Property of the Hellfire Riders (The Hellfire Riders #1)

1. Izzy

1

IZZY

“ G et your ass back in your car, Izzy!” Laina’s voice cuts through the night air, causing me to stop dead in my tracks. I've barely crossed the halfway point to her door when she's already barreling down the apartment stairs.

“Why?” I hold up the bag of chicken fried rice and an extra order of egg rolls—our go-to order for nights binging shitty reality television.

“Because…”

A flash of her chestnut hair passes by my peripheral. Laina is tiny, standing at five foot three, but she somehow manages to command everyone’s attention whenever she is present.

“Izzy, let’s go!” she urges once again before she climbs into the passenger seat of my car, clutching her Canon camera to her chest. She waves her hand frantically as if I’ve been the one keeping her waiting. What the hell is she doing? I sigh as the idea of a relaxing night fades away, then turn in my worn boots to join her in my beater.

As soon as I buckle my seatbelt, she pulls out her phone.

“I’ve got the GPS ready to go,” she announces.

“Laina, what the hell?”

I’m wearing old sweatpants and an old navy sweatshirt from college, definitely not dressed to be seen by anyone in public. We are supposed to be chilling on her sectional, binge-eating Chinese food and drinking wine. It’s what we do every other Thursday, our very own best friend therapy session. At least she’s had time to put on a pair of jeans, I’m a mess fit for my session!

Laina’s deep hazel eyes widen with pure excitement like a child coming down the stairs Christmas morning. Her curls are splayed around her heart-shaped face. But there are only two things Laina Mitchell gets excited about - Beyonce tickets and breaking news on a case. And neither of us have tickets to see the queen.

It’s the same look she had when she snapped photos of her first big news story.

She leans forward, dropping her voice to a whisper as though everyone on the block is listening to us.

“My police scanner got a call about a murder.”

My stomach tightens and every part of me becomes stiff like a board. I told her to get rid of that thing. She bought it off the blackmarket, put it in her living room, and refuses to shut it off just in case some news broke.

“Laina, we can’t. Not-” I start, but she doesn’t let me finish.

“Yes. Yes, we can.”

“Listen, I have been working doubles all week, and I just want to turn my brain off and shovel delicious Chinese food into my mouth.”

“Izzy. I’m almost certain it’s The Puppeteer’s next target.”

I stare at her for a moment. A heavy silence surrounds us both, charged with the weight of her words.

“Are you serious?” I ask in a small voice that feels far from me now. No one expected The Puppeteer to strike again. We all thought the dangerous serial killer had vanished after a two-year killing spree. Perhaps he’s been caught, charged with another offensive, or met some terrible fate. Though, I doubt there’s a punishment enough for a monster like that.

His two years were a reign of terror, a series of staged murders that seemed to him more art than gruesome. Like something from a nightmare, he would leave life-like marionette dolls of the women he’d attack, earning his twisted nickname.

My heart thuds in my chest. She nods slowly as the realization of her words settles over the both of us.

“And if you don’t start driving this damn car, we could be missing out on the biggest story to break the news,” she says.

Most people would go back inside, have their dinner, and lock their doors, staying far away from danger. But Laina and I aren’t most people.

We met in college, both studying photojournalism. She went down the path of freelance journalism, always on the hunt for breaking news, and I found myself working for the police as a forensic photographer. This was going to be my first night off in a long while.

“What if Reynolds sees me?” I ask her. There's a chance of encountering my boss, Detective Sergeant Eric Reynolds, at a crime scene as big as this. He’s a stickler for rules, and the only reason I got this job was because he was friends with my dad, the old chief of police. He’d want to know what the hell I was doing at a crime scene on the day off I begged him to give me.

“We’ll be ghosts, Izzy, barely there. In, grab a few pics, and out. Just like that.” She snaps her fingers before continuing. “Out before anyone catches a glimpse.” She tilts her head. “Besides, I need your help getting past the yellow tape.”

“Well, I’m not letting this bastard get away this time,” I say. My grip tightens around my steering wheel. I’m taking a huge risk. We both are, but it could pay off.

“I don’t think it’s just one bastard,” she says when I pull out of the parking lot and onto the road. The streetlights fly overhead, one after the other in a blur of white light. She looks out the window then, wrapping her finger around the golden chain of her necklace. “You know about the Hellfire Riders, right?”

I nod slowly; the name sends a shiver straight down my spine. The Hellfire Riders are notorious in our city, a motorcycle gang known for their brutal tactics and unrelenting power.

“What about them?” I ask.

“Well, I’ve been developing a theory.” She stops searching for her words. “And it might at first sound like a long shot but hear me out. I think they’re a part of this, as in, I think they’re the murderer.”

