Page 1 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

Cruel Summer

Anthony

The crunch of gravel beneath my tires fills the air, a rhythmic sound that echoes down the empty back road I bike every day.

The route leading to our house is lined with pussy willow grass, serving as the only barrier to expansive fields that spill directly against the few homes scattered through this part of town.

Today was the last day of second grade. The warm June sun blazes above, and thoughts of freedom fill my head. Freedom to sleep in. Freedom to play football every day. Freedom to adventure with my friends.

Freedom from… them . For a few months anyway.

I pedal harder, the thought spurring me on, a small but tentative grin tugging at my lips. The familiar turnoff to the field behind my house comes into view, and for a fleeting moment, I am free.

The hum of a car engine pulls me out of that daydream. My ears perk up as the sound gets louder.

Closer.

This road doesn’t see much traffic, just the usual neighbors and the occasional visitor. Rising off my seat, I look over my shoulder, expecting—hoping—to see it’s just my mom returning from the market. What I see instead turns my stomach cold.

A familiar old-model black Lincoln.

It’s hurtling toward me. Fast.

I don’t have time to react before the car’s front bumper slams into the back tire of my bike, sending me flying.

I hit the ground hard, gravel tearing into my skin.

My right leg twists and the snapping sound that follows can only be bone breaking.

My scream rips through the air, but it feels distant, drowned out by the ringing in my ears.

I lift my head, biting back tears as I force myself to look. The Lincoln is still there, idling low, its engine purring like a predator satisfied with its kill. Through the cracked back window, I glimpse the silhouette of the driver—the man in the black hat, the kind I’ve seen in old pictures.

Father Tommy Klass. One of them .