Page 93 of Death Rydes Shotgun

I shift in my seat, leaning over the messy console packed with radio equipment, computer mounts, and wiring, resting my chin on my hand as I stare at his side profile.

My voice drips with dark amusement. “You know, you are a remarkably good lay.”

Ryder lets out a low, gravelly laugh, his eyes remaining locked on the winding dirt road ahead. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” I nod, my tone turning serious, a wicked warmth settling in my chest. “You pretty much ruined any other man for me.”

The humor vanishes from Ryder’s face in an instant. His jaw clamps shut, his grip tightening on the steering wheel so hard the leather creaks under his strength.

He snaps his dark eyes sideways, glaring at me with a lethal, possessive fire that makes my blood race.

“Any other man?” His voice drops into a harsh, possessive growl. “No other man will ever touch you again, Harmony. Because if I can’t have you, no one will. I know your scent. I know how you taste, how you come, and I will bleed anyone who dares to put their hands on what’s mine.”

A dark thrill shoots through my veins.

I reach across the flashing electronics, pressing a firm, warm kiss against his cheek, and whisper against his jaw, “Right answer.”

I pull back, my eyes narrowing into slits. “And just so you know... I’ll gut a bitch if she even looks at you. Fuck touching.”

Ryder’s mouth twitches into a dark, satisfied smirk, the possessive tension settling into an unspoken pact between us.

We drive another four miles into the thick woods, turning down an abandoned logging trail. It’s close to the barn where I stashed my black BMW hours before the night went to hell.

Ryder pulls the police cruiser beneath the dense shade of overhanging pine branches, completely obscuring it from any overhead view or passing traffic.

We step out into the crisp morning air.

Ryder pulls his hoodie over his head to meticulously wipe down the steering wheel, doors, console, and handles, erasing every trace of our presence from the stolen vehicle.

Once the cruiser is clean, Ryder pulls his hoodie back over his head and we walk the final quarter mile through the damp forest to my car.

My BMW sits untouched.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the silver keychain.

As we reach the passenger side, I stop, turning to face Ryder as he leans his hip against the hood.

I look at his dark denim jeans, remembering the stiff, crusted red stains I noticed on his clothes when he first stepped into my car on the highway hours ago—long before we reached the cabin, long before Marcus or Xander.

My brow furrows. “Ryder. Whose blood was on your jeans when I first picked you up on the side of the road?”

Ryder stares at me without blinking, his dark eyes fixed, a subtle, threatening smile curling on his lips. “Do you really want to know, pretty girl?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” I step closer, resting my hands against his chest.

“It was a two-for-one,” Ryder reveals, utterly devoid of mercy. “I came across Tre and Bryan on my way into town tonight.”

My heart skips a beat, a dark, breathless rush of adrenaline spiking through my system as the realization hits me.

The last two pieces of his and Noah’s childhood torment—the two people who helped ruin his life all those years ago—are already gone.

“Their bodies won’t be as easily discovered as Blaire’s.”

Ryder walks around the car to the driver’s side, opening the door for me and gesturing toward the leather interior.

I climb into the driver’s seat, settling behind the wheel while Ryder climbs in beside me, pulling the door shut against the cool morning air.

The engine turns over with a smooth, powerful purr, the dashboard lights illuminating our blood-stained, rain-washed faces in the dim cabin.