Page 1 of No Escape

PROLOGUE

One year earlier…

The killer stared at the deep darkness of the world and grinned.

The night air, colder than usual for late spring, wrapped its embrace around the city, creating a chilling stillness that blanketed the streets.

That was just fine by him. He hated warmth. He hated how comfortable people got in it.What they need is an icy blast, he thought as he moved through the night.To remind them of what life is… a march toward death.

He wrapped his coat tighter around his neck and shoulders as a gust of wind hit him. A shiver ran down his spine. It wasn’t from the wind, though, it was from the pleasure of knowing what he was about to do.

The killer marched along the road, which was illuminated by the bright streetlights that lit up the pavement in patches of yellow. He kept his head low and avoided eye contact with any passersby.

It wasn’t that he was worried someone would recognize him; it was more an instinctive desire to remain unseen.

Each step hurt. A day earlier, he had taken a bad hit to his side while being chased by the FBI, leaping from the roof of an apartment onto a fire escape. He was certain he’d broken at least two ribs. The pain was almost overwhelming at times, but he’d swiped some painkillers from a medical facility and patched himself up as best he could.

The injuries would slow him down, but, like his days training with Special Forces, he knew how to continue on with a mission in mind.

As he walked, he noticed a house in the distance with a security camera perched on top. He crossed the street to avoid its gaze, slipping between two rows of houses and rushing behind them, protected by the shadows.

Once he knew he had bypassed the house, he moved on to another lane, which cut across his path at a right angle.

This lane was at the back of a row of stores and apartments, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the main street. The air there hung heavy with the smell of garbage and oily puddles that had overflowed in the rain, leaving behind a repugnant stench. The odor was compounded by the stink emanating from discarded takeout food that had been left to rot in various piles along the sides of buildings.

People are foul, he thought.

The killer held his breath as he crossed the lane, making sure he avoided any attention-grabbing puddles or patches of light. He reached his destination without incident, cloaked in darkness and secrecy.

It was the rear entrance to one of the stores. A store he knew well. It was where Joshua lived. A cousin. One he had always despised. Joshua had wronged him, they all had, and they needed to pay. Now, the killer was thrilled that justice was about to be done. Justicehadto be done.

Justice will bring balance, he thought, nodding to himself as he stared at the entrance.

The door was in an awful state. It looked like it hadn’t been opened in years, and it was rusted from years of neglect. Grime had caked itself onto the metal, leaving a thick layer of filth that seemed to cling to the surface for dear life.

The killer pulled out a key he had swiped from his aunt’s house and stuck it into the lock. With a loud click, the door opened, revealing a pitch-black interior. The killer stepped through and shut the door behind him, sealing himself off from the outside world once more.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the killer flicked what he liked to call “the switch” in his mind.

It was a knack he had developed from childhood. He could step into a mode of thinking where unwanted emotion could be kept at bay. This time, he was imprisoning his excitement. He knew that excitement could lead to mistakes. Above all else, he prided himself on his intelligence, and using that to override his emotions was key to his ongoing success as a predator.

He stood in the darkness and curbed the sound of his excited breathing. His prey, Joshua, was about to face his end, and the killer would deliver it with delight.

Tonight, justice would be served.

He moved through a storage room filled with boxes of clothes and shoes. He could see the dim yellow light coming from a door at the end of a long hallway. As he made his way toward it, he heard the sound of typing coming from inside. He quickened his steps, eager to meet his nemesis face-to-face.

As he approached the door, he paused for a moment and steadied himself, preparing for what might come next. With one deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped into what would be Joshua’s last moments on Earth.

The door opened with a subtle creak. There, in a small office, was Joshua, huddled over a computer screen with his back to the door, typing away.

Writing another novel, the killer thought.

Joshua had been a published writer in his twenties with two successful books. Now, in his forties, he hadn’t had a manuscript accepted for twenty years. But he had never given up the attempt to reclaim his glory days.

So proud of yourself, Josh, the killer smirked to himself from the corner of the room. But he detested the man. He detested that his cousin was so captivated by the computer screen and the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the keys.

The man had no idea Death had entered the room.

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