Page 1 of No Mercy In Red

Prologue

Max

He was strapped to the chair, naked and trembling. A pathetic excuse of a man, reduced to nothing but a quivering mess of blood and bruises. The stench of sweat and fear clung to the damp basement air, mixing with the metallic tang of fresh blood.

I crouched in front of him, tilting my head as I observed my latest project. His face was unrecognisable – his nose a pulpy ruin, his left eye swollen shut.

I lifted the phone, pressing record. The little red light blinked to life on the screen, capturing the moment his sins had finally caught up with him.

“Say it.” My voice was steady, cold.

He groaned, spitting a mouthful of his blood on the concrete floor. It splattered across my black heels, but I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. When he didn’t respond, I sighed and stood straight, walking over to my little collection of tools on the workbench. The hammer was still slick with his blood, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Say. It.” I repeated, this time punctuating my words by pressing the tip of a rusted pair of pliers against his fingernail.

He whimpered, shaking his head, his breath ragged. “I — I can’t.”

Wrong answer.

I gripped at the nail and yanked, feeling the resistance before it gave way with a sickeningpop.His scream tore through the basement, echoing off the walls, pure and raw pain pouring from him.

“That’s one,” I murmured, flicking the nail onto the floor. It made a softplinkas it landed in the growing pool of his own fluids. “You have nine more chances to get this right.”

He sobbed, shaking violently, his whole-body convulsing as pain overtook him. I crouched again, tilting my head, my bloodstained fingers tracing lazy circles over his quivering thigh. “Say it.”

His breathing hitched, his broken body sagging against the restraints. “I— I did it,” he whispered, barely audible.

I raised a brow. “Louder.”

“I DID IT!” He howled, voice cracking. “I raped her, I hurt her. I did it!”

A slow, satisfying grin crept across my lips. “That’s a good boy.”

I clicked the record button off and slid the phone onto the bench. Moving my hand over I picked up the gun from the line-up of tools, raising it to press at his temple, watching as his pupils dilated. His entire being consumed by fear. This was the final moment, the one where they realise there is no escape. This part was always my favourite, knowing they would never be able to hurt anyone else again.

“You said if I confessed—”

I leaned in close, my lips brushing against his ear. “I lied.”

The gunshot echoed through the basement. Another monster wiped off the earth.

And I was just getting started.

Chapter 1

Max

UUgh, what the hell was that noise, and why was it happening so goddamn early?

Glancing at my alarm clock, I groaned. 10:35am. Okay, so it wasn’tthatearly, but it was my last day off so anything waking me up before noon felt like a personal attack.

I flopped back onto my pillows, staring at the ceiling as my mind drifted to the reason behind my exhaustion. Last night had been a long one. Craig smith, semi-pro football player by day, serial sexual predator by night—now just another rotting corpse sat at the bottom of the lake in the woods.

Justice had been served, but it didn’t bring me the satisfaction I wished it did. Not fully. Because this should have beenhisjob. My dad should have been the one still doing this, taking out the scum of the earth like he always had. Instead, he was gone, and I was left picking up the pieces, continuing the work he started. When he left me the house in his will, I thought it was just a rundown, old townhouse that held too many memories. But then I foundit.

The basement.

It was hidden behind a heavy old door in the back of the house, one I had never bothered to open when I was a kid. When I finally steppedinside, the stale air hit me first, thick with dust and something I couldn’t quite place, somethingdarker.And then I saw the files, stacks upon stacks of neatly labeled folders, each one detailing different men. Their names, their crimes, their locations. And most chilling of all, their final resting places. Which was now the same place my kills ended up, the lake in the woods behind the house. My father had been doing this for years, long before I’d even picked up a knife. He had been my hero, the man who had raised me with warmth and unwavering love. But he had also been a hunter, something I turned myself into after his death. A quiet pride always burned in my chest when I killed. Not just for him, but for me, for being strong enough to continue his work.

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