Page 82 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

“Gunnar must’ve sent them,” I say to the others.

“Or Reynolds,” Hawk shouts over the engines. His face falls as a cold, ice appears in his eyes. There’s a darkness there that I’ve only seen once, when Reynolds killed one of our men.

“We’re gonna fuck them up,” Tank growls through gritted teeth.

I keep imagining her being dragged away by Gunnar in my head, each time a little worse, a little more vivid. I twist the throttle harder, urging the bike to go faster.

Tank glances over at me, his expression grim but resolute. We’ve been through hell and back together, but this feels different. This is personal. Izzy’s not just a friend, she’s... more than that. Hawk’s focus remains forward. He hasn’t looked back. Not in a long while.

19

IZZY

Iblink against the harsh light as Gunnar shoves me into the room. My heart races, and my breath catches in my throat as I take in my surroundings. The walls are lined with shelves, each one cluttered with art supplies—paints, brushes, sculpting tools. But what catches my eye, what sends a chill down my spine, are the marionette dolls.

Dozens of them hang from the ceiling, their painted faces staring blankly at me.

Some are unfinished, their wooden limbs splayed out in grotesque poses. Others are eerily lifelike, their glass eyes glinting in the harsh light.

I can feel the cold sweat trickle down my back, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Gunnar’s grip on my arm tightens, and he pushes me further into the room. “Sit,” he commands, shoving me onto a rickety wooden chair in the center of the room. I comply, my eyes darting around, searching for any sign of escape, any clue as to what comes next.

And then I see it. A marionette doll, placed prominently on a workbench against the far wall. Its features are delicate, almost hauntingly familiar. My breath catches in my throat as I realizewhy—it looks just like Laina. The same wavy hair, the same expressive eyes.

It’s her, down to the smallest detail.

I fight the urge to retch.

This is the Puppeteer’s lair.

This is where he creates his twisted art, where he plans his cruel games. My stomach churns with fear and disgust. How long has he been watching us? How long has he been planning this?

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Gunnar’s voice cuts through my thoughts, dripping with mockery. “Took him weeks to get her just right.”

I tear my eyes away from the doll, glaring up at Gunnar. “What do you want from me?”

“From you, nothing. But from good ol Detective Reynolds, a lot, seeing as I’m taking a big risk for him.”

“You’re with Reynolds?”

“Oh, few of the boys and I are. Hawk’s not proving to be the type of leader we want or need. We help Reynolds with a few odds and ends, then Reynolds helps us and some of the Dead Demons.”

“So, you're a traitor, ” I spit out.

Gunnar smirks and paces the room, his boots thudding on the dusty floorboards.

“I prefer to think of myself as a businessman. You see, Izzy, this county’s a big chessboard, and we’re all just pawns being moved around by the Puppeteer,” Gunnar says, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s better to be on the winning side.” He glances down at his watch, “And I’d say it’s just about time that Hawk, Tank and Vance have finally lost. Anyway, I’ve done my job." He gestures to a rotting, wooden door nailed into a makeshift frame. “He’ll be able to answer all your questions.

“Why Laina?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why did he make a doll of her?”

Gunnar’s eyes gleam with a twisted delight. “She was special. Just like you.”

I swallow hard, my mind racing. I need to stay calm, I need to find a way out of this. “You’re not going to get away with this,” I say, trying to inject some confidence into my voice. “Hawk, Tank, and Vance—they’re coming for me. They’ll stop you.”

Gunnar laughs, a cruel, mirthless sound. “Let them come. We’re ready for them.”

A door at the far end of the room creaks open, and my heart skips a beat.

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