If Laina’s suggesting a connection between The Puppeteer and the Hellfire Riders, this night just took an even more dangerous turn. She continues fumbling with her chain.

“How did the Puppeteer manage to evade the police for two years, kidnapping and murdering women? So, it had me wondering - what if it’s more than one person? Right? The murders appeared the same time the Hellfire Riders grew their territory to this part of California.” She’s talking fast, and her excitement is palpable. “What if this is some part of a brutal initiation they do for new members?”

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “Then why did it stop?”

“They have a new chain of command, and they’re supposedly ten times the psychopaths the old ones were. Maybe they went quiet to avoid suspicion, but I think this is their way of sending a message - we’re still here, bitches. Catch us if you can.”

I can handle one guy, but the Hellfire Riders are a whole different level of danger.

“Hell, Laina, this could get us killed!” I mutter under my breath. “You do know that, right?”

"I know it's dangerous. Believe me, I know." She turns to look at me. “But I’m not going to idly sit by while these monsters are on the loose.”

The spectacle drew a sizable crowd; the news of this buzz spread through Eureka like wildfire. In a small city like this, news travels fast and everyone is either a witness or a gossip.

The scene’s marked with that all-too-familiar yellow tape, fluttering slightly in the breeze. We edged forward in the car, peering out to survey the setup outside the condo complex. Neither one says a word to the other as we watch for a moment.

I take note of a side door we can try to sneak through.

Among the vehicles, I spot Detective Reynold’s unmistakable Jeep. "Great," I mutter under my breath. "Reynolds is here."

I find a parking spot a few blocks away, out of sight of the police barrier.

Laina unclicks her seatbelt, turning her camera on.

I put my hand on her shoulder, stopping her before she could leap out of the car. "Hold on.”

Behind me on the backseat that desperately needs to be cleaned out are two hats marked with Eureka Police Department. “Toss this on and let me do the talking.” It’s not much of a disguise, but everyone should be too distracted to pay us any mind. I tug on my police jacket as well, zipping it all the way.

“Thank you!” she squeals, tugging her ponytail through the back of the baseball cap.

Laina and I get out of the car and make our way towards the police barrier, keeping our heads down. I flash my badge and we’re waved through. Luckily, I don’t know the cop they have standing guard. My heart pounds as we slip under the tape and merge into the crowd of officers and forensic techs.

So far so good.

As we approach, I spot Detective Reynolds talking to one of the uniformed officers.

His dark hair is neatly combed but there are traces of gray at his temples, and his sharp eyes scan the outside of the apartment complex from black framed glasses. Crime scene investigators move in and out of the front door. A few media people have just arrived. The news being here is a good distraction, keeps Reynolds off my ass. Hopefully the FBI are on their way as well.

“This way,” I whisper. She nods and we take a side door into the apartment.

The dimly lit hallway is eerily quiet as we make our way up to the third floor, following the flow of traffic. With each step my nerves wind tighter. Laina walks close behind me, her camera at the ready.

Cops filter in and out around us, paying little mind to two more.

As soon as we’re inside the cramped living room, Laina gets to work. The flash of her camera goes off, one shot after the other. She’s ecstatic, moving quickly to frame the next shot and then move on.

I search for Bill, our other forensic photographer in the department.

Either, he hasn’t arrived yet or he’s on his way.

The apartment is a mess. There’s overturned furniture and scattered belongings. Blood stains the walls and floor, and the body of the victim lies in the center of the room, surrounded by a team of forensic techs in white suits. They’ve placed an evidence sheet over her body, getting ready to take her from the room to the examination suite.

The air is thick with the scent of blood, sweat and decay.

My eyes wander over the unsettling scene. No matter how many crime scenes I’ve photographed, the haunting nature of it all never changes.

My gaze settles on the lifeless marionette doll, carved to perfect replication of the victim. So the Puppeteer is back after all, and he’s left his mark. The craftsmanship was undeniable, the wood polished to a sinister sheen. This is the Puppeteer's handiwork, his morbid signature left at the scene—a calling card. It has an expression that’s hauntingly lifelike, as if at any moment it might inhale a breath of the dank, musty air.

He made one for each of his victims. The eeriness of the doll makes me sick. I blink looking away, bothered by the way its limbs are twisted and contorted in unnatural positions, its painted face frozen in a haunting expression.

I’m beyond ready to get out of this place and breathe some fresh air. Though Laina on the other hand is soaking this all in. Her camera flashes one, two, three times illuminating the wooden doll’s distorted form.

“You think you have enough yet?” I ask, grasping her arm tight. She tries to shoo me away.

“Just a few more and then we’ll be golden.”

I roll my eyes, knowing it’d be a waste of time to try and talk her out of this, but every second we linger, the more tension winds through me.

