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Kerrigan stared up from where she sat with her hands tied unforgivingly to the metal pole behind her. Her side was on fire, and she knew that she’d been grazed by the madman’s bullet.

Her shoulders burned from the strain, and she’d almost lost the feeling in her fingers and hands. But at least her face and swollen eye no longer throbbed.

The concrete she was forced to sit on was so cold she felt it to her bones. It didn’t help that he’d forced her to remove everything but her bra and panties.

And then there was the other thing. The thing she’d been desperately trying to ignore…

The ominously stained drain between her legs.

Don’t think about it. Don’t look at it, and don’t let yourself wonder.

The stench of must and death permeated throughout the small, dark room. It was so prominent, it burned her nostrils to the point she didn’t think she’d ever smell anything else.

Not that it would matter soon. Not unless she figured a way out.

There is no way out. And no one even knows you’re here.

Moisture pooled, her vision becoming blurry from the fresh onslaught of tears. This was worse than when she’d been taken hostage that time in Mexico. At least then she hadn’t been alone.

Kerrigan closed her eyes, sending the tears pouring down her cheeks. What a horrible person she was to wish someone else was here to suffer the same fate. She’d never wish this kind of terror on her worst enemy.

The memory of Brayden’s dead body lying so still on the morgue’s frigid floor left her chin quivering, and a sob threatening to break loose from deep within her throat. Poor Brayden. He hadn’t deserved to die like that. No one did.

No one except Vince Morales.

Only death would be too easy. A life of solitude and lack of attention. That would be the worst sort of punishment for a narcissistic psychopath like him. But if the authorities never caught him, the only ones who’d end up paying would be his victims.

I don’t want to be a victim. And I sure as hell don’t want to die.

She pulled on the bindings holding her wrists in place. Kerrigan had pulled and twisted them so much already, she could feel the warmth from her own blood on her skin.

For a moment, she’d thought maybe the blood would help her break free. That it would act as a lubricant to allow her skin to slip free from the rope as it scratched her and scraped.

In the end, the only thing she managed to accomplish was to cause herself more pain and discomfort. And now she was back to sitting and staring at the walls. At anything other than that God-forsaken drain.

I’m not the first woman he’s brought here, but I hope to hell that I’m the last.

The door at the top of the basement steps opened. Kerrigan held her breath, watching as Morales’s feet and legs came into her view.

He moved slowly. Casually. As if he had all the time in the world. He did, she supposed. Her hourglass was the one that was quickly becoming depleted.

“I told you I’d be back.”

Kerrigan stared up at the sick man but said nothing.

“Did you miss me?” Morales reached the bottom of the stairs.

When he turned the corner to walk toward her, she realized he was holding something in his right hand. The dim glow of the light from the top of the stairs shimmered off the weapon just enough to showcase its long, silver blade.

A knife.

Her heart kicked against the inside of her ribs, pounding so hard she’d almost swear she could hear its frantic beats. But still, Kerrigan refused to let him see that she was scared.

A distraction. You need a distraction. If for no other reason than to buy yourself some time.

“You said you’d answer my questions.” She was so proud of how steady her voice had come through. “You promised.”

Morales stopped mid-stride. “You’re right. I did.” He resumed his steps, closing the distance between them. “Of course, I never said I wouldn’t have some fun of my own in the process.”

She was afraid to ask but couldn’t keep herself from it. “Fun?”

He nodded; the friendly neighborhood cop she’d first met nowhere to be seen. He’d been replaced by a cold-blooded, soulless monster who enjoyed torturing and killing innocent women. A man who’d sworn to uphold the law who betrayed it every chance he could get.

“If you want answers, I need something in return.”

“Like what?”

He squatted down in front of her, the point of his blade rising up to just below her chin. “An answer for a cut.”

Did that mean what she thought it meant?

“W-what do you—” she started to ask, but Morales beat her to the punch.

“You ask a question, I give you a truthful and honest answer, and then…” He ran the blade slowly down the front of her neck, stopping in the delicate dip at the base that separated her sternoclavicular joints.

“Is that the serial killer’s version of quid pro quo?”

