Page 3 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

The apartment is a mess. There’s overturned furniture and scattered belongings. Blood stains the walls and floor, and the body of the victim lies in the center of the room, surrounded by a team of forensic techs in white suits. They’ve placed an evidencesheet over her body, getting ready to take her from the room to the examination suite.

The air is thick with the scent of blood, sweat and decay.

My eyes wander over the unsettling scene. No matter how many crime scenes I’ve photographed, the haunting nature of it all never changes.

My gaze settles on the lifeless marionette doll, carved to perfect replication of the victim. So the Puppeteer is back after all, and he’s left his mark. The craftsmanship was undeniable, the wood polished to a sinister sheen. This is the Puppeteer's handiwork, his morbid signature left at the scene—a calling card. It has an expression that’s hauntingly lifelike, as if at any moment it might inhale a breath of the dank, musty air.

He made one for each of his victims. The eeriness of the doll makes me sick. I blink looking away, bothered by the way its limbs are twisted and contorted in unnatural positions, its painted face frozen in a haunting expression.

I’m beyond ready to get out of this place and breathe some fresh air. Though Laina on the other hand is soaking this all in. Her camera flashes one, two, three times illuminating the wooden doll’s distorted form.

“You think you have enough yet?” I ask, grasping her arm tight. She tries to shoo me away.

“Just a few more and then we’ll be golden.”

I roll my eyes, knowing it’d be a waste of time to try and talk her out of this, but every second we linger, the more tension winds through me.

And to make matters worse, Reynolds comes walking in.

Not good. If he sees us here without authorization, we're both screwed. I quickly turn and pretend to examine a grocery list behind, angling my body to block Laina from view.

"Detective," Reynolds says curtly as he passes by.

My hand snatches Laina’s, and I yank her to the nearest door, which happens to be a small balcony outside. I slam it shut behind me and take a deep breath.

The night air is cool and refreshing. In the dark night, the images of the doll flash through my mind. I press my head into my hands and lean against the balcony railing.

“Izzy, I can’t believe it. Did you see the detail on the doll? He even incorporated the knife wounds where she was stabbed.”

“Come on,” I direct as I stand upright, shaking my head. “We’re leaving now.”

"Hey! I’m not done yet," she protests.

"Reynolds is here. We need to get out—“ A heavy, thunderous rumble cuts me off. I feel it in my bones, rattling and shaking me straight to my core. Motorcycle engines rev beneath the balcony. Three headlights snap on one after the other.

I freeze, glancing below to the street that is supposed to be blocked off.

Hellfire Riders.

There’s no mistaking the skull engulfed in blue flames stitched onto the back of the leather vest. My blood runs cold at the sight of the three of them all staring back.

The flicker of a lighter illuminates the one in the center. The flame reaching for his unlit cigarette sends shadows dancing against the pavement. The smoke billows around his face, cloaking his piercing blue eyes in a mysterious haze. Unease wraps itself around me, forcing me to freeze.

I can’t look away. The other two wait like statues carved from marble, intimidating and horrifyingly beautiful. My heart pounds in my chest and the blood rushes in my ear.

I am prey caught by its predator.

Their leader revs his engine then and the sound reverberates around us, drawing the attention of the cops inside the apartment. My body tenses.

We need to get out of here now.

Without wasting another second, we duck back into the apartment avoiding the flurry of commotion caused by the bikers outside. Laina might be right after all, but why would they stay? My head spins with a hundred different questions.

The pounding footsteps of the police echo behind us as they rush to confront the Hellfire Riders. Police sirens start sounding off as the roar of the motorcycle engines fade away. We need to slip away unnoticed while their attention is occupied.

“Isabella?” A commanding voice calls out causing my stride to falter. I freeze only a few feet from the exit. My breath hitches as realization that I have just been caught settles in.No. Please. No.I close my eyes for a second, hoping when I open them he’s disappeared.

But when I open them, I find he’s still there, standing patiently with his arms folded, watching me with concern.

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