Page 29 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

I flip open the mailbox and there it is. A letter that definitely wasn't there this morning, accompanied by something that sends a chill through me—a drawing of a marionette doll, unnervingly detailed and strangely non-descript all at once.

The unsettling feeling deepens when I notice something else: attached to the letter is an actual tiny doll leg. It's a small, crafted piece of wood, jointed and painted down to the detail of red color toenails.

I unfold the letter, half expecting to find threats, but there’s only a short message in a crisp, blocky handwriting that offers no clue to its author:

"Let’s see if you can dance to someone else’s tune."

No words, no return address, but I know who it’s from.

No one knows about my little obsession with marionette dolls except for...

I swallow the bile in my throat and shove the leg and letter into my bag then rush inside, quick to lock my door behind me.

Do I call the police? This could be a warning. It has to be. From Hawk? It’s not like he beat me to my house in time to leave a note like this. Or perhaps he decided on planting it the first night I was at the clubhouse.

I might be way out of my league on all this, but I’m still no closer to figuring out where Laina is, but something deep within me tells me Hawk knows something. The way he questioned me and commented on me wearing a wire.

He knows something is up, and that’s a problem.

Either way, they might be watching me and if they see me getting the police involved could put a huge red x on my back.

I remember the metal work scattered around Hawk’s apartment and his hands. Long, defined fingers marked with scars and calluses of a craftsman. It wouldn’t be that huge of stretch to believe that he’s some sort of artist, one good enoughto make these marionette dolls. Though, metal and wood aren’t the same medium.

My stomach flips at the thought of his mouth on mine, those hands. Potentially the hands of a killer.

I pace around my house. All the windows and doors are still locked with no sign of forced entry. At least they didn’t make it in.

Finally, I sink into my couch.

I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at the drawing and doll leg. The note is cryptic and terrifying, in its own twisted way.

Either way, first thing in the morning, I need to at least find Reynolds and give him the doll leg.

It’s evidence after all.

8

IZZY

Idon’t take a long shower, as I try to plan out the best course of action.

I pad out of the bathroom, ignoring my sleep deprived reflection in the mirror. I pop two aspirin and chug a bottle of water. The drinking from the last two nights is starting to catch up.

Man, do those bikers like to party.

I blast my hair with the blow dryer, throw it up in a high pony, toss on a pair of black yoga pants and a t-shirt and unbuttoned flannel.

I tuck the marionette doll leg and note into my bag, pulling the strap tight. It hardly weighs anything, but for some reason its presence is immensely heavy.

There’s no reason for me to act so surprised. I threw myself into a terrifying and ruthless ring of people. Somehow, one of them is connected to this damn serial killer, which means Laina was right. I have the proof I need.

Those fools didn’t even realize they gave it right to me.

But some part of me doesn’t believe it’s them. I know how to looks and all the evidence is pointing directly at them all. I guess I don’t want to believe men as gorgeous and hot could be capableof murder. But that’s part of the danger. They’re manipulative criminals.

I skip my car in case they have a few guys riding around patrolling. If they figured out where my house is then my cars on their radar as well.

The morning sun feels nice, and I try to focus on it and the clear skies overhead. Not the fact that a very dangerous killer might be watching, waiting for me in the shadows.

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