1
RUE
Population 853.
I stare at the Moccasin Cove sign, wondering if the new, updated number includes the dead bodies at the bottom of the lake—or if those are officially marked off the list after a few months.
Honestly, it could go either way and I wouldn’t be surprised.
Pursing my lips, I press my foot against the accelerator, pushing my SUV a little harder past the eerie reminder. These tires have never felt the winding gravel and shitty asphalt roads around the lake. The surrealness of navigating them now has the acid and watery iced coffee in my stomach curdling.
It’s just for a few weeks. Then I can go back to Los Angeles.
I don’t have to be seen by anyone in town. No one has to know I’m here.
My heart thumps an extra beat as the rising sun glints against my windshield in a way that purely blinds me—which isexactlywhy I don’t see the shadow of a man stepping out into the road until it’s almost too late.
Holy shit!
I slam the brakes, my heel colliding with the floorboard as the tires squeal and I suck in a breath so sharp it makes my chest hurt. The car comes to a screeching halt, and I squint through the glare to process the figure looming just in front of my bumper.
What the hell? Did he not see me?
A mixture of irritation and shock floods my system, but I find myself feeling uneasy as I take in the tall, broad-shouldered man in a black hoodie standing in the road. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who would take this sort of thing with a grain of salt.
No, he looks like the type to swing a tire iron at me for it.
I brace my back against the seat and hold my breath, my hands sweating against the heated steering wheel. The man appears to be frozen in place, and I keep my eyes narrowed, doing my best to make out even the smallest of movements.
Maybe he’ll just murder me.
I bite into my lower lip at the intrusive thought. There’s something about this town that causes my mind to run straight to violence. Well, and my body, too.
But let’s not go there.
I keep my eyes locked on the presumable human I almost just man-slaughtered still blocking my path. His body is angled far enough from me that I can’t see his face, and I begin to wonder if he’s contemplating his next move.
Or maybe just tweaking on meth.
Just another charming trait of this place. I peel my fingers from the steering wheel, and move them to the horn, hovering over it as my heart skips yet another beat. It has a tendency to do that—something that started years ago and has never quite righted itself.
Gently, I place my hand against the plastic, and press, the horn blaring into the silence of the early morning. The sound isjarring, enough that the man visibility winces, and then darts off into the woods on the opposite side of the road.
Well… That was fucking weird.
I shake my head, the messy bun on the top of my head bouncing in a way that reminds me I haven’t slept a minute of the last twenty-four hours it took to arrive. I should’ve flown, but the odds of a car crash are greater than an airplane falling from the sky.
And I was hoping to maybe benefit from that statistic.
Oh, to be so lucky.I let out a sigh, and find the gas pedal again, easing my car forward. My eyes drift to the thick woods to my right, where the man disappeared. There’s no trace of him amongst the bare branches and poor camouflage of winter. Moccasin Cove has a way of swallowing people like that…
Then driving them mad.
My mind flashes to a darkness I haven’t experienced in years, but I shudder and shake it off before the sick feeling can return to my stomach. The best coping method to deal with regret is to just fucking forget and pretend it never happened.
Sometimes, Iactuallyconvince myself of that, too.
The next two miles of twists and turns pass without incident, though the creep in the black hoodie remains front and center in my brain for some unknown reason. Something about him seemed familiar, but that’s probably because heis.
