My phone starts ringing again.Same number as before.
“A reporter, maybe.”James retreats, giving me an expression of almost pity.“You sure you wanna marry into this?”he asks softly.
I don’t answer.
Because the truth isn’t simple.I love Legend.I miss him.I want him.
But Pearly Gates is bleeding, and Hell is losing women.I’m standing right in the middle with a ring on my finger and a future that’s starting to look like a warning instead of a promise.I stare toward the rolling hills where the county line cuts the world in two.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
But it sounds like a prayer.
Or a lie.
Rumors start in whispers.In Official, what the locals call the side that ain’t Hell, they grow legs fast.
I never believed in demons.Not the literal kind.But there’s something that ain’t explained by sermons or police reports.Things that crawl between logic and faith.And it’s taking girls no one looks for until it is too late.
Town calls it the Demon Leaper.
A shadow in the trees.A blur of bone and smoke.A nightmare that hunts what it wants.At first it was folklore.One of the favorites of Pearly Gates.Something to scare kids out of leaving to find a better life in the city.Whispered about behind barns and bonfires.But now it is debated by grown men at gas stations, and old women in checkout lines.
Now it feels almost real.Tangible.Wrong.
Especially because the girls disappearing are tied to the Reverend.And tied to us.The farm.And to the club.Another girl is missing.This one from a trailer park in Crooked Creek Hollow.Her mother cried until she threw up.
Legend said he would take care of it.But Becki Crowley is still here.Still in that room.Still wrapped in a chain while the rest of us are unraveling.So I do what I always do.
I figure it out on my own.
I take my beat up farm truck.No need to announce myself.My hair pulled into a low ponytail.Jeans.No heels.Boots.If I’m gonna ask questions, I can’t walk in looking like the queen of Paradise Falls.
The Fire Pit is already packed when I get there.Neon sign flickering like it is trying to spell out a warning.Inside smells like bourbon.Someone is already yelling in the back booth.Music too loud, lights too low, the whole place humming like trouble.
Perfect.
The bartender recognizes me before I sit down.Cornbread hesitates like maybe serving me means choosing a side.Like the others loyal to Pearly Gates, he’s not showed up at the farm since the near insurrection.I raise an eyebrow and he moves away.
When I look up, Krystal is staring at me from across the bar.
Two weeks ago, she fought Becki here.Becki walked out with blood on her shirt and scratches down her face, but Krystal limped out with a broken nose and fury behind her eyes.
Now she saunters toward me, hips swinging like weapons.
“If it ain’t the Horse Princess herself.”
I smile without an ounce of warmth.“Heard you got your ass handed to you.”
She leans close.“That bitch fights dirty.”
“I beat her,” I say, sip my bourbon.
Krystal flicks ash from her cigarette.“That girl don’t belong here.Acting all high and mighty, then crying in the bathroom when someone mentions her daddy.I say let the Kings feed her to whatever’s out there.”
I lean in closer.“What do you mean by that?”
She smirks.“You haven’t heard?Lights in the woods.Screaming at night.Something picking off girls like ripe apples.And maybe it’s hunting for a preacher’s daughter.”
