark.

Ryder takes a half-step closer to me, his heavy hunting knife resting loose at his side. “I know you’re the one who killed Marcus at the carnival tonight. I saw you ducking into the mirror maze right after it happened. You had that guilty, frantic look on your face. How did you pull off a slaughter like that in a populated area, display his body like a trophy, and not get caught?”

My heart soars at the conversational tone in his voice, like we’re discussing the weather.