And to make matters worse, Reynolds comes walking in.

Not good. If he sees us here without authorization, we're both screwed. I quickly turn and pretend to examine a grocery list behind, angling my body to block Laina from view.

"Detective," Reynolds says curtly as he passes by.

My hand snatches Laina’s, and I yank her to the nearest door, which happens to be a small balcony outside. I slam it shut behind me and take a deep breath.

The night air is cool and refreshing. In the dark night, the images of the doll flash through my mind. I press my head into my hands and lean against the balcony railing.

“Izzy, I can’t believe it. Did you see the detail on the doll? He even incorporated the knife wounds where she was stabbed.”

“Come on,” I direct as I stand upright, shaking my head. “We’re leaving now.”

"Hey! I’m not done yet," she protests.

"Reynolds is here. We need to get out—“ A heavy, thunderous rumble cuts me off. I feel it in my bones, rattling and shaking me straight to my core. Motorcycle engines rev beneath the balcony. Three headlights snap on one after the other.

I freeze, glancing below to the street that is supposed to be blocked off.

Hellfire Riders.

There’s no mistaking the skull engulfed in blue flames stitched onto the back of the leather vest. My blood runs cold at the sight of the three of them all staring back.

The flicker of a lighter illuminates the one in the center. The flame reaching for his unlit cigarette sends shadows dancing against the pavement. The smoke billows around his face, cloaking his piercing blue eyes in a mysterious haze. Unease wraps itself around me, forcing me to freeze.

I can’t look away. The other two wait like statues carved from marble, intimidating and horrifyingly beautiful. My heart pounds in my chest and the blood rushes in my ear.

I am prey caught by its predator.

Their leader revs his engine then and the sound reverberates around us, drawing the attention of the cops inside the apartment. My body tenses.

We need to get out of here now.

Without wasting another second, we duck back into the apartment avoiding the flurry of commotion caused by the bikers outside. Laina might be right after all, but why would they stay? My head spins with a hundred different questions.

The pounding footsteps of the police echo behind us as they rush to confront the Hellfire Riders. Police sirens start sounding off as the roar of the motorcycle engines fade away. We need to slip away unnoticed while their attention is occupied.

“Isabella?” A commanding voice calls out causing my stride to falter. I freeze only a few feet from the exit. My breath hitches as realization that I have just been caught settles in. No. Please. No. I close my eyes for a second, hoping when I open them he’s disappeared.

But when I open them, I find he’s still there, standing patiently with his arms folded, watching me with concern.

“I thought you had the night off,” Reynolds asks in a calm voice.

Tensed and on edge, I turn on the balls of my feet, hoping to hide Laina from his direct line of sight, but he’s the lead detective at our police department. There’s little I can do to keep anything from him, so I hope confidence is all I need to play this off. I have no idea how he’d react to knowing I gave a photojournalist unauthorized access to a crime scene.

Laina doesn’t miss a beat, stepping out of the exit before he can even get a good look at her, unless he already had upstairs.

“Didn’t want to miss a case as big as this,” I say. It’s convincing enough. I hope.

His eyes follow mine for a moment, then drop down to my empty hands. He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head.

“No camera?”

I shake my head.

“Just finished up actually. It’s in my car.”

Before he has time to push the matter further, Officer Maxwell, a rookie cop grabs his shoulder.

“The Hellfire Rid?—“

“I know,” Reynolds cuts him off. He gives me a hard, calculated look. It’s impossible to know what’s going on behind his dark eyes, or if he’s bought my excuse, though none of it really was a lie.

“See you at the office, Isabella,” he says, as he smooths his perfectly pressed dress suit to follow Officer Maxwell, his long coat swishing behind him. I let out a shaky breath as he vanishes into the crowd, becoming just another body in the masses.

I hurry outside into the dark night, searching for Laina. She's waiting by my car, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot.

“Everything good?” she asks breathlessly, watching me with wide eyes as I whip open my car door.

“If by good you mean that I still have my job? I don’t know.”

“It’ll be fine, Izzy. I promise.”

I give her a half smile.

“Did you get some good pics at least?”

She nods as she gets into the car and buckles her seat... “Hell yeah, I did. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

My foot slams down hard on the gas pedal as we peel out of there.

"That was way too close," I say, biting my lip.

“Don’t worry about Reynolds.”

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. It’s not Reynolds, I’m worried about. It’s them. Their sharp gazes haunt my mind still, watching me as if at any moment their hungry eyes could completely undress me all with one look. The Hellfire Riders saw us at the crime scene.

I need to be more careful. We both do.

We’re playing with fire now, deadly, terrifying fire and if we continue like this, we might end up more than burned.