Page 25 of Some Saviors Can Break You

Lunging toward her, he managed to reach her just as she got her hand on the doorknob and threw it open.

She opened her mouth, and he could see she was dragging in a breath ready to scream at the top of her lungs. If she did, everyone within earshot would be calling the cops and come running to see if there was anything they could do to help.

That wasn't happening.

Grabbing a handful of hair, he yanked backward, and she screeched and stumbled.

“You don’t get to leave,” he hissed as he threw her onto the floor and closed the door.

The woman was a fighter, and she was already crawling toward a table where he could see a cell phone.

Stepping forward, he kicked her in the side as hard as he could.

She gasped in pain and fell flat on her stomach, clutching at her ribs.

He followed up with another kick because he was annoyed that everything had been messed up. He was bleeding, she’d gotten to the door and gotten it open so he couldn’t know for sure if anyone had seen or heard something that they shouldn’t,which meant this whole thing was ruined. He had to call it off, that was the only sensible thing to do.

That didn't mean the woman got to live.

He’d meant what he said before, she didn't get to leave.

His foot pressed down on her back, and he shoved her into the carpet, pleased when she cried out in agony as he stomped on her no doubt broken ribs.

“You ruined everything, because of that you’re going to suffer before you die. Women think they get to do whatever they want, they don’t care about the pain they cause, they don’t care about anyone but themselves. All you do is poison everything you touch. You should have stayed locked in the house cooking and cleaning, it’s all you’re good for.”

Reaching down, he curled both hands into her robe and lifted her off the floor, throwing her across the room. He stalked over to where she had landed and kicked her again, this time in the face, before hefting her up and tossing her again.

Throwing another punch at her face, he was satisfied when he got her right in the mouth, wiping away her ability to ever again give a smug smile. He grabbed her shoulders, slamming her head into the floor over and over again, then curled his hands around her neck and squeezed.

By the time the woman was limp, the life choked out of her, he was breathing hard, his heart drumming in his chest, tears of anger and release blurring his vision.

His outburst had achieved what he’d wanted, but it had also been loud and messy. There was no way he could stay here and clean everything up, and he wasn't prepared to take the body with him when he left, that meant he was just going to have to hope that any of his own blood and DNA that had been left behind would be buried under all of the woman’s blood.

Standing, he wiped her blood from his hands then realized he was now smeared in blood, he could hardly go back outsidelooking like this, but he didn't have time to hang around and clean up. If someone had heard the scuffle then the police could already be on the way here.

There was a black coat hanging on a hook by the door, it looked big, and he thought he might fit into it. It was a woman’s jacket, but it was still early, and there shouldn’t be too many people about. He only had to get to his car, and even if it drew attention it was better than walking away covered in blood.

Delivering one last kick to the dead woman lying at his feet, he grabbed the jacket, put it on, and then hurried through the building as quickly as he could.

7:10 A.M.

Anger.

When Florence walked into the room that was the first thing she thought.

There was blood smeared on two of the walls, and on several places on the carpet. The body of Jana Friedrick lay in an awkward position on her side, off to one side of the room.

About an hour ago, one of the neighbors in the building had been walking past on their way to work and noticed the door half open. He’d stopped and looked inside, and as soon as he’d seen the blood and the body, he’d immediately called 911.

Given the message on the wall, she and Jake had been called in.

Whoever had beaten Jana to death, had left behind a drawing of an eye, done in blood, on one of the apartment walls.

Given that the Dumpster Killer had been leaving a message about being nothing on his victims, and had been dumping thebodies in the pattern of an eye, they had come to the only logical conclusion that Jana was the killer’s sixteenth victim.

Only something had obviously gone wrong.

With every other victim, the killer had kept them alive for two days, as evidenced by the timeline of when they had last been seen and time of death, and the fact that there were red marks on their wrists and ankles indicative of being restrained for a period of time. From the looks of things, Jana had been strangled, but only after she had been badly beaten.

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