by Jane Blythe
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Three
Jane Blythe
Copyright © 2017 Jane Blythe
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Bear Spots Publications
Melbourne Australia
[email protected]
Paperback
ISBN: 0994538006
ISBN-13: 978-0-9945380-0-0
Cover designed by QDesigns
I’d like to thank everyone who played a part in bringing this story to life. Particularly my mom who is always there to share her thoughts and opinions with me. My awesome cover designer, Amy, who whips up covers for me so quickly and who patiently makes every change I ask for, and there are usually lots of them! And my lovely editor Mitzi Carroll, and proofreader Marisa Nichols, for all their encouragement and for all the hard work they put into polishing my work.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
JANUARY 8th
2:22 A.M.
He rolled his eyes.
This was getting ridiculous.
So, they were newlyweds. Did that mean they had to spend hours playing around in bed?
He loved sex, too. Especially with a hot girl. And Erica Landers was as hot as they came.
But, come on; he’d been waiting two hours already. And they’d started before he arrived.
Surely they must have tired themselves out by now.
He tried to wiggle himself into a more comfortable position without making a sound—not that they would have heard him anyway. The groans and moans coming from the bed were loud enough to stop traffic.
He stifled the urge to scream at them to hurry up.
He supposed he could go and put an end to things. That would come with risks, though. They would be two against his one; however, he was strong and fit, and Garton Landers was as skinny and wiry as they came. What kind of name was Garton anyway, he wondered? Erica was as skinny as her new husband, with breasts that had been enlarged a few too many times. It was a wonder she didn’t topple over when she stood up, she was so top-heavy.
He chuckled at his joke; he had to do something to amuse himself as he passed away the time.
He was sure he could take the couple. But why risk it? It was much easier to wait until they fell asleep, and then deal with them individually.
For some reason the idea of killing newlyweds had appealed to him.
Why? He didn’t know.
All he knew was, since he’d committed his first murder, his lust for blood had been insatiable.
He couldn’t stop killing even if he wanted to.
And he didn’t.
He would rather be dead himself than be unable to take the lives of others.
Speaking of which, he glanced at his watch, just able to make out the time by angling his arm in the thin strip of light that shone between the closet doors. He was getting annoyed now. Angry. And that would not bode well for the Landers.
Trying to stretch his cramped muscles, he was just about to go for it anyway, when he realized that—at last—the room had grown quiet.
Garton and Erica Landers had apparently worn themselves out and decided to call it a night.
At last.
It was time.
He glanced quickly at his watch. He’d give it ten more minutes, make sure they were asleep, and then he’d make his move.
The seconds ticked by excruciatingly slowly.
Finally, the ten minutes were over.
Stealthily he rose, slinking out of the closet, dragging his kill kit along with him, then set about making preparations. He had to be quick. The longer it took him to get ready, the greater the chances that one of his victims would wake before he was ready for them.
Not that he was worried.
He never got caught.
He had gotten away with his last murder spree and he would get away with this one, too.
He was invincible.
Collecting the chair from the desk in the corner of the room, he positioned it at the end of the bed. Then he pulled the small vial and needle from the side pocket of his bag. Filling the syringe, he quietly crept to a sleeping Garton Landers’ side of the bed. Piercing the man’s skin, Garton woke with a start, but the drug was fast acting, and before he could react, he was already passing out.
Fast as a rocket, he dragged Garton from the bed and tied him to the chair.
As well as being fast acting, the drug was also processed quickly through the body. Garton would wake up shortly, and he preferred to wait until the husband was awake before waking up the wife.
Within minutes, Garton was coming to. Groggy at first, but it didn’t take him long to assess the situation and start fighting frantically against his bonds, trying to scream through his gag.
Ignoring Garton for the moment, he took hold of his axe and held the blade to Garton’s neck.
“Wakey, wakey, Erica,” he called.
The woman stirred sleepily. “Garton?” she murmured.
“No, not Garton,” he corrected.
Erica’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the strange voice in her bedroom in the middle of the night. When she caught sight of her husband tied to a chair, an axe to his neck, she opened her mouth to scream.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he cautioned, slicing the blade through Garton's neck, enough to draw a trickle of blood, but not enough to do any real damage. “Try anything stupid and your husband loses a hand and then a foot and then another hand…” He grinned at her, “Get the idea?”
Erica nodded slowly. Apparently, she was smarter than her oversized boobs suggested.
Garton, however, was not so smart.
He shook his head wildly and once again tried to brute force his way out of the ropes binding him. This, of course, was futile. If he didn’t know how to tie someone up, then his career as a murderer would have been pretty short-lived.
