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His eyes, dark behind the shadows of the mask, are all that she sees through her silent tears.
She’s paying for her sins now.
Hell awaits her.
The lake of fire.
But Billie isn’t ready to go.
She can’t fight him off. She can’t suck in a breath that will keep her from passing out, that will keep her from dying in Blood Hood’s grip.
All she can do is call out for him—
“Preston…”
A wheeze, a pitiful sound, a pathetic plea. One that is barely audible, one that should be silent but in the quiet of the house is loud enough that both she and Blood Hood hear it.
Preston.
He won’t come.
Kate won’t come, either.
The house is dead. The silence in here is enough to confirm the worst. The killer already got them.
With one hand pinning her to the wall by her neck, Blood Hood raises the other—the one that holds the hunting knife.
Her lashes are lowering. Dropping over already glazed sight. But she catches the glint of the faint light above glittering over her blood on the blade.
He raises it higher. Prepared to strike it down on her.
And he brings it down so fast that loose strands of her hair whoosh around her crimson face and she hears the song of metal spear through the air.
But he doesn’t strike the knife into her.
It sinks into the wall, right next to her head, and right above the hall table.
Billie cringes. Her body was prepared for the final blow—the blow that didn’t come.
She blinks. Lashes flutter wildly.
And the squeeze of his hand around her neck just… releases.
Billie falls to the floor. She lands, hard, in a lump at the toes of the killer’s black boots.
Her back arches and she throws her head back as the breath of life sucks into her. Feels like sharp ice spearing into her lungs. The blood thumping in her head starts to fade, but the fuzzy ringing in her ears still lingers.
Blood Hood hasn’t let her go. He’s tormenting her. He has to be. Cut into her thigh so deep that the blood is oozing out of her and she feels dizzy; almost choked the life out of her body; and now, lets her regain her breath just so he can keep torturing her.
That’s what he does now—
Waits.
Stands just a step away from her, his boots planted on the carpet just beside her, and he watches.
Billie’s face twists with a fresh wave of tears as she squints up at him.
Blood Hood doesn’t tower over her now, but stands a step back, and is entirely unmoving. She doesn’t see so much as a hint of breath expand his chest or move his shoulders. Through the dark holes cut out of the burlap sack, he just… watches her.
