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I don’t look back.

No way am I waiting to see if he’s following.

Eight

Run, Little Prey

RYDER

9:45 PM

“Run, little prey.”

In the cool, autumn air, the words linger, deep and velveteen, slowly dissolving into the darkness as she slips behind the shadow of the livestock barns.

“The further you run, the harder I’ll chase you. The more I’ll want you.”

I lift two fingers to my lower lip, dragging them slowly across the sensitive flesh, catching the faint, residual trace of her mouth.

She tastes like sweet vanilla, dark promises, and wild, unbridled adrenaline.

My tongue, slow and wicked, flicks out, tasting my lips, savoring every last molecule of her left behind on my skin.

I smile into the blackness, watching the tall grass settle where her boots tore through it moments ago.

She thinks she can escape me. She thinks that desperate, beautiful sprint into the dark will bring her to safety. But she has no idea that every step she takes away from me is just part of the dance.

The chase is foreplay.

I can picture the hunt with terrifying, vivid clarity—the way her heart hammers against her ribs, the way her breath comes in hot, ragged gasps, her thighs so slick, coated with her own heavy arousal as she runs blindly from the monster she summoned.

She wanted the thrill, she invited the danger into her lap the second she unlocked her car doors on Blackwood Highway. Now she gets to deal with the consequences.

My mind flashes back to mere moments ago, my pulse spiking as the image burns into my brain.

The moonlight as it caught her bare skin the moment I pulled that sweater over her head. Flawless, silken golden-brown skin that glowed like polished bronze against the stark backdrop of rusted steel and dark grass.

Every curve, every dip of her waist, the firm, full swell of her tits resting above that delicate pink lace—every inch of her was calling out to my hands, begging to be marked, bruised, and claimed.

The memory alone makes my blood surge, thick and heavy; a violent ache settling deep in my cock.

With a smile, I adjust my dick so the head isn’t pressed uncomfortably against the thick material of my jeans.

Harmony, you little fucking tease.

Behind me, the sound of heavy footfalls and slurred laughter grows louder, cutting through the images of her perfect body.

I turn slowly away from the open field, dropping my gaze as I step out from behind the shadow of the tractor. I pull my hood up over my head and keep it low over my face, slipping my hands into the front pouch pocket of my thick black hoodie.

My fingers wrap around the familiar cold metal.

Inside the pouch, my thumb traces the smooth, textured casing of my own heavy, dual folding knife.

I flick the thumb stud back and forth with a quiet, rhythmically soothing click-clack. Inside the fabric, the razor-sharp steel springs open and locks in place, then I disengage the spring mechanism to close it back.

Over and over.

A silent, deadly fidget.