Her abductor laughed as if he found genuine humor in her smartass quip.

“Something like that.” Morales nodded.

A plan began to form on its own volition, and it wasn’t one Kerrigan particularly liked. But on the off chance someone had seen her get taken…or if, by some miracle, the cops or Cade and his team did manage to figure out where she was…then maybe, just maybe she could use the bastard’s own sick game against him.

It would suck, and she may end up dying regardless. But it was the only thing she could think of to keep him talking and, possibly, get justice for herself and his other victims.

“Okay,” she agreed, wondering if perhaps she’d lost her damn mind.

But the smile that spread slowly across Morales’s evil face let her know this could actually work, as long as she held out long enough for help to arrive. Because Cade would be out there looking for her. Of that, she had no doubt.

Him. His team. Maybe even Sergeant Bowen, though she wouldn’t hold her breath. By now they all had to know what had happened to Brayden and that she’d been taken against her will.

And if Cade knew she was in danger, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind he wouldn’t leave a single stone left unturned.

With that thought in mind, Kerrigan pulled in a deep breath, steeled herself for what was about to come, and then…she asked the first question.

“Did you kill Julie Mays?”

“Yes.” The tip of the blade sliced through the skin between her breasts.

Kerrigan gasped but managed to hold back a cry of pain. It burned like hell, but she could tell by the way it felt the knife hadn’t cut into her too deeply.

“Did you kill Crystal DeWalt?”

“Yes.” He moved the weapon to the outside of her left arm. He sliced the blade downward for about three inches before pulling the sharp metal away.

She whimpered, hating that she’d been unable to control her reaction to the pain. Tears filled her eyes once again, but not because she was sad. Because Kerrigan was fucking pissed.

Keep him talking.

“How many people have you killed?”

“I don’t remember.” Another cut was made across her right forearm.

Tears of anger and pain fell from the corners of her eyes, but she ignored it all and kept going.

“Did you kill other women before you moved to Chicago?”

“Yes.” He ran the blade two inches just above her right knee.

The next question she needed an answer to was open-ended, and she prayed he’d be arrogant enough to provide her with as many details as possible.

“Why do you cut them the way you do?”

Morales paused before cutting into a section of her left shin. Kerrigan groaned but pressed her lips together to muffle the sound for fear if she were too loud, he might decide to end the game…and then end her.

“Control.” He cut into the top of her left foot. “I never had it as a child. My mother was the only parent I had, and she controlled everything. What I wore. How I acted. What I could say. Where I went. And if I did something she didn’t like, well…I paid for it with her fists.”

“I’m sorry.” She really was.

She also realized the man had some serious mommy issues.

“I’m not.” Morales shook his head. “She made me who I am today.”

“You’re a killer, Vince.”

“I’m the Alpha, Dr. Rawlins.”

“The Alpha…and the Omega,” she whispered.

“I’m the beginning…” He toyed with her by running the knife up the length of her left leg. “I start by choosing my victims and then, I give them the ultimate end.”

“How did you choose?” She stiffened as she awaited the fire that was most assuredly going to come.

“It was easy, really.” The knife sliced into the skin between her belly button and the spot where the bullet had grazed her earlier when she’d been running from the car. “One of the many ways my job came in handy. Witness statements.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Kerrigan’s breath hitched from her efforts to hold back the tears.

“Is that a question?”

Shit. No, but she needed it to be.

“H-How did you use witness statements to choose your v-victims?”

“I’d pick random cases from various departments, go through the reports, and find a single woman who’d given a written statement to the police. And voila!” He pressed the blade into the skin covering the left side of her ribs.

She cried out that time. A real, loud, sobbing cry of pain. But Morales ignored it and continued bragging about what he’d done.

“I had their names, addresses, where they worked…”

Everything he needed to stalk them before he killed them.

“And Brayden?” Kerrigan had to ask. “Where did he fit into all this?”

“He wasn’t a killer, if that’s what you mean.” Morales sliced her once again. “Our arrangement actually started as something else altogether. It was a total fluke, really. I caught him dealing outside a club here in South Side, and he and I came to a little arrangement.”

