Page 49

HARMONY

1:20 AM

Ryder’s words reverberate in the vacant corridors of my mind, weaving a grotesque, cotton candy-like web on the spindle of my consciousness.

Each breath tastes like rust and old smoke.

Staring into his eyes, I’m certain of one thing: he’s going to destroy me. He isn’t here for answers; he’s here for retribution. He wants to tear me apart, to bleed me dry on the cold floor of this barn, and I don’t know what else he could possibly want from me.

I already gave him what he demanded. I admitted my part in Noah’s death. I confessed to the ugly, rot-infested truth of what we did on that highway fifteen years ago, but the dark, feral hunger in his eyes hasn’t waned.

It’s only grown stronger.

A sickening realization crawls up my spine.

He doesn’t want the truth. He wants a monster to blame to justify his own cruelty. He wants a reason to snap my neck and leave me in the dirt.

Well, he can go fuck himself.

Ryder leans in even closer, his shadow swallowing me whole as his thumb lingers on my lower lip.

I fight the urge to flick my tongue out and taste him. To find out if the time we just spent together was enough to spare my life.

His voice drops into a sharp, grating whisper. “Why do you come back to Blackwood every Halloween, Harmony? Is it some sort of sick ritual?”

My mind races, calculating the angles, searching frantically for a way to stay breathing.

If he views me as a cold, remorseless villain, then fighting him on it won’t save me. Pleading for mercy certainly won’t.

I need to feed his twisted narrative, give him what he wants to hear, and buy myself enough time to find an opening. In order to survive this hell, I need to keep him talking until his guard drops, or until I can find a way out.

I’m willing to do and say whatever it takes to survive the night.

I look straight into those pitch-black, deranged eyes, letting my face harden into a stone-cold mask. “Maybe.”

A subtle, violent shift ripples across his features.

The mysterious answer pulls a momentary flick of surprise across his sharp jaw before his eyes narrow into slit-like embers.

He didn’t expect me to own it so easily, and for a split second, the heavy grip of his dominance stumbles.

Good.

My pulse races wildly, pounding against my ribcage.

Keep him off balance.

Ryder steps back an inch, but his arm remains a solid iron bar pinned against the beam beside my head.

The psychological weight of his presence presses against my chest, heavy enough to bruise.

He leans in again, his breath hot against my cheek as he begins to launch a barrage of probing, relentless questions about that fateful night.

“Who else was in that car, Harmony?” His voice is laced with venom. “Who played a part in it? I want to know whose idea it was to make Noah a sacrificial lamb. Who stripped him of his belongings?”

I don’t hesitate. I answer every question truthfully, spitting out the names like sour milk. “It was Blaire. Blaire was the one who decided it should be Noah. She said he was a nobody, that no one would care if he disappeared for a few hours. It was Tre who held him down while Bryan took his phone, his jacket, and his shoes. They wanted to make sure he couldn’t call anyone, couldn’t get help, and couldn’t run back to town before morning.”

Ryder tilts his head, his dark curls now shriveled tightly against his forehead. His eyes burn with an intense, analytical light, sifting through my words like a prosecutor dissecting a crime scene.