Page 1 of Savage Seduction

CHAPTER 1

Max

Ilet out a breath, slow and steady. I open my eyes and focus on the dark silhouette at the end of the lane. My arms are outstretched in front of me, and the weight of the 9mm Luger semi-automatic settles heavy and feels grounding in my hands.

Pull the trigger, I think.You got this. The dark form of the man is right where I need it to be—a clean shot. It’s something I’ve done a thousand, make that ten thousand times before. I close my eyes again, but this time, rather than the soothing calm of darkness I often use to settle my nerves before taking the first shot, memories come flooding back.

Unwanted memories.

As if I’ve been flung back in time and space, I can hear the incessant dripping of the pipes I was tied to years ago—held captive, chained like an animal.This isn’t happening, I think. But it feels so real.

Drip, drip, drip.

A squeak of a sewer rat as it scurries by sends my heart racing. The bindings around my wrists tighten when I try to move away from the disease-ridden rodent. But that isn’t myonly fear. If I let myself sleep, or God forbid, pass out, the little fucking rat will be back—only this time with a hundred of his friends, hungry and looking for flesh.

Drip, drip, drip.

Sweat drips from my hair and runs in streams down my back. My shirt, now soaked, clings to me as I try my best to remain standing. I’m so tired. I’ve been standing for what feels like days. The thought of the rats, blood dripping from their teeth, makes me shake, adrenaline seeping back into my veins.

The pipe I’m tied to is strong; industrial strength if I had to guess. After hours, or has it been days, of trying to pull it from the wall or beams overhead, I’ve given up. My stomach lurches. What’s worse? The pain in my wrists where deep cuts have formed, or the sheer agony of defeat? I shake my head. “Fuck you,” I yell out into the darkness and then add under my breath, “I’ll kill you, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Drip, drip, drip. Clink.

Is he back? My legs begin to shake, not with the strain of holding up my own weight after so long, but with the last bit of energy I have left. The last bit of self-preservation I can muster. Has the monster who broughtme here come back to finish the job? A series of chains rattling and the screech of metal on metal grow louder as my captor approaches. How far away is the entrance to my makeshift prison? It’s impossible to tell, but I hope it’s close enough that, if given half the chance, I can make a run for it—despite whatever injuries I will no doubt acquire along the way.

Across the room is a single white door, dingy and barely on its hinges. The sound of footsteps against the concrete floor scrapeto a halt, and the knob turns. C’mon, open the door. Fight me. I’m not spending another day in here, I think. Bolstered by my newfound rage, I stand tall, arms still tied above my head. The pain in both wrists, the ache in my lower back, even the stinging gashes on myface that never seem to heal enough to stop hurting when I sweat, suddenly vanish. Now, the only thing I feel is the beating of my heart and the ragged breaths I desperately try to control.

Show no fear.

The door creaks open and in steps the Los Angeles Butcher. The monster who is responsible for a dozen kidnappings and murders across the city. His victims are seemingly random targets with no rhyme or reason; old and young, men and women. The look in The Butcher’s eye sends goosebumps spreading across my body. A sudden chill in the air as if the presence of evil has somehow sucked the hot, humid, and moldy conditions right out of the room.

“Ah,” The Butcher says. “You’re awake.” His yellow, crooked smile makes my belly sour. I’ve seen the bite marks left behind by The Butcher on many of the victims. These marks aren’t just bruises, but premortem, deep, savage cuts and punctures. The sight of the madman’s dentition, jagged and wild-like, makes me shudder. Has he tasted the victim’s blood? Has he consumed bits of them to gain power or forever have them with him? Or is he simply a sick piece of shit who relishes in the pain and fear of others?

No way in hell are you going to eat me. I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

The Butcher closes the gap between us with surprising swiftness, pulling out a large knife from a sheath attached to his waistband. The blade is well-suited for a horror movie; long, shiny, and glints ominously in the sparse lighting. Only, this is no slasher film, and I will never give this psychopath the pleasure of hearing me scream.

The Butcher is now close enough to smell. A blend of body odor and something else I can’t quite place, not that it matters. The predator circles his prey, slowly moving around me without a word. Every so often he stops, reaches out a finger, and touchesme. Poking my back, belly, and ass. What the fuck does he want? What does he have planned for me?

Without warning, he brings the knife up to my neck, the point stuck straight into my Adam’s apple. It can’t be too deep, since the adrenaline flowing through my veins prevents me from feeling much of anything. The Butcher slowly brings the tip of the blade down to my shirt, where he suddenly slashes downward. The breath catches in my chest, and I flinch, fearing the worst. Still, I don’t make a sound. Seconds pass as I listen to The Butcher laugh, maniacal and sick. He brings the knife up and shows me the blade, its tip dripping with blood.

I look down at my chest out of instinct. A tiny trickle of blood trails down my belly, soaked up by my waistband. I breathe in and out, feeling lucky to be alive, but terrified as to what’s coming next.

The Butcher leans in and whispers in my ear. “Boy, have I got something special planned for you.”

I shudder and open my eyes. I’m no longer tied to a series of pipes or surrounded by rats and monsters. Thankfully, I’m safe once again at the gun range where I stand waiting to shoot my first target. I flip the safety back on and let my arms down slowly to my sides. My breathing is fast, sweat dampens my shirt and brow. I shake my head. I’m not ready.

With an experienced hand, I remove the ammunition and disassemble the gun before putting it back into the carrying case. It’s been a few years since I’ve actually been able to fire it. Sure, I’ve been trained by the Police Academy, had years of practice, and even won a few awards for marksmanship during my time on the force, but The Butcher changed all of that. He stole life as I knew it.

“Give it time,” I say to myself. “Like Abuela always said,‘little by little one goes far.’”

I snatch up the gun case and head for the front exit. Thenice older man at the counter smiles as I pass. “Will I see you again next month?”

“You got it,” I say as I leave through the front door. I hurry to the car where I put the case in the front seat and get in behind the wheel.

If I hurry home, I can get a jump start on cleaning my apartment. Nah, who am I kidding? I need to study for finals. Grades will always take precedence. It’s my last class for a while since I’m technically already done with school and working for the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County as a junior curator, but I still take classes from time to time to bolster my resume. Doctor Maximo Salgado. God how I wish Abuela could have been there to see me graduate. I kiss my fingertips and look up to the sky. She’s watching out for me, and I know it.

I step on the gas and turn left down Vermont. If traffic cooperates, I can be home in thirty minutes, and that means there will be time to eat lunch for a change.

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