“It’s okay, Garton,” Erica's voice trembled, tears streamed down her cheeks. “Maybe if we do what he says, he won't kill us.”
It was interesting, he mused, how different people reacted in these situations.
This was his sixth newlywed kill in eight months. At first he had gone slow. Making sure to space out the kills, making sure that he traveled the country so that no one connected the murders to the same killer.
Now he didn’t care about that.
He was back home and he was going to keep killing here until he got bored.
“Alrighty then.” He smiled again; it was time to get started. “I'm going to toss you some ropes. Please secure both your ankles to the bed.”
Erica hesitated, knowing that once she was restrained, her chances of getting out of this alive dropped dramatically. Reluctantly, she picked up the ropes he’d thrown to her, removed the covers, and tied one end of each rope around her ankles. Another
hesitation, but one glance at the axe still poised against her husband’s neck and she secured the other end of the ropes to the bedposts.
“Very good,” he nodded approvingly. He approached the bed with some more ropes, some duct tape, and the axe. Early on, one of his victims had almost gotten the jump on him. The woman had merely pretended to tie herself to the bed, and then when he got close enough, she tried to attack him. Her attack hadn't lasted long. He had quickly subdued her with a blow to the head and continued with his plan, but he had learned a valuable lesson. Now he always brought the axe with him—just to be safe.
Erica whimpered when he took hold of her wrist and firmly tied the rope around it, but she didn’t fight back. With practiced efficiency, he did her other wrist, then went back around all four limbs and added duct tape. If for any reason one of his knots should come undone, as unlikely as this was, the tape would hold his victim firmly in place. Duct tape was virtually impossible to get off without something to cut it, and unluckily for his victims, they had no such tool at their disposal.
Once he was done, he took a moment to survey his handiwork.
He debated on whether to cover her mouth, but decided against it. Erica seemed to understand what would happen to her husband if she screamed for help, and he enjoyed the pitiful whimpers that his victims usually made.
Then it was on to the next step. After their sexy playtime earlier, the Landers had opted to go straight to sleep rather than putting on pajamas first. This saved him the trouble of having to cut clothing off her. Or maybe cutting it off was better, he pondered, as he took in Erica's naked body; it was kind of like his own personal strip show.
Stripping off his own clothes, he carefully folded them up and put them in a bag. He wouldn’t be needing those again tonight. Climbing onto the bed, Garton struggled so violently that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the man sent the chair toppling to the floor.
Paying Garton no mind, he positioned a knee on either side of Erica’s hips.
“Please, please no,” she hiccupped through her tears, eyes imploring. “Please. I'm begging you. Please don’t.”
Ignoring her desperate pleas, he held her still as she bucked her hips, trying to get him off her, and forced himself inside her. As he started to move, he watched her face. Erica had scrunched her eyes closed, and was chewing on her bottom lip to keep from screaming.
It mattered little to him if the woman was as into it as he was; his pleasure was the same either way. So, he barely heard Erica's stifled sobs as he pounded into her. Everything else faded away as the pleasure inside him slowly built. Higher and higher he climbed until the universe exploded into a wave of unimaginable bliss.
Aftershocks continued to rumble through him as he sagged against Erica, trying to catch his breath. When they eventually ceased, he climbed off her, ready for what would come next.
As good as the sex was, it wasn’t his favorite part.
Nothing could compare to the killing.
To the sight of blood.
Blood was what excited him.
And he couldn’t wait to shed some.
He slapped a piece of tape on Erica Landers’ mouth. “Sorry, babe, but I can't have you accidentally letting out a scream.”
He picked up his axe, taking just a moment to enjoy the feel of it in his hands. For some reason, the idea of being an actual axe murderer had always appealed to him. So, he had adopted it when he decided to start killing couples.
Noticing that Garton’s frantic efforts to free himself from the ropes had indeed caused him and the chair to fall to the floor, he paused and heaved them back into an upright position. “Don’t want you to miss all the fun,” he said as he patted the man’s shoulder.
With purposeful strides, he went to the bed, raised the axe high above his head, and with perfect precision brought it down on Erica’s stomach.
Behind her gag, she choked and gurgled blood. Her eyes grew wide with shock and pain.
Behind him, Garton screamed through his gag. The muffled sound added to his excitement.
Bright red blood gushed from Erica’s wound.
Mesmerized, he stood and stared at it.
It was so beautiful.
It virtually glowed in the moonlight that streamed through the window.
It was the most magnificent sight he had ever seen.
Raising the axe, he brought it down again and again, until blood streaked the floors, the walls, and the ceiling. It soaked the bed where Erica Landers now lay dead, her body in pieces.
