Page 20 of Death Rydes Shotgun

“Wh-who the fuck are you?” Marcus barely chokes out.

Death ignores his question entirely.

“If you ever touch her again, talk to her again, or breathe the same air in her direction…” Ryder whispers, squeezing his fingers until a sickly pop echoes from Marcus’s windpipe. “...I’ll skin you alive in front of your family, feed your tongue to the dogs along the highway, and make sure your son watches every second of it.”

Six

Who’s Hunting Whom

RYDER

8:35 PM

The noise of Marcus Knight struggling under my palm is the sweetest music this miserable town has created in a decade and a half.

Rage boils in my veins, thick and blindingly hot.

The image of his sleazy, thick fingers clamped around Harmony’s upper arm makes my blood surge with a violent urge to tear him apart piece by piece.

This motherfucker not only touched what’s mine, but he thinks he can do to her what I’ve only dreamt about. This pathetic, sniveling predator who dared to corner her in the shadows.

I tighten my grip, feeling the delicate cartilage of his windpipe give under the crushing force of my thumb.

Marcus gags, his face turning a deep, mottled purple, his fingernails desperately scraping against the back of my hand, but I barely notice it.

He’s completely helpless. A rat trapped in a vice.

I’m seconds away from snapping his neck and leaving his body behind a dumpster when a movement in my peripheral vision catches my eye.

Harmony.

I cut my eyes sideways just enough to see her standing in the amber glow of the string lights.

She hasn’t backed away. She isn’t cowering or screaming for help.

Instead, a slow, sly smile curves those plump, plush lips of hers. Her sweet-like-candy eyes gleam in the dark, drinking in the sight of me holding a man’s life in the palm of my hand.

The sight of that dark, twisted satisfaction on her face hits me like a kick to the chest. A quick, sharp burst of arousal ignites low in my belly, shooting straight down to my dick.

She isn’t repulsed by the violence. She’s mesmerized by it. She likes watching me play the monster for her.

Around us, the heavy silence of the dark corner breaks. The commotion—the gasping, the dull thud of Marcus’s boots kicking against the wood, the sheer physical space we take up—has drawn the attention of passersby.

Shadows lengthen as a small crowd gathers at the mouth of the seating area.

As the circle of onlookers grows, the dark, triumphant smile on Harmony’s face slowly fades, replaced by her usual cool, calculating mask.

“Hey! What’s going on back there?” a heavy male voice shouts from the main walkway. “Get a cop! Someone call the police!”

That’s when Harmony steps in.

She moves fast, stepping right up into my space, her soft hands grasp my forearm. The heat of her touch burns right through my sleeve.

“Ryder, let him go,” she demands in a fierce, low whisper.

I don’t budge. I keep my eyes locked on Marcus’s terrified face, squeezing just enough to keep him on the brink of passing out.

Harmony leans past my shoulder, her face inches from Marcus’s purple, swollen ear. “If you don’t want your wife and kid to find out what happened between us fifteen years ago, Marcus, you’ll keep your fucking mouth shut about what just happened here. Do you understand me?”