Page 62 of Death Rydes Shotgun

Ryder snickers, it’s a mocking sound that vibrates off the rotting cedar walls. He tilts his head, his dark eyes glittering with wicked amusement.

“Why, pretty girl? Because the scrawny, quiet kid I was in high school was too unattractive for you? Someone you wouldn’t waste a second of your precious time on?”

I shake my head quickly, my cheeks flaring with a sudden flush of heat. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just trying to make conversation.”

I take a slow breath, deciding to push a little further, probing his defenses to see where his boundaries lie.

“Are you going to let me go after this storm breaks? Or do you plan on following me all the way back to my apartment?”

Ryder shrugs his tattooed shoulders, his expression completely unreadable in the dim, shadowed gloom of the room. “Haven’t decided yet.”

I search his face, staring intensely into those pitch-black eyes, trying to decipher if he’s just playing a sick joke or if he’s dead serious about stalking me to my front door.

But he’s a locked vault, giving away nothing.

Outside, the storm rages on with unbridled fury. The torrential rain slams violently against the rusted tin roof, and the wind howls through the trees, screeching like a woman being brutally slaughtered in the woods.

Desperate to crack his stone-hard exterior, I decide to venture into dangerous territory. I want to know more about the boy who died on the highway.

“Tell me about Noah. What was he really like back then?”

The temperature in the cabin instantly drops twenty degrees.

Ryder shuts down completely. The relaxed, mocking posture vanishes in a split second, replaced by a rigid, deadly tension that makes every hair on my arms stand up.

His jaw clenches so hard I hear the enamel grind, and his eyes darken into two pitless abysses of raw, unadulterated hostility.

I take a step back, wrapping my arms around my waist.

This is obviously a massive sore spot for him. Good.

A dark, dangerous spark ignites in my chest.

That’s exactly why I want to keep poking at that raw, bleeding wound until it bursts wide open. I want to see what makes him angry enough to flip his switch, to lose that cool, dominating control he’s held over me all night.

I open my mouth to push him further, but before I can drop another word onto the fire, a blinding flash of lightning tears across the sky outside the window.

For a fraction of a second, the white glare illuminates the dark woods beyond the glass—and my heart stops dead in my throat.

Standing right outside the window, framed by the thrashing trees, is a tall, motionless silhouette of a figure staring directly inside.

My breath hitches, and I instinctively step toward the window to get a better look into the blackness.

Before my foot can hit the floorboards, a heavy, iron-like grip fastens around my arm and yanks me backward with violent force.

I stumble into Ryder’s broad chest, his arm wrapping around my waist like a steel vise, holding me firmly against him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls into my ear.

“There was someone outside. What if it's the killer?” I whisper yell, my lungs fighting for air as I look up at his harsh jawline.

Ryder stares down at me, a dark scoff slipping past his lips. “So what? You thought it would be a brilliant fucking idea to walk right up to the window to check? You and that tiny little knife you’re holding?”

I glare up at him, my wide eyes twisting into a sharp scowl. “You could always give me back my hunting knife!”

Ryder releases me to lean a shoulder against the worn, wooden cabin wall, while folding his huge, powerful arms across his chest.

A deep, throaty chuckle rumbles through him as he looks down at me like I’ve lost my mind.