Page 1 of Brutal Ice

Chapter One

Everyone needed a hobby, and Royal Boudreaux’s hobby? It just happened to be the little matter of murder. Or, rather, the matter of stopping murderers.

Someone had to hunt the bastards, after all. When the cops failed, when the blood kept flowing, and the families were grieving, someone had to step in and do the dirty work. He was good at getting his hands dirty. And bloody. In fact, he excelled at the task.

So he crept through the dark Savannah night, his body tense and alert because he knew that danger waited up ahead. But he wasn’t afraid. Royal didn’t fear much in this world. He made it a point to be the one that others feared. And his prey tonight? By the time Royal was done with him, he’d be teaching the SOB a whole new meaning to the term terror.

You’ll be begging me to stop.

His steps were silent. His body moved easily to blend with the stretching shadows all around him. The insects chirped, and the old, forgotten and failed vineyard and its hollowed out winery waited in dead silence around him like the graveyard that the place was.

His gaze slid to his prey’s vehicle. A faded sedan. It was the kind of vehicle most people wouldn’t look at twice. That was why the predator had chosen it. To blend. To slip right past everyone’s guard. To appear ever so harmless.

Often, the most harmful things could look innocent.

He eased past the sedan. His eyes were on the main building to the right. His gloved fingers stayed loose at his sides. He was so close.

Thud.

Royal stopped. Tensed. His head turned—the barest of movements—as he glanced back at that sedan.

Thud.

His eyes narrowed. The faint moonlight and starlight spilled onto the car. No driver. Because the driver had gone inside one of the buildings. Or into the stretching, barren fields of the vineyard. But I’ll be finding you soon. And giving the guy the punishment he deserved.

Thud.

Royal took a step toward the vehicle. Was that sound seriously coming from the trunk of the sedan?

Thud.

It was coming from the trunk. The closed trunk. Still with silent steps, he hurried to the driver’s side. The window had been left half-down, so he shoved his gloved hand inside. Yanked up the old lock and opened the door. Then it just took him a few seconds to find the little lever that would pop the trunk.

Even as the lid of the trunk rose up, he ran back to the rear of the sedan. He yanked the pen flashlight from his pocket and shone it inside.

Holy shit.

It took a lot to surprise Royal. He’d seen so much—done so much—during the days and nights of his life that he was rarely ever caught off-guard. But he did not expect to see a bound woman staring back at him.

Royal blinked once. His light fell straight on her face. Her beautiful, terrified, tear-stained face. Gray duct tape covered her mouth. Her raised hands were bound together with the same rough, gray tape. Her wide, desperate eyes—glimmering with tears—stared up at him. Fear and hope fought in those gorgeous eyes.

A beautiful woman who was trapped in the trunk of a killer’s car.

Sonofabitch. His prey wasn’t still scouting for victims as Royal had believed. Time had run out. The bastard had taken another woman.

With his free hand, Royal reached out and carefully removed the tape. Even though he was trying to be gentle—and gentle was not often a word associated with him—she winced. Shuddered.

His chest tightened. He balled up the tape. Tossed it into the trunk.

“Are you…are you going to kill me?” A low whisper from the woman. Husky. Absolutely terrified.

Fuck. The night was not going according to plan at all. His gaze darted away from her. Toward the stretching old vineyard. Somewhere out there, his prey waited. Prey—a killer who had already murdered three other women.

His gaze returned to the bound woman in the trunk. A woman who was meant to be victim number four.

In his mind, he had a flash of the other victims. The brutal torture that had been inflicted on their bodies. The way they’d been found. Broken. Tossed away.

A tear leaked down her cheek.

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