Bold Strokes

PrologueHe could hear the woman pleading from behind the padlocked door, but wasn’t at all worried about anyone hearing her. They were at least five miles away from a living soul, and the house was surrounded by one hundred-year-old pines that blocked out both the wind and the screams of his prizes. He knew the girl thought she still had a chance at survival. He grinned and chuckled, finishing the last sips of his beer before crushing the can and tossing it in a nearby trash can. It rattled, and the woman uttered a small shriek. Three points he thought, the smile on his face turning to a leer. She had certainly made all sorts of promises the night before when he started his task. But now, he was bored. He sighed and pulled the hunting knife from the confines of its leather sheath. It had been his grandfathers. The antler handle—a hunting trophy from the ‘50s—had been polished smooth by years of use and welcomed his grip like an old friend. Holding it, he felt the power of it. Felt he could do anything. He smiled as he reached for the padlock. It was time.