Page 18 of Property of Scythe (Kings of Anarchy MC: Ohio #1)

E mma is tugging at her restraints and shaking her head as I run toward her. She’s trying to talk, but the tape is preventing me from understanding her words, not to mention the thunder that keeps cracking across the sky above our heads.

The downpour has me soaked in seconds. My clothes are sticking to my skin. It’s no fun when my jeans rub my inner thighs. I fumble with the tape as I reach her and finally manage to rip it off, apologizing if I hurt her.

“There’s no time for that! You’ve got to hide. He’ll be back any second!”

“I can’t. Not until I cut the ropes for you.”

“Lottie, this is crazy!”

I know it is. I’m not under any illusions.

I’m usually an expert with scissors, so it’s a bit frustrating when my fingers shake and they slip from my hands. I have to pry them out of the mud and cuss as I’m trying to cut through the ropes around Emma’s wrists.

This is going to take too long.

With a final snap of the metal blades, I almost cheer as the ropes fall to the ground. I drop to my knees and begin working on her ankles next, cutting through the rope with the sharp edges. The soft grip handle snaps off, and I grit my teeth as the jagged plastic slices into the meat of my palm.

Just as the ropes fall away, I look up, noticing we’re not alone.

And that’s when Emma screams.

“Get to the panic room. Hangman is inside with Mila. You’ll be safe,” I assure her. “Run!”

Emma doesn’t hesitate to listen, taking off in the rain toward the back of the clubhouse.

There’s the door through the kitchen that’ll give her access inside, and she can reach the panic room.

She’ll make it. I know because the killer is staring at me, and he’s not interested in chasing Emma. She served her part in his deadly game.

I still don’t know where Boomer is, and I haven’t seen anyone else.

Something must have happened to distract them.

I try to think logically as I grip the scissors in my uninjured hand.

My palm stings as blood coats my fingers.

It’s mingling with the rain, and I brush the excess fluid on my thigh, staining the denim blood red.

I’m surprisingly calm. Maybe it’s because this isn’t the first time that I’ve stared death in the face. I feel defiant. Strong. Ready to kick ass and hurt this motherfucker for causing terror in my new town.

He’s not getting away with this. I didn’t let Jerald Carter win. This asshole isn’t going to win either.

He starts laughing like he knows my thoughts, slowly moving my way. His steps are methodical and calculating. He’s stalking me, taking his time because he thinks he’s going to get the best of me.

But this game has two players, and I intend to be the victor.

I’m waiting for him to get a little closer before I run. The cornfield is close, and I can lose him inside it. It’ll buy me time for help to arrive because Scythe has to be on his way.

It’s after midnight, and the Fear Farm must be closing by now. We know the killer is still on the loose. Scythe said he was going to piss him off and lure him to the festival, but somehow, that wasn’t working. Or maybe it did, and he’s just angrier than ever.

When the killer’s steps pick up speed, I lift my middle finger, flip the bird, and grin right before I dash into the cornfield.

It’s probably not smart to taunt him, but I don’t care.

The stalks whip at my face and clothes as I push through, lashing at my skin.

I wince as I feel a cut open on my right cheek.

Rain is still falling in heavy sheets, but the thunder and lightning have stopped. The clouds are thick and gray as I stop my frantic pace and drop to a crouch. My hands slap over my mouth as I breathe, trying not to make any noise.

This low to the ground, I’m barely getting wet anymore. The rain hits the tall cornstalks first, and by the time it reaches me, it’s more of a trickle. My muscles burn from the exertion, and there’s a painful tick on my left side, but I won’t let it distract me.

“Lottttttiiiieeee,” he calls out, trying to unnerve me.

My pounding heart is making it hard to hear other noises. It thumps in my chest so hard I visibly shake. My hands tremble, but I remain in place, waiting for as long as I need to before I move. I don’t care how many times he calls for me.

I know when the killer is close. I hear his boots crunching through the rows of corn. He’s coming near to where I crouch. I’m not going to have any choice soon. I’ll have to take my chances and run.

When I can hear his heavy breathing, I dart from my hiding spot and run in the opposite direction.

But I realize my mistake when I leave the safety of the corn stalks and enter a large circle, betraying my location.

There’s a giant scarecrow hanging from a thick wooden pole.

From his position, he’s staring downward at the cornfield .

Something about his face is familiar. It’s strange, but he’s not quite like the scarecrow I saw the day I was followed at the edge of town. This one appears almost lifelike. His body is thick, and his arms are rounded with muscles. It’s the oddest thing I’ve ever seen.

The skin is leathery but human, his hair like fine spun gold. His dark eyes seem to bore right through me. I can almost imagine the smirk on his lips.

He’s perched like he’s not only overseeing the protection of the cornfield, but like he’s also an avenging spirit ready to drop down and tear apart any threat. He’s menacing, but he doesn’t feel threatening. Not to me.

The last thing I notice is the scythe that’s gripped in his right hand. The blade’s steel catches the light and shines with a reflection of the moon. I don’t have to touch it to know it’s sharp. Why would a scarecrow have a scythe in the middle of a cornfield?

I’ve lingered too long. I gasp when I hear the killer’s sinister laughter, spinning around as I realize he’s found me. We face one another as he slashes his knife through the air. He wants me to fear him, but I won’t. He’s not getting that reaction out of me.

“What?” I taunt. “You think you’re winning?”

He growls. No words. I’ve never heard his voice.

“I’ll fight.” I lift the shears. “You might cut me, but I’m going to get my pound of flesh too.”

He grins and pushes his hood back, revealing the scarred face of a man I’ve never met. “I’ve got plenty of scars.” He seems almost gleeful at the idea.

I don’t have time to do more than brace myself as he runs toward me, lifting his knife. There’s a determination in his eyes that proves he means to hack my body apart and enjoy every second.

But he never reaches me .

A roar of wind and something unnatural pulses behind me. A shadow jumps over my head and lands with a heavy thud. I’m facing the back of a monstrous figure. With shock, I recognize the scarecrow.

He grips the scythe and stalks toward the killer. There’s no hesitation. No mercy. The scarecrow masterfully swings his scythe and cuts through the air. A man’s horrified scream follows, but is cut off by a gurgling sound.

I close my eyes against the slaughter, refusing to focus on the gore. I know the killer is dying. He’s being sliced up as viciously as he dismembered his victims.

When I finally open my eyes as silence stretches across the cornfield, I gasp. The whole area is bathed in blood, but that’s not the shocking part. It’s the scarecrow kneeling before me, his head lowered as if he’s seeking my approval and showing deference.

He doesn’t speak, and I don’t think he can.

“Thank you,” I finally say, blinking as I feel the grip of the shears in my hand. I drop them, no longer needing a weapon. There’s no threat now. “You saved me.”

The scarecrow nods before he stands. He gestures to the pole like he has to return, and I move out of his way. One second, he’s standing on the ground beside me. The next, he’s perched atop the pole again, staring out at his domain.

This time, the scythe is crossed over his chest as a warning to those who enter his cornfields. He won’t hesitate to punish the wicked or anyone trying to inflict harm. I don’t know how that knowledge pops into my head, but it does.

I stare at his face, that is lifeless again. Just a hint of his features remains, but I catch the tattoo on his neck. It’s an exact copy of the symbol inked on my biker’s neck.

That’s when I realize this creature, this scarecrow, is Scythe.