by Fox, Logan
As I listen, the sounds transform into footsteps.
Who the fuck dares to walk in my woods?
I bunch my jaw and change direction, angling toward the intruder.
By the time I get close enough to spot the idiot, it’s so dark I can barely make them out.
If they hadn’t been wearing a pale hoody, it would have been near impossible to track them.
I try to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible, but I’m tall and my shoulders are wide — I can either lose them or let them know I’m here.
Whoever it is, they’re definitely on to me. That pale, baggy hoody keeps glancing left and right as their pace picks up.
Who the hell is this guy? He wears baggy clothing as if to disguise the fact that he’s both short and slight.
Lavish is a small town — I would have heard of someone new arriving. Which means this guy’s up to no good. Could be a vagrant from Mallhaven, or someone who got on the wrong bus and then decided to stay. We get them sometimes — people who come here lured by the promise of wealth just like my forefathers back in the day.
The guy in the hoody breaks into a jog.
I speed up, a faint smile touching my mouth.
They think they can outrun me? I’m Lavish Prep’s best receiver.
But I guess they don’t know that, do they?
* * *
Indi
I wedge myself behind the charcoal shell of a half-burned pew, my arm brushing against a vicious looking bramble clambering through a hole in the nearby wall.
The sound of running footsteps slow, slow, stop.
I clap both hands over my mouth, and consider the risk of closing off my nose too, but I’m so out of breath, I’d probably pass out if I tried.
I hug my legs to my chest and burrow my head into them, desperate to quieten my panting. Carefully, so as not to make a sound, I lever the switchblade from my belt.
It’s only a week old, but it already feels like an appendage. Now that it’s in my hand, it feels heavy and cold. I pull out the blade, but I don’t lock it in case that tiny sound gives away my location.
The police report stated that they suspected there was only one unsub responsible for what happened to my mother. They found only one pair of footprints, only one set of prints. Someone who wasn’t in the system. Yet. I was informed invasions were a fact of life, even though I’d never heard of one happening in Lakeview before. The police told me it was probably a robbery, but that Mom surprised the thief when she came home early from her art exhibit.
If she hadn’t come home early…
If dad had still been alive…
If she’d had something to defend herself…
So many ifs, and no one mentioned the one that mattered most.
If only I hadn’t slipped out that night. Yes, it would most likely have been me surprising the thief while coming downstairs for a snack.
But then Mom would still be alive. And that’s all that matters.
Dry leaves and dirt crunch under soles as my pursuer heads deeper into the church.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
I was hoping I’d made it here fast enough that the guy would think I was long gone, but he must know these woods much better than I do — and the church is an obvious sanctuary.
Crunch.
He’s heading away.
I draw a calming breath and slowly lift my head. It’s so dark inside the church, all I can see are silhouettes. My heart just starts slowing down when my pursuer turns, and I catch sight of his profile.
A spike of fear washes me with panic, and my heart starts racing again.
Holy shit. He’s fucking huge.
Something brushes the back of my hand, but I’m too transfixed on the monster who’s standing less than a yard away, scanning the church interior as if he’s trying to pick up my scent. Despite his size, he moves with the grace and casual ease of a hunter searching for his prey.
Which, in this case, is me.
My skin crawls, and it takes me a second to realize it’s because there’s something on the back of my hand, not just because I’m close to wetting myself.
It takes everything I have to look down.
A spider. And this isn’t just a Daddy Long Legs. Nope. What’s crawling on my hand is one nasty looking sonofabitch; all spidery fuzz and lethal-looking fangs. A scream bubbles in the back of my throat.
Without bothering to consider the repercussions, I flick it off me. The sleeve of my hoody snags on a bramble thorn. My urgent movements shake the whole bush.
The guy spins to face me and lunges forward.
I yell out, but the sound barely leaves my lips before he grabs my ankles and drags me out of my hiding place.
The knife. The fucking knife!
But he’s too far away, and a moving target. If I have any chance of getting in a shot, I’ll have to wait.
My chest closes, heart thumping like a wild stallion as I flip onto my stomach and furiously try to claw myself away from him.
One of my ankles is suddenly free. I glance back, and immediately try kicking the guy in the face.
He dodges effortlessly, and starts laughing.
The sound of that cold, heartless chuckle turns my marrow to ice. I scream, voice hoarse from fear, as I struggle and kick. He grabs the bottom of my hoody and drags me over cracked, dusty flagstones, until there’s nothing left for me to try and grab for.
He straddles my lower back. I hurriedly close my fingers around the knife, trying to hide it until I’m ready to use it.
I buck my hips to try and throw him off but he’s too fucking heavy.
“The fuck you doing in my town?” he growls.
In this position, I’ll be slashing out behind me, probably just snagging on his clothes. I have to be facing him, or behind him, if I stand any chance of my knife doing enough damage for me to escape.
I throw out a scream of frustration as I wriggle like a fish on a hook.
He’s going to kill me.
I’m going to end up just like Mom.
Is this karma?
