AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Prologue
FIRE WAS CLEANSING. SACRIFICIAL, ALMOST.
And soon ... very soon ... the flames would come.
But first, my souvenir.
I crossed to the dresser. Flipped up the lid on the jewelry box. Poked around with my latex-covered finger.
Frowned.
Where was the ring?
It had to be here. There was no way she’d let that go. Not after all she’d done to get it.
Maybe it was tucked in one of the small drawers underneath the main display area.
One by one, I pulled them out.
Ah. There it was.
I picked up the heavy ring, weighed it in my hand, and turned back to the bed.
She was still watching me, eyes wide, waves of fear rolling off her.
So satisfying.
Lips flexing, I wandered back to the bed, leaned over, and ran a finger down the side of her face.
She flinched and averted her head, whimpering behind the duct tape I’d slapped over her mouth.
Also satisfying.
I pinched her cheek for good measure. Hard.
A tear spilled past her lower lashes, and she gave me a pleading look.
Didn’t work.
In fact ...
Folding my arms, I considered her. The fire would erase evidence of surface damage, including any bruises from our tussle when I’d pinned her down to mash the chloroform-soaked rag against her face. She’d put up quite a struggle during the five minutes it took for the drug to render her unconscious, but I was bigger and much, much stronger than she was. The fire would also destroy the ligature marks from the zip ties I’d used to bind her hands and feet while she was out—along with any other cuts or contusions I might choose to inflict now.
But I wasn’t a mean person.
I just wanted justice.
Leaning close again, I patted her arm. “This will be over soon.”
My reassurance didn’t seem to comfort her.
Nevertheless, it was true. I’d scoped out her place, studied her habits. Knew she spent every Tuesday night alone in her house after she returned from her counseling session. Now that she was a widow, her social life was in the toilet. I didn’t have to rush this job.
Yet there was no reason to linger.
I picked up the second syringe I’d retrieved from her fridge and swiveled back toward the bed.
Her eyes got even bigger, and a mewing sound vibrated deep in her throat. She attempted to wriggle away, but her efforts were pathetic. The first insulin injection had already kicked in. She was sweating, and her squinting and rapid blinking suggested her vision could be blurring.
