Page 70 of Girl, Bound

‘Freeze, you son of abitch!’ Ripley roared, her gun leaping into her hands like it had a mind of itsown. ‘Move and I’ll shoot.’

But Draven juststraightened up slowly, like a snake uncoiling from its nest. He turned to faceher, and Ripley sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes glittered with a madnessthat turned her bowels to ice water.

And then he wasmoving. He juked left, then right, feinting like a prizefighter leading withhis chin. Ripley tracked him with the barrel of her gun, fingertip kissing thetrigger, screaming at him to stand down, to hit the dirt with his hands on hishead.

Draven stood there, bent over, wheezinglike he'd just run a marathon. Ripley stalked closer, her gat trained on hiscenter mass, ready to ventilate him if he so much as twitched.

But Draven, just asRipley got within spitting distance, he whirled around like a demented top.

Before she couldblink, a handful of gunk came hurtling at her face like a fastball from hell.Mud, thick and cold, splatted across her face.

Ripley hollered, hergun hand flying up to claw the sticky filth from her eyes. She staggered, andwhen her vision returned, Draven had vanished.

Melted away into theshadows as if he'd never been, leaving Ripley blinking stupidly into the emptynight, gun still raised to paint a target on nothing at all.

‘No,’ she croaked, theword small and broken in her throat.

He'd slithered awaylike the snake he was, leaving her clutching at air.

She'd lost him. Lethim slip through her fingers like grains of sand in a clenched fist.

Some nagging instincttold her to get back to Ella, back to Ava, as if sheer proximity could shieldthem from Draven's diseased compulsions. But Ripley's body betrayed her,muscles burning, lungs aching like she'd inhaled powdered glass.

This was on her. She'dbeen too slow, too flabby from long nights riding a desk instead of poundingpavement. Once upon a time, she could've run down a chump like Draven withoutbreaking stride. But too much coffee and donuts had made her soft in more waysthan one.

And now a killer wasin the wind. Because of her.

The world tilted,trees slanting at crazy angles as Ripley continued on. But then, cuttingthrough the haze and exhaustion like a blade, came a scream.

A man's scream, highand ragged.

Somewhere off to herright, back the way she'd come. The bush-beater's bellow given way to thebleating of a lamb in the wolf's jaws.

Ripley wrenchedupright, sudden urgency electrifying her muscles with a blinding crackle. Shecrashed back into the underbrush, heedless of the brambles that clutched at herclothes, the wiry branches that raked her face like the claws of a rabidraccoon.

She fixed on the soundof Holbrook's screams. He sounded like a man being flayed alive, stripped toraw nerve and sinew one agonized inch at a time.

Ripley exploded into asmall glade, gun up and eyes wild, searching for any sign of Draven, anyflicker of movement in the shadows. But there was only Holbrook, writhing inthe center of a patch of weeds.

He was clawing at hisneck, feet kicking, spine arching like a man in the grips of a seizure. Ripleyskidded to her knees beside him, one hand groping for a pulse while the othertried to peel away his clutching fingers.

‘Easy, Sheriff, I gotyou,’ she crooned, not liking the way his flesh twitched and jumped beneath herpalm. ‘Where are you hit? What'd that bastard do to you?’

But when she finallypried his hands away, Ripley's heart stuttered to a stop behind her ribs.

There, standing outlivid against the sweat-shined skin of Holbrook's neck, was a puncture. Swollenand weeping, a single bead of blood welling from its center like a malevolentruby.

Draven's mark. Thecalling card he left on his victims, the first step in his ritual oftransformation through suffering.

The needle. The toxin.

And now Holbrook hadbeen marked.

Ripley swore, clampingher hand over the wound as if she could squeeze the poison from Holbrook'sveins through force of will alone.

‘Hang on, Derek,’ shepleaded, scrabbling for her phone with her free hand. ‘Just hang on, okay? I'llget medics out here, get you fixed up. You're gonna be fine…’

The weight struck herfrom behind with all the subtlety of a freight train. Ripley went face-firstinto the dirt, cell phone flying from nerveless fingers as her head echoed withthe sickening crack of her own nose breaking.

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