Beth crawls backward in terror, heels slipping, hands sliding through her own blood as she stares up at the figure closing in.
“Please,” she begs, her voice breaking as terror shreds what little control she has left. “Please. Don’t do this. Please.”
The killer lunges without hesitation.
The chainsaw slams into her side, the impact knocking the breath out of her lungs. It doesn’t cut cleanly or deep enough to end her. The teeth bite into her ribs and tear sideways, ripping flesh apart in a grinding, violent drag. Bone cracks and splinters under the blade. Part of her side is cut open in an instant, replaced by a spray of hot blood that bursts outward and strikes the snow in steaming sheets. Beth screams as the vibration tears through her body, the force shuddering through her ribs and spine, rattling her teeth in her skull.
She rolls blindly across the ground, shrieking, hands clawing at her side in panic. Her fingers slide into tissue that shouldn't be exposed, slick and loose beneath her touch. Pain tears through her torso in blinding waves.
“Stop. Please. Stop,” she screams, her voice breaking down into raw, hoarse sounds that barely resemble words.
The killer lifts the chainsaw overhead.
For a brief, frozen moment, Beth sees her own reflection warped across the metal. Her face is streaked with blood, her mouth open in a silent plea, her eyes wide and glassy with shock.
Then the saw comes down.
It strikes her pelvis first. The teeth chew through bone with a brutal, grinding force, splitting her hips apart as flesh tears open around it. Blood erupts upward as the blade climbs, ripping through her abdomen and shredding muscle and organs in its path. Her body convulses violently, back arching off the ground as the last of her strength spasms through ruined nerves.
Everything inside her gives way at once. A final, soundless scream twists in her throat, strangled before it can escape. The chainsaw tears up through her with unstoppable force, and she feels every second of it.
Pain overwhelms everything, sight, sound, breath, until her mind snaps and her vision floods with blinding, merciful white.
The killer finishes the cut in one long, deliberate motion, dragging the saw up through the center of her body.
The chainsaw sputters once. Then it goes silent.
Beth’s body collapses in two broken halves. Steam rises from the ragged ends of muscle and bone as blood pours freely, pooling thick beneath her and soaking into the snow. Her limbs twitch once before falling still. Snow continues to fall, settling gently into open wounds and pooling in the recesses of her destroyed torso.
The forest falls quiet again.
Figures slip out from between the trees, one after another, filling the clearing. Some clean their weapons while others check and reset their gear. Blades are inspected, traps are set again, and bodies are hauled across the snow, leaving long, smeared trails behind them.
The next hunt is ready to begin.
Chapter 1
Brooke
Iwake up choking on air, my body jolting as I drag in breath after breath. The room drifts in and out of focus, and the ceiling seems to tilt no matter how hard I try to lock onto one point. Beige walls box me in. Heavy curtains smother the windows, shutting out daylight and time. Recognition comes slow, then hits hard. This is John and Mary’s house in Fresno.
How the fuck did I get here?
My head aches in a deep, relentless way that presses behind my eyes and crawls into my jaw. My mouth feels dry, coated with a bitter taste. I try to remember how I got here, but my thoughts slide away from each other, refusing to connect. I remember Colorado, the hotel, the chaos. I remember Grant’s voice and the sound of a gunshot that doesn’t stop echoing in my mind. I remember seeing Seth go down, and the moment my brain tries to reject what my eyes saw. After that, there's nothing.
There's no memory of travel. There's no memory of time passing. One moment I am there, and the next I am here, with nothing in between. Someone drugged me. That is the only explanation that makes sense, because I can't lose two states of time without help.
I try to move, needing to get out, needing to get back to Seth. When I lift my hand, metal clinks softly. The sound snaps my attention downward. Cold circles my wrist, and I see thick handcuffs biting into my skin, bolted into the wooden armrest of the chair.
I yank against the cuff. The chair scrapes across the floor until the wood groans. The noise feels too loud in the muffled room. I search for a weak point, for a loose screw. If I can loosen one, I can tip the chair. If I can tip the chair, I can run. If I can run, I can find a phone, or a neighbor, or a way out. I can't sit here and wait for whatever comes next.
The door creaks open, and the sound cuts straight through me. Mary steps inside and closes it behind her with careful hands, as if quietness could make this less frightening. Her smile is soft and concerned, the same one she has worn my entire life when something is wrong and she wants me calm.
“Sweetheart,” she says gently as she moves closer. “You’re awake. I was so worried about you.”
Relief hits so fast it makes me lightheaded. For a second, my brain grabs onto the only normal thing in the room. She wasn’t there. She didn’t see what John and Grant did. She doesn’t know who John really is.
“Auntie, please,” my voice shakes with desperation. “You have to help me. John isn’t who he says he is. He tried to kill me. He tried to kill Seth. Grant shot him. They drugged me. Please get these off me.”
