Page 77 of Death Rydes Shotgun

5:20 AM

Adark, suffocating wave of rage curls like smoke inside my chest, choking out whatever cold patience I had left.

I stare through the fogged windshield of the stolen police cruiser, my eyes locked on the faint red taillights of the fancy sport’s car ahead.

When the car pulled off onto the gravel shoulder and cut its lights, my jaw clenched so hard my back teeth ground together.

I kill the cruiser’s engine and black out the headlights a hundred yards back, letting the vehicle coast silently into the shadow of the thick pine trees lining the highway.

Mixed feelings, hot and venomous, twist in my gut as I watch the passenger door open.

Harmony steps out into the freezing drizzle—and right behind her, the driver steps out too.

She brought a complete stranger to the place where Noah died.

This should be our place.

This dark, rain-soaked stretch of road belongs to Noah, to Harmony, and to me. It’s a sacred tomb of secrets, blood, and fifteen years of unholy obsession. On both our parts. On her for me, and on Noah for her.

She has no right to bring this fucking civilian here, to let some random bastard walk on the holy ground where my best friend bled his last breath into the mud. And she damn sure has no right to accept comfort from another man while standing in the presence of his ghost and mine.

I grip the leather of the steering wheel until my knuckles turn three shades lighter, the leather groaning under the force of my hands.

My mind races with crazed, filthy curiosity as I stare at them through the mist.

What the hell did they talk about on the drive over here? Did she drop her guard and whisper to him about Noah? Did she confess her sins, telling him about the secret that put Noah on this road to be struck down like a dog in the dark?

Or did she talk about me?

Did she tell this stranger about the monster who held her captive in the barn? Did she tell him how she trembled beneath me, how her body betrayed her terrifying lip-service to morality, how she came all over my dick while holding a knife to my neck?

The thought of her talking about my touch to another man makes my blood boil into pure, razor-sharp malice.

My mind flashes to me stepping out of the darkness right now, wrapping my bare hands around this driver’s throat, and snapping his neck before he even has the chance to scream.

I want to carve him up right in front of her, painting the rain-slicked gravel with his blood just to remind Harmony who she actually belongs to.

Through the fog, I notice them move away from the vehicle. But instead of stopping at the shoulder, they turn and disappear into the dense, black wall of the woods.

I cock my head, my brows drawing together.

Where the fuck are they going?

They’re leaving the exact spot where Noah’s body was found.

Noah wasn’t found deep in the forest; he was found face-down in the muddy ditch about three feet from where this bastard just parked his car.

Why is she leading him into the thicket?

I slip out of the police cruiser, the cold air hitting my bare chest, my stiff bloody jeans soaking through with rain the moment my boots hit the wet gravel.

I don’t care about the cold. My focus remains entirely locked onto this trust-fund-dickhead’s expensive ass car parked on the shoulder.

I glide toward it like a shadow, my steps completely silent against the gravel.

As I reach the vehicle, I realize it isn’t just a flashy piece of shit euro-trash car like I thought from a distance; up close, it’s a sleek, extremely expensive rare sports car. The Bugatti Centodieci is polished and pristine despite the storm.

A dark, twisted smirk carves across my face.