Page 81 of Evil Hearts

The roar of a flaming motorcycle barrels toward us, gliding over the boned road.

“Father, stop,” a familiar voice commands. The one from my dreams. My nightmares.

The redhead from the vision.

He’s even more handsome than my memory served.

“Just making sure she understands the terms of her contract.”

“You’ve made your point.” He snaps his fingers, and my feet return to their normal shape.

Relief floods me and the sensation of being burned alive dissipates.

“Are you okay?” The most beautiful bow-shaped lips question before I pass out from the shock of this never-ending nightmare.

I awaken straddling the thighs of the redhead clad in leather and denim. My head on his shoulder, my chest smashed to his, my arms wrapped around him, holding on for dear life. I breathe in his scent. Smoke and a hint of spice.

“Hi.” I chance a glance up at his face, seeing the hint of a smirk.

“We’ll talk when we aren’t moving,” his voice comes out harsh and focused.

I peer over his shoulder at the burning soul trees wishing I hadn’t, but needing to accept nightmare or not, this is my current reality. I watch the scenery in reverse, experiencing a tinge of nausea from being seated in the wrong direction.

Chapter Five

We ride insilence, his shadows holding me upright. The growl of his motorcycle drowns out the screams as we continue through the smoke-filled forest. Eventually we pass through a village of ramshackle shacks. Short, red-skinned demons, much like the ones in the meeting room, watch us roar past.

When we come to a fork in the road, I twist my head around to read a traffic sign that says: City of Bones 500 miles.

“Do you need to stretch your legs?” My captor or savior, I’m not sure which defines him, questions.

“Please.”

He doesn’t say anything else but pulls us off to the shoulder of the road once turning left.

We park and the shadows extending around me lift me as though I’m weightless and place me upright on the side of the road.

I shudder at the sight of giant green ogres wielding spiked clubs, striking a rocky hillside.

“They won’t hurt you.”

I force my eyes to look away from what I realize are faces petrified in the rocky terrain and to the striking whiskey-colored eyes of the man I’m apparently soul bonded to. He stands next to his motorcycle, hands in pockets. Cool. Calm. Collected.

“And you?”

A hint of a smile crosses his features. “Never.”

“But you negotiated with me for my soul?”

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t ready.”

“No one ever is.”

“What now? Do I even get to say goodbye to my family?”

“No.”

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