Page 43 of Along for the Ride

What if they ditched me?

Would that last one really be so bad?

I take a left, careful not to touch anything as I pass by delicate vases and intricate busts sitting atop pedestals. These knickknacks are probably worth more than my life.

My eyes widen as soon as I cross the threshold into the kitchen. Lying on top of the island is a balding older man with his cuffed hands held over his head by Karson. Duct tape seals off each scream he makes. When his wide, pained eyes turn to me, a look of relief flashes across his features. He talks beneath the tape, pleading with me to help him, before his eyes rush to the ceiling and his nostrils flare. My vision pans to the blade moving over his abdomen...to the large hands holding the knife that’s carving something into the man’s flesh.

“Goddamn it, wanderer,” Gentry snarls. Before his face twisted with anger, I saw the enjoyment in his expression. It reminded me of Karson. That divide between them has lessened, becoming a blurred line in my mind.

“Don’t you stop,” Karson says to Gentry. “She needs to see therealyou before she spreads her thighs again.”

Gentry’s mouth opens and closes, but he shakes his head and goes back to his task. Disgusted curiosity makes me take a step closer. He’s not just slicing the man’s stomach. He’s etching words into his skin.

The younger they are, the—

He starts cutting into the man again.

B-e-t-t-e-r.

Gentry stares at me as he tugs down the man’s sweatpants, exposing a thin, limp dick. A muffled scream pushes against the duct tape, and I can almost hear the words.

No. Please.

“Our friend here is a pedo,” Gentry says as he grips the man’s dick with a gloved hand.

“And a stupid one at that,” Karson adds. “He stopped paying the man who kept all his dirty little secrets.”

“We take extra pains with the fuckers who hurt kids,” Gentry says as he slices the man’s balls clean off. The sack hits the floor with a smack, followed by a freshet of blood.

The man’s screams begin to fade, and his head drops heavily to the table as he passes out from the pain.

I can almost taste the blood on my tongue, and I fight back a gag. I’m not disgusted by what I see. I’m disgusted by the fact that I’m not terrified by what I’ve just witnessed. I’m disgusted that I’m glad the sick fuck is getting exactly what he deserves.

“Don’t just stand there and gawk, thief,” Karson says with a wild look in his eyes. “This is the part where you’re supposed to run. So run.”

“No, Karson! No. Goddamn it!” Gentry shouts.

I race out the door, choking on adrenaline as I dart toward the woods. My body remembers this chase before I even hear Karson’s steps trailing after me. A burst of fear rips through my body. A nervous energy is breathed into my lungs. Anticipation tightens my throat, cutting off my breath.

“You know I like the chase!” Karson yells behind me. “The harder you make me work to catch you, the more I’ll take it out on your cunt.”

His words make my heart thud against my sternum. I put my hand against my chest, and I swear I can feel it protruding from the skin with every beat. I’m terrified of what will happen when Karson catches me.

But I kind of want to be caught.

ChapterNineteen

Karson

Ifollow her scent through the trees, and it’s strong enough to overpower the smell of Mother Nature’s cunt. Chasing is fun for me, especially that final moment when I catch them—the moment they’re snagged in my grasp and they falter like an animal whose leg just got snapped in a trap. The best part? That split second when I feel the hope dissipate in their chest when they realize they’ve been caught. That last breath of freedom they exhale.

It’s fucking euphoric.

When I was younger, I made a habit of letting my prey escape. They’d gather bits of hope as they ran, each step propelling them toward perceived freedom. It made it that much sweeter when I caught them a second time.

I won’t have time for a catch and release today, but I’ll have more time to play than I did after our last game of chase. Gentry has to finish the job before he can catch up and stop me.

As the little thief runs from me, her shoes kick up dirt. We’ve played this game already, and she ended up on her hands and knees instead of in a fucking grave, so why is she bolting away as if her life depends on it? She wouldn’t have to run if she’d stayed in the fucking car.

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