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He releases his grip on the glass panels beside my head, creating just enough space for the suffocating pressure against my chest to lift.

Relief floods my veins, cool and sharp, though my skin still burns where his body was pressing into mine.

“Lead the way, pretty girl. But don’t think for a second that you’re getting away,” he whispers, his voice carrying a lingering threat.

I don’t waste time arguing. I pivot and navigate the final stretch of the mirror maze, my boots moving quickly over the rubber floor mats until we burst through the heavy velvet exit curtains and back out into the cool autumn night.

I stop near the edge of the boardwalk, taking a deep, greedy breath of the fresh night air to clear the fog from my head.

Ryder steps up beside me, a towering, quiet shadow holding his hood low over his eyes, his curls barely poking through.

“Alright.” I turn to face him, keeping a healthy three feet of distance between us. “If I tell you something about myself... you have to do the same.”

Ryder crosses his heavy arms over his chest; his pinpoint gaze fixed on me through the gloom. “That wasn’t the deal.”

I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed, while my mind calculates my next move.

A short distance down the walkway, glowing under a flickering fluorescent sign, is the main public restroom—a solid brick building set a bit back from the vendor stalls.

I gesture toward the building. “I need a minute. Excuse me.”

He doesn’t object, though his gaze follows me like the sights on a rifle as I turn and walk quickly toward the restroom entrance.

I push open the heavy metal door, stepping into the stark, brightly lit room.

The scent of bleach fills the air.

Thank God, it’s empty.

I rush over to the stainless steel sink, turning the handle all the way to cold. I scoop the freezing water into my hands and splash it violently against my face, gasping as the icy shock hits my skin.

In the spotty mirror, I stare at my reflection as I lean over, gripping the edge of the porcelain basin.

“Get it together, Harm,” I whisper savagely to my reflection.

What the hell am I doing? I’m letting a completely insane stranger derail everything. I’m letting his unholy flirtation, his hands, and his filthy, beautiful promises scramble my brain.

I love the thrill—the sick, twisted game we’re playing—but he’s a wild card I can’t control.

He came barreling into my life, covered in blood. And I let him stay attached to my hip all night.

I need to lose him in the crowd. Permanently.

I dry my face with a paper towel, my mind racing as I formulate a plan.

If I go back out there and hit him head-on—if I question him about the string of unsolved deaths that have plagued Blackwood for the last fifteen years and outright accuse him of being the killer—he might back off.

Men like him don’t like being put on the spot by the law or by women who see right through them.

And if accusing him doesn’t scare him away, I’ll play along, trick him into letting his guard completely down, and handle him the way I handle any other unwanted advances.

Decision made, I smooth down my sweater, take a long, steadying breath, and push open the heavy restroom door to step back outside.

I scan the area immediately outside the door.

Empty.

I look toward the nearby game stalls, then over toward the food trailers.