Chapter Fourteen
Hazel
My body decided before my brain did.
I just turned away and ran. Harder than I ever had, ignoring the branches that clawed at my arms and the stitch that immediately started in my side.
The sun hadn’t fully broken yet, only streaks of pale gold threading through the fog that still hugged the cold ground.
My shoes—cheap canvas sneakers not made for running—slapped the dry earth, each step kicking up leaves and adrenaline.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me.
My heart froze then thundered, the sound of it in my ears nearly drowning out everything else.
Another crunch, this time closer.
He was gaining on me already, tearing through the underbrush, steady, relentless. Like he wasn’t even winded. When I could barely suck in a breath.
“Get back here,” the man snarled.
Not a chance.
I ducked beneath a low branch and almost lost my footing on a patch of leaves slick with morning dew.
The world tilted—my shoulder slammed into a tree trunk, pain flashing hot up my arm.
I shoved away and kept going, tasting copper from biting the inside of my cheek.
Something—root, rock, fate—caught my foot. I pitched forward, the breath punched out of my lungs as I hit the ground.
For a moment, everything was sound. The pounding of my pulse, the ragged rasp of my breath, the rustle of leaves disturbed by footsteps closing in.
I scrambled, clawing at dirt and leaves and brambles. My nails filled with soil. The barely healed scratches on my palms opened back up.
My legs didn’t want to listen to my mind—my muscles trembled, rubbery from panic and exhaustion.
A shadow fell across me.
I twisted, kicked out. My heel connected with something solid, drawing a grunt from my pursuer.
Damn it—”
I flipped over, not wanting to see him, not wanting the look in his eye to freeze me in place.
I crawled forward, half-blind, grabbing for a low branch and hauling myself back up onto my feet.
My chest heaved; my throat burned.
Somewhere ahead, the turned field of the pumpkin field could be seen through the trees.
Even in my panic, I’d headed toward a place that felt like safety to me.
The garden center.
Civilization.
I staggered forward.
Behind me, the footsteps came again, slower now, measured.
Not quite running—stalking.
“Yes,” I whispered to myself.
The garden center would probably be empty. But it was close to the highway, to cars, to people who might help. Or at the very least, call the police.
The trees thinned.
I burst into the open field, morning light spilling over the fallen stalks of corn and the occasional pile of pumpkin guts.
My legs nearly gave out when I hit the soft soil, my shoes digging into the fresh earth.
I didn’t look back to see if he was still behind me. I couldn’t.
Better to focus on where I was heading.
My lungs screamed for air. My legs felt made of jelly and elastic, everything wobbly and weak.
Still, I flew forward toward the haunted house.
My palm skidded uselessly on the splintered wood door.
Locked.
Of course, it was locked.
I jiggled the handle, rattled it hard enough to make the hinges shake.
The door gave a tired creak, but nothing else.
Leaves crunched behind me.
I spun, but there was no one there.
No one there?
Where could he have gone? What made that crunching sound?
My stomach flipped, memories of the last time I’d been ‘chased’ through the woods.
Was it all in my head? Was all the fear and adrenaline making me conjure up images that weren’t there?
No.
No, damn it. I’d seen him. I’d kicked him.
Maybe he’d just seen how exposed we were now and decided to turn and make a run for it before someone came to my rescue.
I inched up the building, the cramp in my side like a white-hot stab as I kept moving.
From what I could tell, none of Dante’s men were standing around. It was probably too early. Everyone was likely still warm in their beds, waiting to climb out from under the covers until the promise of coffee motivated them enough.
I had nowhere to go. None of the businesses up or down the highway would be open yet, save for the convenience store a few complexes down.
And my car was on the other side of the woods still.
I reached for my pocket, figuring I could call for a ride. Or just bite the bullet and reach out to the police.
Only to find an empty pocket.
My mind flashed back to the woods, to when I’d seen the man.
Standing behind the body I’d been trying to snap a picture of.
When I’d run, I must have dropped my phone.
What was wrong with me?
I kept inching forward, wincing when my steps crunched on the gravel.
I cursed the crew from the night before for being so thorough in putting everything away when they were done. No pitchforks or shovels were sitting out for me to grab and use as a weapon.
Taking slow, deep breaths, I glanced through the windows of the shop, looking for anyone possibly hiding out.
I moved toward the corner, ready to make my way to the highway where the occasional car sped by.