Fear drains every last ounce of fight from me as I hear fabric rustle.
No, no, no! This is not happening.
Hot anger swirls through me. I reach behind me, trying to grab him or scratch him. A second later, he has my arms pinned at the small of my back. Fear pushes back my anger, and I’m filled with cold dread.
Can he see the knife?
More importantly, can I reach him with it?
My voice breaks as I yell out, “Let me go!” I wriggle so hard, my hoody falls back and my loose hair spills over my face.
“What the…?” The guy lifts his weight, but only long enough to grab my shoulders and flip me over.
My back hits the cobbles beneath me, and for a moment, both my hands are free.
The silhouette above me cocks his head, and bends close as he settles over my hips.
“You’re a girl,” he states in a flat voice.
* * *
Briar
Jesus — how could I ever have thought she was a guy? I can blame the dark, I guess. Or I could blame myself for not giving a fuck either way. She’s trespassing. I don’t give a fuck that she’s a girl.
Even if she’s a pretty little thing. Big, green eyes peer out at me from a delicate oval face. The plump mouth beneath her snub nose trembles. Now that she’s between my thighs, I can truly appreciate how dainty she is.
I should have been paying attention to the rest of her.
When I make to grab the front of her hoody to haul her to her feet, the girl’s fist comes out of nowhere. But instead of the punch I was expecting, a knife slices over my face.
I knock it out of her hand a second later, but I’m so shocked that I let her wriggle out from under me. She staggers and rushes to her feet. Then she glares at me for a second, as if weighing up her chances of recovering her knife before I can get up.
I guess she doesn’t like her chances; a moment later, she’s gone.
/>
I stand, wincing as I touch the oozing cut on my cheek. It isn’t a deep cut — thank fuck — but I think she knew it would be enough to distract me. I glance around until I see her weapon, and pick it up. I bounce it on my palm as my lips quirk into a smile. A compact switchblade.
“You’re just making this worse for yourself,” I holler after her.
She yells back “Fuck you!”
I let out a bemused huff, shaking my head. Got a bit of an attitude problem, my little stray. I’ll have to teach her some manners.
A growl catches in my throat as I sprint after her.
* * *
Indi
I’m in the lead. I’m even sixty-percent sure I’m headed the right way. I can’t hear the guy’s footsteps anymore — just my own ragged breath. I discover a faint path and immediately follow it. A few minutes later, a definite track appears through the foliage.
My fear subsides; I’m headed toward civilization and away from that guy’s massive hands and shadowy face.
I pause, glancing this way and that to make sure I’m well and truly alone.
Holy crap, that was a close call.
I run my hands through my hair and then drag my fingers down my face.
I guess it’s time I started listening to people, right? I mean, yeah, my life sucks right now, but I just got a wakeup call like no other. Because anything — even wonderful Granny Marigold — is better than being gutted in an abandoned church in the middle of—
Hands grab me, jerk me off my feet.
I scream. Fingers cover my mouth, cutting off the sound.
He drags me backward before I can recover my balance. A gust of wind drives against him, bringing me his smell as he drags me off the path.
Crisp aftershave. Sweat. The mintiness of fresh mouthwash.
What the fuck? Killers aren’t supposed to smell good!
I struggle, land an elbow in his washboard stomach, and completely fail to break free.
I guess he’s not taking any chances this time. As soon as we’re well and truly in the shadows, he pins the front of my body against a broad tree trunk and leans into me. He’s powerful — even pushing against the trunk with everything I’ve got, I barely rock him.
He grabs my wrists and locks my hands against the bark above my head, leaving the other free to roam.
“Bad decision, angel,” he murmurs into my ear.
Angel?
A sudden swell of anger leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I struggle furiously, but all he does it press harder into me. Then he grabs the scruff of my neck. “You made me angry, having to chase after you.”
“Yeah?” I snap. “Sounds more like you’re out of breath.”
It’s the pent-up rage inside me talking, of course. He struck a nerve. Mom used to call me her little angel. What the fuck gives him the right to call me that?
When he laughs, his chest vibrates against my shoulders. His hand slides down my side as if he’s trying to frisk me for more knives. And don’t I fucking wish I had more?
“Chasing a little thing like you? Please.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, wriggling furiously under him.
“Yeah, keep struggling,” he murmurs into my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin. “It’s getting me hard.”
“You fucking sicko, get off!”
“Oh, I’m planning on it.” His hand glides over my ass and dives between my legs.
I go stiff, my eyes squeezing shut as he brushes against my pussy. There’s a lot of fabric in the way — I didn’t bother trying on these jeans before I bought them, so they’re super baggy — but still his fingers manage to make contact with my clit.
A dark thrill chases through me.
Then a whimper tumbles out of my mouth, timed perfectly with the ring of a mobile phone.
He ignores it, and it goes silent after a few rings.
“Not such a big shot now, are you, angel?” He presses into me at a different angle, and it takes me a second to realize why.
It’s so I can feel his rock hard dick against the curve of my ass.
Fuck. Fuck!
