Page 68

4:10 AM

Crouched in the pitch-black crawlspace behind the stone chimney, every breath I drag into my lungs tastes of ancient ash, mold, and suffocating terror.

My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped, panicked bird.

I press my back flat against the cold, rough stone, pulling my knees tight to my chest as the heavy, rhythmic thud of the deputy’s boots echoes against the floorboards.

His footsteps sound closer.

A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead, and a full-blown panic attack claws violently at my throat. My vision blurs around the edges. I wrap my arms tightly around my legs, biting down on my trembling bottom lip to keep from letting out a whimpering gasp.

If he shines that flashlight beam just two inches to the left, he’ll see me curled up in the shadows like a cornered animal—drenched in the fresh blood of a murdered man.

My stomach churns with a dizzying wave of conflicted emotion. Part of me is paralyzed with pure horror at Ryder’s audacity—he’s standing there in a ridiculous, undersized shirt and boxer briefs, nakedly threatening an armed police officer without a single flicker of fear.

But another, darker part of me feels a sick, betraying surge of relief.

He’s protecting me.

He lied straight to the deputy’s face to cover for me. He pulled the officer’s attention entirely onto himself, using his massive frame and manic mind as a human shield so I wouldn’t be discovered.

No. Don’t fall for it. He’s a monster.

I violently dig my fingernails into my palms.

As Ryder keeps the deputy’s focus locked on him, I slowly turn my head, my eyes darting toward the narrow back room of the cabin.

There’s a small, rectangular window set high in the rotting wall—the very same window Ryder had climbed through earlier.

There’s my way out.

Suddenly, a deep, dark laugh rumbles from Ryder’s chest.

His tone shifts into a smooth, easy drawl that rasps through the quiet room. “Relax, officer. It’s Halloween. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

The deputy, however, clearly isn’t amused. The heavy rustle of leather and the sharp, metallic snap of handcuffs echo off the rafters.

“Put your hands behind your back, son. Right now. Turn around!” The deputy’s voice is hard as iron.

This is it. This is my only chance.

The brutal image of Ryder gutting that masked man on the porch flashes vividly across my mind—the wet, tearing sound of the steel, the warm crimson spray, the sheer, psychotic joy dancing in Ryder’s dark eyes.

I know that if I don’t leave right now, I’ll never escape him.

He’ll drag me down into the abyss with him until there’s nothing left of who I used to be.

As the deputy forcefully grabs Ryder’s wrist and cranks his arm behind his back, clicking the cold steel of the cuffs around his wrist, I move.

I slip out of the narrow stone nook like a shadow, keeping my boots utterly silent against the floor. I crawl on my hands and knees into the back room, reach up, and push myself through the small window opening.

Rain and freezing wind instantly blast into my face, but I ignore the cold.

I hoist myself up onto the sill, squeezing my body through the narrow opening, and slide down the wet outer wall, landing quietly in the muddy grass outside.

I stay low, crouching beneath the overhang of the roof as I creep around the side corner of the cabin.

Just as I peek around the edge of the wood, the front door creaks open.