Page 84 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

My pulse races, but I refuse to show him the fear that must be etched into my face. “You’re delusional,” I spit out. “The Riders will never follow you.”

Reynolds chuckles, a dark and unsettling sound. “You’d be surprised what people will do when they think their leader has betrayed them. They’ll be too busy dealing with the fallout to realize what’s happening. By the time they figure it out, it’ll be too late.”

Gunnar tightens the ropes around my wrists, making sure I’m secured. “Let’s get on with it,” he mutters, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Reynolds nods, picking up a small knife from the workbench and examining it with a critical eye. “Yes, let’s.” He smiles, looking up at me. “I never imagined you’d be my last doll.”

“I’ll find a way to stop you,” I growl, squirming in the chair.

He pats my head, like I'm a pet he's trying to calm down. “I don’t think so, sweet Izzy.”

The fear that had been boiling just below the surface finally threatens to spill over. I thrash against my bindings, but it’s no use. The ropes only dig deeper into my skin, unyielding in their grip.

Reynolds grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back, exposing my throat. He traces the tip of the knife along my collarbone, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know you so I can create the perfect replica. Not a single flaw. Not missing a single thing.”

His eyes roam over my body. With the knife, he slices through the collar of my shirt down to my stomach, opening the fabric and revealing myself to him. His touch leaves a trail of ice in its wake. “This will be fun,” he whispers. “You are exquisite.”

I shudder. The weight of his gaze makes me want to curl up and disappear.

I close my eyes, willing myself to be anywhere but here.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he commands. I hesitate, but the pressure of the blade on my skin forces me to obey. “That’s better.” He sighs. “It’s important I do this perfectly. The Puppeteer’s last darling doll.”

20

TANK

“There,” I say, pointing to a set of tire tracks leading off the main path and disappearing into the brush. The tracks are fresh, the mud churned up and slick from the rain. “Looks like they took her this way.”

We follow the tracks, our boots sinking into the wet ground with each step. The rain makes it hard to see, but the tire tracks are clear enough, winding through the trees and toward the cliff’s edge.

As we push deeper into the brush, the tracks lead us to a narrow trail that snakes along the cliff side.

“Careful,” Hawk whispers, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. “The ground’s unstable here.”

We creep along the edge, the trail narrowing even further. The rain has eaten away at the edge, Two hundred feet below, the tumultuous waters of the Pacific crash against the rocks, a churning mass of foam and fury.

Hawk holds up a fist, signaling Vance and I to stop. He creeps forward, his movements silent and stealthy. He motions for us to follow and I do so, keeping close. Around the bend, I see it. A small wooden shack, lit by a single bulb, clings precariously to the edge of the cliff, leading deeper into some sort of cave.

“This has to be it,” Vance whispers.. “Let’s get her.”

Without another word, Hawk creeps towards the shack, his knife drawn and at the ready.

We step inside, the cave swallowing us in darkness. The air is damp and cold, the scent of salt and earth thick around us. My mind races with thoughts of Izzy, hoping she’s holding on, hoping we’re not too late.

As we move deeper into the cave, the sound of the waves fades, replaced by the eerie silence of the underground. The beam of our flashlights cuts through the gloom, revealing the narrow, winding passage ahead.

Before we can move, a figure steps out of the shadows. It’s not Gunnar.

It’s a new guy, a pledge—just a kid, really. His eyes are wide with fear, but he’s trying to put on a brave face. He holds a knife, hands shaking slightly.

“Not another step,” he says, voice wavering.

Hawk’s gun is out in an instant, aimed steadily at the pledge. “Put the knife down, kid. You don’t want to do this.”

The pledge glances at the knife, his grip tightening. “I have orders. I can’t let you take her.”

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