“What arrangement?” The question was out of her mouth before she thought of the cost.

She tensed up, whimpering again when another cut was made on her outer right thigh.

“He supplied me with Fentanyl and whatever other kinds of drugs I needed, and I helped him grow his little side business by making sure a few blocks around town were free of prying eyes.”

“You turned him into a drug dealer?”

“No.” Morales made a quick swipe of his blade across her left forearm. “He was already dealing. I made him better. Richer. A true quid pro quo that benefited us both.”

“Did he know you were using the fentanyl to drug the women you were killing?” Kerrigan put those pieces together quickly.

“Not at first.” Another cut. “Not until Julie Mays.”

Kerrigan’s entire body was trembling now. From both the pain and disgust from how nonchalantly this man talked about killing.

She opened her mouth to ask another probing question, but then they heard a sound coming from somewhere up above.

Morales froze, his gaze shooting up toward the ceiling. Kerrigan followed his line of sight, almost as if she expected to be able to see through to the floor above.

“Did you hear that?”

She gave a shaky nod of her head.

He continued listening for a few seconds more before bringing the tip of his knife back to just below her chin. “You make so much as a peep, and I will make good on my promise to pay a visit to your precious Cade. I will hunt him down, cut off his head, and bring it to you so you can look into his eyes as you die knowing his death was all your fault.”

The psychopath winked—actually freaking winked —before rising up, turning around, and walking calmly to the stairs. Kerrigan’s bottom lip trembled, as she waited for him to reach the top.

A painful knot filled the base of her throat as she forced her desperate cry to remain locked inside. She didn’t dare make a sound for fear of sealing both her and Cade’s fates.

There was no doubt this man would do exactly as he’d said. He’d kill Cade. Make her see what he’d done because of her. And then, she’d die, too.

Creaking sounded from the floor directly above. Her abductor’s movements were slow as he made his way past where she sat beneath him, helpless with little hope left that she’d make it out of this alive.

The breath in her lungs stuttered as Morales’s footfalls faded away. Her shoulders shook with a silent sob that was almost impossible to contain.

Kerrigan closed her eyes. She let her head fall forward. And with her chin to her bleeding chest, she gave into the anguish and let her tears fall.

Please, God. Please let there really be someone up there. Please let it be someone who can help.

But even as the silent prayer whispered through her mind, she knew chances were much greater that it was nothing more than a stray cat or a dog.

There’d be no eleventh-hour rescue this time. No team of American heroes bursting through the door. She was going to die here tonight. In this dark, disgusting basement. And no number of desperate prayers was going to change her impending demise.

Morales was going to kill her. He’d come back with his knife, and he would?—

Kerrigan heard footfalls once again, this time coming from the opposite direction. The bastard must have made a full circle, and now it sounded as if he was almost to the door.

Unlike the time before, she kept her eyes shut when she heard its soft creak. She didn’t watch every step the monster made on his way down. Didn’t force herself to meet his cold and evil stare.

She no longer had the strength to keep up the tough girl facade. Her body hurt, and her heart was ripping to shreds. It was all too much. And in the end, the questions and answers hadn’t mattered. The only thing her plan did was cause her to suffer through more pain.

I love you, Cade. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. So sorry I never got the chance to tell you how I really feel.

Kerrigan wished so badly there was a way he could hear her say those precious words. That he’d somehow know just how much he meant to her, and what a difference he’d made in her life.

He’d allowed her to love. Really love. And she’d felt it from him, too.

That was the one thing she’d take with her. It’s what gave her the strength to see herself through to the end.

Kerrigan’s entire body ached, each cut Morales had made feeling as though it was on fire. She was so weak she could no longer lift her head.

But she parted her dry lips when she heard him reach the bottom of the stairs, her voice rough as she told him, “If you’re going to kill me, just do it. No more cuts. No more questions. No more games. If you want me dead, then just…fucking…do it.”

She waited, then. Her head hung low, and her eyes still shut. Kerrigan sat bleeding with her hands pulled tight behind her back, and she waited for the end to come.