My breath comes faster, my heart picking up speed.
I’m terrified — I know I am — but my body’s doing its own thing. For some reason, some sick, fucked up reason, I’m getting wet from this monster touching me.
“Just let me go,” I say, turning my head so I can look at him from the corner of my eye.
I’ve been avoiding eye contact. If I can’t identify him, I don’t pose a threat, right? But as soon as our eyes lock, I realize none of that matters. There isn’t much light, but there’s just enough to make out his features.
Eyes the color and warmth of a melting glacier fix on mine. Immediately, my willpower drains away because that wide, smiling mouth beneath his strong nose tells me everything I need to know.
I’m a rabbit, he’s a wolf that enjoys playing with his supper.
Chapter Three
Briar
All it takes is me pinning her to a tree and putting my dick up against her before she finally stops squirming. I won’t lie, I kinda wish she’d keep at it. I love how it feels when her body writhes like that. Almost as much as I love watching her plump mouth spit out those dirty words.
“All out of fight?” I croon, grinding against her.
“I don’t know who you are. If you let me go, I won’t tell anyone—”
I stop rubbing her pussy through her baggy jeans and twist her around. My fingers go around her throat, my other hand keeping her wrists pinned above her head. “And just who you planning on telling, Angel?”
“The police,” she says through gritted teeth as she scans my face.
I hope she’s not looking for some sign of humanity. Anyone who knows me, knows I’m the furthest thing from a saint.
“Yeah?” I squeeze her throat, but all that does is make her eyes flare. Her eyelashes tremble, but I get the feeling it’s anger, not fear. “Well, do me a favor and let the Sheriff know Briar says hi.”
Her dark, unruly eyebrows draw together. “You’re pathetic if you think that’ll stop me,” she says, voice dripping with disgust.
I laugh as I abandon her throat and instead run my hand down her chest, grasping first one breast, then the other.
In an instant, fear darkens her eyes.
Seems she couldn’t care less if I strangle her, but using her body for my own depraved pleasure? Suddenly, I’m crossing a line.
My smile lifts as I rake my fingers down her belly and grab her pussy through her jeans again.
She lets out a hiss and stands on the tips of her toes. Even then, she doesn’t reach my chin.
“I’m on my period,” she says hurriedly, eyes filling with venom.
“Hmm…” I murmur, and lean close enough that my lips brush her ear when I speak. She turns her head away, but I just follow. “Guess I won’t need to lube you up first.”
When I straighten, her mouth is open in shock.
I run my thumb over her bottom lip, and she moves her face away from my touch. So I grip her jaw and force her head straight. Her eyes try to burn a hole through mine when I dip and rub myself against her so she can feel just how hard I am for her.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she whispers furiously.
I pause, my smile going crooked. “I told you, I’m—”
“Yeah, I’m sure you gave me your real name.” She pulls her face free, red marks on her skin how I gripped her. “Well guess what, Whoever-the-fuck-you-are?”
I blink at her. How the fuck can she think talking back to me is going to make this any easier on her?
“You’ll be pissing blood for a week.”
Her knee lifts, but I twist away just in time. If she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t put me on my guard, I’d probably be writhing on the floor in agony right now.
My phone rings again. Just two rings, then it goes silent.
Time to go.
I release the girl, and drag my fingers do
wn my jaw as I give her a long, slow once-over. “Run, Angel,” I say quietly.
She slips away from the tree and backs up as if expecting me to rush her. Honest to God, I should…but I need to check my phone; I know it’s important. So I just keep grinning at her until she turns tail and disappears into the night.
I lean against the tree and take my phone from my pocket. I toy with the girl’s switchblade, turning it over in my hand as I wait for my call to connect.
“Hey…uh…” A voice breathes in my ear. I straighten, pressing the phone harder against my ear.
“Marcus?” I can barely recognize his voice.
“Yeah, ‘s me.” He sounds short of breath, exhausted. “Can you…could you—?”
“Be there in five.” I put down the phone without bothering to hear his response. Then I’m sprinting, my encounter with Angel already forgotten.
Marcus needs me.
* * *
Indi
I stop outside Marigold’s house to hack up all the spit that’s gone thick in my mouth. I stay bent over for a few panting breaths, and then straighten and haul icy air into my lungs.
Run, Angel.
And boy, did I obey.
On the plus side, I not only survived being murdered, but also the run back here. That must be some kind of miracle, right?
I push back my shoulders and stride toward the house. I have to give myself a mental shove before I can get myself to open the door.
Who’d have thought I’d be more reluctant to go inside this house than wait out here, in the dark, where a monster roams?
Marigold is nowhere to be seen when I let myself back inside her house. In fact, the house is so dark and quiet, I think she may have gone to bed already.
Crap, what time is it?
My legs quiver like jelly as I sneak upstairs, taking those unfamiliar steps one at a time because I have no idea which of them creak.
Turns out, all of them do. I give up on sneaking three-quarters of the way up, turn into the hall, and yell out when my gran materializes in front of me like the Mayflower looming from a fog bank.
