Chapter 1: Victim One

Everyone knew Jack, everyone. The stocky handyman who slinked about, his cap pulled low over his eyes, shoulders slightly hunched as if he was trying to go unseen. And he always seemed to stare at you like he was planning horrible things, his eyes dark beneath the brim of his hat like he's already seen you naked but it wasn't enough. Things that had to take place in the bedroom closet because even the bedroom itself was too open, too easy to peer into.

And he liked a bit of fear, you found that out the hard way, walking home from work after dark. Bumping into him had startled you, the low groan that had rumbled in his chest had made your heart start beating faster even as you tried to hide it beneath a smile. May even have gotten away with it if you hadn't flinched when his hand lifted, the motion coming to a stop before continuing smoothly as he tugged on the brim of his hat. He'd continued past you, turned the corner without a single glance over his shoulder, and you'd let out the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

Five steps, that's all you got to take before a broad palm covered your mouth, his pinky curled beneath your chin as he pulled you through someone's backyard. Frantically you paw at the hand covering your mouth, not just because you need to scream, need to call for help, but it's also damn near blocking your nose's ability to take in air. Black spots are dancing in front of your eyes, your feet stumbling as he drags you round another house. The light from the dining room almost blinds you, someone's silhouette through the curtains giving you a moment of hope before it's dashed when the light goes off again.

You hear that low groan in your ear again, his chest vibrating with it when you kick at him, trying to break loose to call out to the person in the house. His breath is hot and heavy on your neck as he buries his nose in your hair inhaling deeply, his other hand sliding over your stomach and pulling you closer to grind his erection against you. A low whimper escapes you as his hand over your mouth shifts, that first full breath of air feels like heaven even though you can barely think around the ideas of what he might have planned.

"Just a minute, don't fucking move." the rough voice in your ear leaves your stomach churning, his hand gripping your jaw hard enough it almost feels like he's trying to tear it from the hinge. "You move, so much as try to run, and I will kill you right here."

Nodding, you fight the urge to lick your lips, your whole mouth feels dry. His hand slides off your stomach, pausing near your hip to scrape his fingertips across it, his ring finger slipping beneath your shirt to caress your skin. It's while he's twisting to reach for the door that you bolt, your elbow catching him right at the end of the body of his ribcage. Your neck muscles scream in protest as thick fingers burrow themselves into your hair and throw you into the metal siding of the shed.

His body pins you there, fingers clenching as he pulls your head back, lips brushing along your ear. You can't hear what he's saying over the suddenly furious pounding of your blood, your ragged breathing. You do feel the cold edge of a knife caress your cheek, the way the tip skims along your jaw, tickles down your throat to press against your pulse.

"What did I tell you?" harsh and ragged through clenched teeth, the whisper causes chills to run up your spine, another helpless whimper escaping you before you can stop it. "What did I fucking tell you, eh?"

"Please." the word is a harsh croak, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you try not to swallow. The tip of the blade itches as it slowly presses harder, your body jerking in an instinctual reaction to try and move away from it.

"Please, what?" A sharp pinprick of pain, a trickle of warmth running down your throat as his teeth catch the lobe of your ear. The growl that rumbles out of his throat is raspy, the short hairs on the back of your neck standing up. "If you didn't want me to kill you, you shouldn't have tried to run."

Your legs give out, the knife skimming a long line on your throat as you sink to the ground. Shakily your fingers press against the scratch, your head tilted back at a painful degree by his fingers still in your hair. You can't see his eyes but you can feel them staring at you, hidden in shadow beneath the cap, the full lips twisting into a smile that leaves you feeling cold.