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As the truck flies past, Hernandez pivots and draws his service weapon, taking aim at the tires. He fires off two shots before the truck kicks into Reverse.
I have Halen’s arms locked around my neck as we slide down the side of the steep incline. I glance up in time to witness the rear of the truck clip Hernandez before he’s able to escape its path.
The truck brakes, kicking up a cloud of debris.
Lowering Halen to the rocky earth, I unlink her arms from my neck and drop her bag. “Get the knife.”
Her beautiful face sheened with sweat, she captures my hand. A raw abrasion reddens her cheek from where the airbag took aim. And while I’m struck by how lovely she is in her damaged state, those silvery eyes spear me with cold fury.
She holds me bound no longer than a heartbeat, but I read each turbulent emotion raging within her.
This moment was unavoidable.
I reach out and sweep the white streak behind her ear. “If you need to loathe me, I can accept that. But loathe me with a vengeance while you take that fucking knife out.”
The slam of truck doors severs our connection, and I suffer the loss of her touch as I turn to see two men exiting the hulking vehicle.
Clothed in black sweatshirts, they advance with their hoods drawn up, their faces masked by large, unnerving stag skulls. The white horns are filed into sharp points to resemble spikes projecting from their heads.
I’d be impressed with their resourceful endeavor to intimidate if not for their supreme stupidity in endangering the reason for my fucking existence.
Hernandez is sprawled on the ground, his gun lost at some point during the impact. Where his pant leg is torn at the thigh, deep-red blood escapes the injury. One of the skull boys descends on him, and Hernandez is just aware enough to throw up his hands as the assailant bears down with a syringe.
Within the same beat, I’m confronted by the second guy and staring into the hollow sockets of a skull, my entire body rioting with the desire to commit carnage.
Destruction will serve more than one purpose today.
As I lunge toward him, he meets my sluggish attack with an elbow to my face, thoughtlessly knocking me aside like an afterthought as he stays on his course.
Going straight for Halen.
Hellfire licks my viscera as I lurch to my feet. Seconds before he reaches her, I tackle him to the uneven terrain and pin my knee between his shoulder blades. I look up in search of Halen, finding her with the bagged knife held in her grip.Good girl.
I wrestle him onto his back and brace my forearm against his throat, taking note of his wiry frame. He’s a spry motherfucker for his average size, and curiosity has me bashing the skull off his face.
“Shit, I know him.” Halen’s voice is shaky as she steps near.
The local officer glares up at me, eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth gasping uselessly for oxygen as I press down on his larynx. I vaguely recall him from the night of Alister’s assault on Halen.
“You were there,” she accuses him, her tone low, but I hear the threat banked behind her deceptive calm. “Were you following me?”
I don’t let up on his throat. There’s nothing he can say that will change his damned fate. His singular focus on Halen gives me the only answer I need.
He will soon be a dead skull boy.
I direct my gaze up to Halen, where she’s still clutching the knife. “Remove the bag,” I tell her, my words grit between clenched teeth.
She’s trembling from adrenaline, still shaken from the wreck, an accident not unlike the one where she was driving, or the hit-and-run that took her parents. The difference is, this time, she has someone she can punish.
As her emotions climb, she toes the edge of that terrace all over again, her hair as wild as her eyes, her fear tearing through her logic. She’s an aphrodisiac hitting my bloodstream.
God, she’s fucking hypnotic.
She fears the terrible things we’re capable of, the loss of control.
She fearsus.
Little Halen is frightened over so much about herself, terrified to face that part of herself she lost control of once before. But it’s not a door that can be sealed off once it’s been opened.
