Read Worth Dying For (A Slaughter Creek Novel) for Free Online Page B

above the pale skin of her cheek, smiling as the steel glistened beneath the light. Cutting her up would be just like dissecting an animal.
    She kicked harder, yanking at the heavy chains holding her down. The metal rattled, music to his ears, as panic distorted her stark features.
    “What is the old adage about the eyes?” he murmured as he pressed the scalpel to her cheekbone.
    She screamed, a shrill animal noise that echoed in the empty building, boomeranging over and over. They were so far from anyone that he didn’t bother to try and stop her cries.
    No one could hear her.
    “Yes, yes, I know what it is,” he said, his voice singsong. “  ‘The eyes are the window to the soul. ’  ”
    She shook her head back and forth violently as if she’d suddenly guessed his intentions.
    Really, she had odd features. The cheekbones were set too far apart. Her face was asymmetrical, one eyelid drooping lower than the other. A dark mole dotted the corner of her lip, a melanoma probably.
    Odd that with her training, she hadn’t bothered with treatment.
    “Oh, and there’s the other—‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. ’  ” His bitter laugh echoed off the concrete walls. “But there’s nothing beautiful about you.”
    A tear seeped from her eye and trickled down her cheek, then another. His brain told him that this was simply nature’s way of cleansing the eye; this woman had no real emotions.
    His pulse pounding with lust for the kill, he pierced the skin below her left eye. The chains clanked with her protests. A drop of blood seeped from the scalpel point, whetting his appetite for more.
    He leaned close to her ear, watching her terror as he whispered, “But you have no soul, do you?”
    Slowly he raised the scalpel and jabbed it into her eye socket. She screamed, flailing and crying, the wretched sounds reverberating around him.
    Soon she would realize that crying and screaming wouldn’t help. And it sure as fuck wouldn’t stop him.
    Because he’d been called to rid the world of the ugliness, just as a preacher was called to give a sermon and save lost souls.
    In a way, he was saving souls too. Saving others from the abuse this woman inflicted.
    And he was just getting started.

    Rafe wove through traffic, veering off on a desolate-looking road that seemed to lead to nowhere.
    He and Liz lapsed into silence as they covered the miles. Dry grass and land stretched far across the countryside, an occasional house or roadside stand popping up. A gas station with a sign reading BOILED PEANUTS sat at the crossroads, a produce stand on the opposite side. Run-down chicken houses sat on a hill near a chimney marking where a house once stood.
    Liz considered the profile of the killer. She needed more information first.
    “Regina’s son J. R. lives out here?” Liz asked.
    Rafe nodded.
    “I wonder what he does for a living.”
    “I suppose we’ll find out.” Rafe cut her a sideways look. “Liz, you didn’t have to come back for this. You know I could have handled the case.”
    “True, but I need to work. I sure as heck don’t intend to let what happened destroy me.” Memories of Rafe looking at her with lust made her body tingle for his touch. They’d been attracted to each other from the start, but they’d tried to keep their relationship professional.
    Rafe had big hands, strong hands. The things he could do with them made her crazy with desire.
    She wanted to feel those hands on her again. Because his touch made her pain dissipate.
    Do. Not. Go. There.
    It had hurt too badly when he’d walked away to even consider getting close to him again.
    And she had her secrets.
    Besides, his look didn’t hold desire now. More like disdain.
    He turned onto a dirt road bearing a hand-painted sign that read HOG HOLLER , the SUV bouncing over gravel and ruts. The area was flat, the land parched and deserted, winter taking its toll. Why anyone would choose to live out here, she didn’t know.
    They veered