A firm grip comes down around my wrist, and I let out a squeal, causing Bullet to start barking somewhere nearby. I whip my head around, eyes wide and heart pounding.
“Where you going so fast?” A deep, unfamiliar voice sneers above me. “You gonna tell on me?”
I don’t recognize the black eyes glaring down at me. I don’t recognize the camouflage jacket, and I don’t recognize the black and gray headed man holding me.
“You hear me?” He jerks me, and I try to pull away. “I swear to God, I’ll kill you, if you go run your mouth.”
“I won’t…” I choke the words out, my head spinning in ways I don’t understand.Was this who really was in the ravine? Is my mind playing tricks on me? Is this the guy from Martha’s barn?
He shoves me forward, and I fall backward through the trees, my back scraping the branches as I go down. I let out a grunt as I slam the ground, half in the woods and half in the backyard.
“Better run,” he whispers. “Or I might have to get you like your little dog gets all these rabbits.”
I dig my heels into the dirt, pushing myself backward, as the man in camo stands in the shadows of the woods, grinning downat me. There’s a rifle slung over his shoulder, but I don’t give myself any more time to take that in.
I scramble upward, and make a break for the back porch, soon joined by my happy fucking Beagle, bounding through the grass beside me.
What the hell is happening to me? Who was that?
I glance back to the woods as I stumble up the porch steps, and there’s no one there. There’s not a fucking soul standing in those trees.
I’m going crazy. That’s what is happening.
Pushing the door inward, Bullet and I make it inside the mudroom. My lungs are burning, my entire body exhausted, but I still slam the door closed—and flip the deadbolt.
There’s fucking monsters in those woods.
“Rue,” Mom clears her throat, her tone friendly. “Are you okay?”
I flip my hood back, and peer into the kitchen, shocked by the genuine concern coming out of my mother’s mouth. But my eyes don’t land on my mom.
They land on two U.S. Marshals, standing in the kitchen.
“They’re here to discuss the escape of Thomas Noah Peterson with us,” Mom says the words, as if they’re not sending me into another full-blown mental conniption. “He escaped from North Willard Penitentiary about a week ago.”
“We have reason to believe he might have traveled back to this area,” one of the Marshals meets my gaze. “Have you heard or seen anything of this man?” He holds up a picture for me to see, and those bright, beautiful eyes capturing mine even through the photograph. “Do you recognize him?”
My heart thunders in my chest.
“No.”
16
NOAH
Who the hellis this guy?
I watch the tank of a man move carefully through the trees, a rifle hanging loosely on his shoulders. He stood over Rue like she was some toy to play with, and I don’t like that. Maybe I tortured her with the rabbit foot. Maybe I’ve been creeping a little too close for comfort for her. But I have reasons.
This fucker? He doesn’t have the right to do that.
My lips twitch as I scrutinize him. I don’t have a weapon. Well, unless my dull pocket knife counts—and that’s nothing on a rifle.
Except he’d have to have enough space and time to use it.
He could have a pistol on him, too.
I mull over the possibilities. Anger churns in my gut, but I’m not sure if it’s the way he grabbed Rue, or if the fact that Rue had the fuckingaudacityto tell me I wasn’t real.