Giddy. He was literally giddy.
Dropping the axe at his feet, he spun in circles around the room. The scene was magical. He looked down at his naked body and saw it, too, was covered in blood. He ran his fingers through the blood, then lifted them to the moonlight. They glistened prettier than water in the sunlight.
As much as he would have loved to stay in this room forever, he knew it was time to go. All good things must come to an end. But there would be more nights like this, more rooms just like this one.
Of that, Ricky Preston was certain.
* * * * *
3:33 A.M.
“Mango?”
She hated that name.
What kind of parent named their child Mango anyway?
Not that she was one to talk, she guessed. Her family was a nightmare. She was living, breathing proof of that. If the worst thing her parents ever did was give her a stupid name, then she never would have ended up in this position.
“In the bedroom,” she called out, making sure that her voice perfectly mimicked Mango LeSeur’s. She had spent hours practicing her imitation, making sure it was flawless. She needed him fooled long enough so she could get close enough to do what she came to do.
He all but came running through the hotel suite to the bedroom, his large frame filling the doorway.
The he who was staring at her, drooling, was one Roman Hitacheel.
Sixty-three, bordering on obese, bald on top, and with constant bad breath, it was a wonder he could find any woman willing to sleep with him. But she already knew what Mango LeSeur saw in Roman, and it had nothing to do with appearances. Roman Hitacheel was wealthy—mind-bogglingly so.
Even though he already had a wife and three grown children, Roman kept his mistress, Mango, very well. She had a generous living account as well as additional funds for clothes and accessories. So long as Mango kept up her appearance and made herself available to cater to Roman’s every whim, then she would be well looked after.
Until, of course, she got too old; then Roman would move on to a newer model.
She knew all of this because she was good at listening—quietly and unseen—to others’ conversations. And Roman had been a friend of her father’s. She had overheard many a conversation on their hot, young girlfriends.
“You look amazing.” Roman could barely get the words out past his panting. It seemed he was already in heat and ready to go.
A little work had had to go into her appearance for tonight, as well as all her impersonation of Mango’s voice. She had gotten a spray tan, so her milky white skin now glowed a golden brown. She’d added a rinse to her hair to make it a deep dark brown. And she had gone a little overboard with the makeup. Not her choice, or preference, but tonight she was Mango LeSeur, and Mango LeSeur loved her makeup. She had carefully chosen some sexy lingerie that matched with the kind Mango had in her closet. All in all, she wasn’t a dead ringer for Roman’s young mistress, but she looked enough like her that in the dark room he would never know the difference.
At least not until it was too late.
“Aren't you going to come and join me?” she drawled seductively. Sickened by having to let this repulsive man touch her, she had no intention of letting him sleep with her. She was a virgin. She was waiting for her Mr. Right before she gave that up. But she would be forced to let this man do some things to her. Let him think it was playtime as usual with Mango, and then, once he was good and distracted, she’d take him out.
In a flurry of activity that was all flabby arms and legs and blubbering belly, he ripped off his clothes and joined her on the bed, his weight making the mattress sag down toward him.
Before she could say another word, he was on her, his mouth practically devouring hers. Swallowing back her revulsion just a little longer, she had to focus on the bigger picture. She forced herself to play along and kiss him back, fighting the urge to bite him as his hand ran up between her legs and began to touch her.
“Kiss me all over, baby,” she murmured in his ear.
Immediately, his hand withdrew, and his mouth began to rove over her body, hungrily licking and sucking at her. With Roman busy and focused on something else, her hands slipped beneath the pillows and retrieved the syringe. Roman was so consumed with his feeding frenzy that he didn’t even feel the prick in his back as she pushed the needle through his skin. It wasn’t until the drugs took effect that he finally slumped against her, his large frame practically crushing her.
Wiggling out from underneath him, she shuddered; Roman Hitacheel was a truly disgusting human being.
Setting to work, she tugged and dragged Roman’s body into a sitting position, then with some duct tape, she secured his chest with his arms at his side so they were immobilized to the backboard of the bed. Next she tied a tourniquet around his arm and bent and examined the veins at his elbow. Choosing one, she gave it a couple of taps. No need to bother with an alcohol wipe to disinfect the area; Roman wouldn’t be living long enough to develop any infections. Then with practiced efficiency, she inserted the needle, added the tube and collection bag, and once blood was flowing easily, she removed the tourniquet, then sat back and waited.
Roman came to with a jerk.
He tried to move, and his eyes grew wide when he found he couldn’t.
Panic was written all over his face as he tried to comprehend what was happening.
Finally noticing his blood dripping into the bag, he tried to yank his arm up and down to dislodge the needle.