I didn’t hear a crunch, a breath, the air move around me.
But I felt the hand slap down over my mouth, felt the arm anchor around my midsection, squeezing until the pressure made my air catch in my lungs.
I tried to kick back, but I was lifted off my feet, leaving me pedaling at the air, unable to break away.
My hands moved out, fingers curling into claws, and raking my fingers down the backs of his hands, his arms.
“Fuck,” he snarled, his breath hot on my ear.
Satisfied that I was causing pain, I dug harder, feeling the hot, sticky sensation of his blood coating my fingertips.
“You’re gonna pay for that.”
Not if I had anything to say about it.
I wiggled and writhed, throwing my weight in every direction. The more he struggled, the more I jerked around.
And then, with my belly dropping, I felt us both falling backward.
There was just a second to brace for the impact.
We crashed hard. If I had any air left in my lungs, it would have whooshed out of me. I did get the satisfaction of hearing all the air escape my attacker, though, as he not only fell on his back, but had my weight crashing into him as well.
His hands released me involuntarily.
I was ready for it, rolling onto all fours, pushing up, and starting at a dead run.
My lungs were greedy for air. I sucked in quick, deep breaths as I forced my legs to charge forward.
I made a beeline for the greenhouse, knowing it wouldn’t be locked because there was nothing worth stealing in the off-season.
But there might be shovels, plant spikes, even a pair of scissors.
Something, anything for me to use to defend myself.
I bolted past rows of dead sunflowers, their giant heads bent over from the weight of the seeds.
I could hear the pound of feet behind me, maybe gaining on me.
I cursed my shorter legs as my hand reached for the door of the greenhouse, yanking it open.
I paused only to lock the door. Silly, maybe. But if it even gave me five seconds to search for a weapon, it was worth it.
The inside of the greenhouse was a disaster. Old dirt—so rich it was almost black—was scattered all over the floor. And thanks to an open window that let in moisture, the dirt was wet and slippery under my feet.
I skittered, found purchase, knocked a permanent marker off the table, and nearly fell into a tray of wilted seedlings.
I caught myself on a tiered metal shelf.
And I spotted something metallic just as the sound of shattering glass filled the space.
I yelped as I whipped around, watching the man move through the busted door, his shoes crunching on the glass.
He ducked down, grabbing a large shard, and made his way toward me.
There was only one exit. And he was now blocking it.
My body moved before my mind caught, up, grabbing the metal shelving unit and swinging it with everything in me.
The wall to my side crashed outward, but only beneath the metal frame brace.
I had no choice but to lower down into the glass mess I’d created, feeling the splinters bite into my hands as I started to crawl through the hole I’d made.
I was only halfway through when I felt a hand close around one ankle, then the next.
He yanked hard, sending me sailing forward, my arms flying outward.
He had already started pulling me backward before I thought to throw my arms out, using them to prevent him from fully yanking me inside.
My shoulders screamed as he pulled harder.
I wriggled and kicked until I had one free foot.
Then, with everything I had, I struck back, colliding with something hard and dragging a yowl out of the man.
But he released my other ankle, and I pulled myself out.
I wanted to scream, but I didn’t dare risk losing the chance to breathe.
Glancing back, I saw my attacker making his way back to the broken door.
I turned and ran again, not really having time to formulate a plan, working on pure adrenaline.
I zipped around the shed, taking the corner too sharply and my shoulder clipped the edge. Pain zoned up my collarbone, making tears prick my eyes.
But there was no time for tears, no time to even acknowledge my pain.
I had to make a run for the road. But being out in the open would put me at a disadvantage with my shorter legs.
I kept my back to the shed, allowing me to glance in both directions.
It was then that I felt something biting into my butt.
At first, I thought it was a piece of jagged wood or a nail.
Until I realized what it was.
My keys.
My freaking keys.
Not just to my car and my apartment.
To the damn building.
I reached for them, sliding the key to the door between bloody, shaky fingers, so I didn’t need to fumble when I made it to the shop.
I inched around the building.
When I didn’t immediately see my attacker, I freaking flew across the field.
I didn’t see or hear anything. I didn’t feel the pain I knew was in my legs, hands, and face.
I made it to the side door of the shop in what felt like ten seconds flat, jabbing the key in the lock, shoving the door open, then slamming and locking it behind me.