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PROLOGUE
REID
RaquelStacyscreamsasmy blade plunges through her chest, and I let out a heavy sigh, watching as her blood quickly pours from the wound, her body quivering as she chokes to death.
That was ridiculously unsatisfying.
She barely put up a fight or pushed me away. Hell, she tripped and fell three feet into the woods. I had to drag her ass deeper into the thick brush just to make it interesting. She tried to scream, hoping someone would come for her, but I chose this location wisely. I always do. Even if I killed her out in the middle of the road, I still wouldn’t be caught. I’m just that good.
As for Malibu Barbie here, what gives? Not even the blood dribbling from her mouth does it for me tonight. Though I have to admit, her sputtering is earning her a few points.
I’ve watched Raquel for the past few weeks, waiting for the moment she realized the person behind her had followed her around every corner, waiting for the surge of panic on her face when she noticed her bedroom window was open. I’m addicted to the rush, but the best feeling comes from watching a woman bolt upright in her bed as she feels that tingle down her spine that tells her she’s not alone. But I got nothing from Raquel. She’s either extremely unaware of her surroundings, or she simply doesn’t give a shit whether she lives or dies.
Fucking boring. This one had to go. She wasn’t even worth the chase. Not that she really gave one.
What does it matter anyway? She was considered dead the second I set my sights on her. The only problem is that this kill hasn’t satisfied me. So now, I’m going to need to find someone else, but this time, I won’t be so careless in my selection. This time, I’ll make it count, and when I take her life, I’ll feel the power pulsing through my veins, finally satisfying the ugly, cruel need within me.
God, it’s so good.
I need someone who’s going to put up a fight, someone who will run when they sense me coming, someone whose eyes will widen with fear at just the mere thought of what I could do to her. Yeah . . . that’s exactly what I need.
Shit. I start getting hard just thinking about it.
“Sorry, Raquel,” I mutter, adjusting my cock. Getting a hard-on while this woman’s life is fading from her eyes hardly seems professional, though, it wouldn’t be the first time. Now, sweet Jessica from Boston, she was a real go-getter. She was on her knees, and my cock was buried deep in her throat when my blade swiped across the base of her neck, but to be fair, that was an accident. I only meant to nick her enough to make her thighs shake, and I got a little carried away.
Sue me. Accidents happen, right?
Jessica was fun though. She really surprised me, and if I wasn’t so eager for that rush of death, I would have dragged it out another week or so. She would have liked that. She had a dark and depraved little soul. I opened her eyes to a new world of excitement, and if it weren’t for my fucked-up need to slaughter the women who walk into my life, she probably would have asked me to teach her the tricks of the trade. On second thought, perhaps getting rid of her before she could cause me any trouble was probably a smart move.
Fuck, no one ever said being a killer was easy, but as long as the feds struggle to identify me, then I’ll continue to play. Hell, they’ve never even gotten close, but that’s because they’ve never been able to link the deaths. They’re always different . . . random. Raquel was a simple stab wound through the chest, Jessica a slit throat, while Bonny out in Vegas was a bullet straight between the eyes. And never a shred of my DNA to go with it. After all, my freedom is important to me, and I’m not careless enough to get caught.
Raquel finally takes her last gasping breath, and I let out a heavy sigh, shaking my head.
What a waste of time that was. I took a chance on Raquel. I really thought she was going to go out swinging, but that’s my fault. I didn’t do enough homework—a mistake I won’t make again.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I love the fact that I’m a stone-cold killer, it’s just a necessary part of what I do. After all, once I’m through with a woman, I can’t just walk away. It’s too risky, and like I said, I’m not planning on getting caught. Ending their lives is just a necessary step I need to take in order to protect my freedom. The fact that taking their lives just happens to make me feel like a fucking God is beside the point.
Okay, so maybe I lied a little. Perhaps I do love being a stone-cold killer, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I think it’s important for everyone to love what they do. After all, you wouldn’t want your surgeon falling asleep in the middle of your heart transplant because he was bored out of his mind. Enthusiasm in the workplace is important. Now, if Raquel had just a little bit of enthusiasm, perhaps we wouldn’t have been here quite this early.
God. I really hate it when someone fucks with my schedule.
Grabbing my backpack, I open it up and pull out my gloves before finding the pack of alcohol wipes. I get busy stripping Raquel out of her clothes and cleaning her body, making sure there isn’t an ounce of my DNA to be found. Not that Raquel’s body will even be found out in these woods, but I’m nothing if not thorough. Hell, I never even fucked her, but I’m not taking any chances.
I hum the tune of “Killing Strangers” by Marilyn Manson like it’s part of my own little personalized playlist as I scrub Raquel’s nails, cleaning out beneath them. She didn’t scratch me, but she did spend twenty minutes in the trunk of my car, and I’ve seen bastards get locked up for a lot less than a simple carpet fiber.
Like I said, I don’t take any chances.
I spend an hour cleaning her off before getting started on a grave. I move the thick bushes out of the way, holding the branches back with my backpack as I dig a hole beneath them. After tossing her body in and filling it halfway back up, I throw in the remains of an animal before finally filling in the hole. After patting it down, I take my backpack, letting the thick bush fall back into place.
Then after double and triple checking that I haven’t left a damn thing that could be tied back to me, I grab my shit and head out of the woods. My car is pulled off the highway, hidden behind the uneven terrain, and as I climb back in and jam the key into the ignition, I set my sights on somebody new, my gut telling me that this time, I’m going to find exactly what I’m looking for.
1
KYAH
Thebellchimesabovethe door of High Voltage Ink, and I lift my head up from my latest sketch, one hand freezing over the tablet. A big, burly guy strides through the door, turning to the right to fit his muscled arms past the frame. A wide grin stretches across my face as his gaze lifts to mine.
“Careful, Viper,” I tease, having to raise my voice over the music playing through the small shop. “Any bigger and you’re not going to fit in my station.”
