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I rip off my blood-soaked jacket and shirt, tossing them into the bottom of the wood box and kicking a pile of dirt over the fabric.
My chest and arms are still streaked with mud and faint red smears, but there’s no time to wash up.
I snatch an ancient, faded grey long sleeve shirt hanging off a peg on the wall—a shirt three sizes too small for my broad shoulders—and pull it over my head.
It stretches tight across my chest, barely reaching my waist.
Barefoot and wearing nothing but the tight grey shirt and my black boxer briefs, I unbolt the heavy iron lock and yank the door open.
A broad-shouldered deputy stands on the rain-slicked porch, his yellow raincoat soaked through, droplets falling steadily as his hand presses firmly on the leather holster at his hip.
He shines a blinding flashlight beam straight into my eyes, his face instantly twisting into deep, piercing suspicion.
“Who the hell are you? And what are you doing out here on private property?” the deputy demands, his eyes raking over my bare legs, my tattooed frame, and the ridiculous, undersized T-shirt straining against my muscles.
I squint against the harsh glare of the flashlight, lifting a hand to shield my eyes, letting a lazy, half-dazed smirk touch my lips.
“Just trying to ride out the storm, officer. My car broke down a mile back on the highway. I saw the cabin and didn’t feel like dying of hypothermia in a ditch.” I keep my voice slightly slurred, and entirely unbothered.
The deputy doesn’t lower the light. He pushes past me without asking permission, stepping straight into the cabin, his heavy leather boots thumping against the floorboards.
He slowly sweeps the beam of his flashlight around the room, illuminating the crackling fire, old discarded blankets, and the shadows near the back wall.
“Is there anyone else staying here with you?”
I close the front door against the wind, leaning my broad back against the wood, crossing my bare arms over my chest.
Please don’t give me a reason to fucking kill you.
“Nope. Just me, myself, and the rain.” I look the cop right in the eye without a single flicker of hesitation.
The deputy stops in the middle of the room, his eyes lingering on the heavy wooden table that had been pushed aside earlier, then down at the wet floorboards near the hearth. He takes a slow step toward the fireplace—moving directly toward the narrow stone nook where Harmony is crouching in the dark.
My pulse doesn’t spike.
Instead, a cold, calculating focus settles over my brain.
I need to keep this bastard’s attention entirely on me, to baffle him, irritate him, and pull his eyes away from the shadows before he takes another step.
“You know, officer…” My voice drops into a low, mocking hum that echoes off the rafters.
The deputy stops, turning his head back toward me, the flashlight beam snapping back to my face. “What?”
I offer him a slow, unsettling grin, stepping away from the door and taking a leisurely stride toward the middle of the room, exposing my chest, my tattoos, and the subtle, dried blood smears along my neck.
“You’re making a lot of noise for a guy who didn’t knock three times. Back in town, folks say if you don’t knock three times on Halloween, you invite the devil inside.” I tilt my head.
I take another slow step toward him, towering over him in the firelight. “Are you sure you want to be in here with me right now?”
The deputy’s jaw tightens, his hand shifting higher on his gun belt. “Is that a threat, son?”
My eyes flash with dark, unhinged intent in the firelight as I whisper, “Just a friendly observation. Because out here in the dark... people have a habit of disappearing.”
Twenty-One
Under My Skin
HARMONY
