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In many ways, Holly walked herself right into the arms of another, much less dangerous, predator.

The lost, tearstained, melancholy girl is my biggest weakness, my truest fantasy. I can’t resist her. When I was younger, I hid those feelings by dating someone like Wendy, a bubbly, popular, perpetually smiling cheerleader. We all saw where that got me.

Holly’s mirage will always shimmer and fade and then surface again. No amount of time or therapy is going to fix the broken parts of her. Sad, but true. And even though I tried to brainwash myself into believing otherwise, most men won’t know how to love her.

I do, though. I’m going to love all of her—the good and the bad, the smiles and the fears, the pretty and the dirty.

My phone beeps with a text, and I pull it out of my pocket to read it:

Toren

I’m setting some meat in the food stations tonight. There’s a missing terrier last seen in your area yesterday. Brown and white, about 20 lbs. Can you check traps in the a.m.?

Sure

Toren

Thanks. Text me with any sightings

Always do

Toren

How’s the file?

Depressing

Toren

I figured. I could stop by tonight after I fill the traps. If you want to talk.

Nah, I’m good

Toren

You gonna be an asshole forever?

Probably

Toren

Me and Asher are riding on Sunday. Come with us.

I’ll think about it

Toren

Don’t be a dick. And make more bracelets, we sold out of the last ones.

You got it.

Toren

Think about the ride. You owe me ;-)

I knew the file wouldn’t come without a price, and it figures Tor would use it as leverage to try to get me to hang out with him. As much as I love to ride alone, I miss riding with my brothers every Sunday (weather permitting), which was a family ritual my dad started and I ended.

I go over the file more times than necessary, and by the time I’m ready to close it and burn it, I’m in a sick rage. All I want to do is dig that motherfucker up, take an ax to his rotting remains, piss on him, and set him on fire.