Page 1 of No Small Sin

CHAPTERONE

Beck

For weeks I’d known who was next.Alexander fucking Benz.

I could almost feel his panic-stricken pulse beneath my fingertips now, easily imagining the moment it would flutter and then cease to beat under my touch altogether.

I’d been waiting for the stars to align, and tonight they would.

Stalking prey was something I considered neither thrilling nor tedious. It fell somewhere in between — meeting a baser need while also sometimes assuring that my ass was covered when any questions arose.

And they would.

They always did.

Yet, no one ever seemed to ask the right ones, blind to the facts. People often see what they want to see.

And what I show them.

This time would be no different, with only one exception — The Stalk.

There are onlytwothings in the entire world that make my heart thud in any substantial way against the inner shell of my ribcage. Two things that would see me out of bed at five o’clock on a Saturday morning: the prospect of freshly spilled bloodand18 holes before noon at South Shore Golf Course.

There was something in the early morning dew. The cold bite of the iron against my palm. The heavy smack of the clubhead against the ball. Watching it soar through the air, hitting its mark with near-lethal precision almost every single fucking time.

I felt like a kid again, the air around me similar to those first early morning field trips, a time when I actuallyfelt.

It did something for me in a way that not much else did. Ilivedfor this shit.

Lucky for me, Alexander did too.

Or, perhaps cart staff at a golf course owned by your parents was one of the few jobs available to a person when your multiple sex offenses show up in criminal background checks. Though, it was on the national sex offender registry that I personally found what I was looking for. Having the ability to type in any address and search within a three mile radius for these absolute pieces of shit was a game changer for someone like me. Names, aliases, and exact locations. It was basically a fucking shopping list. The only other thing needed was a quick Google search to determine if their actual offenses made them truly worth my time or not.

In this case? Very much yes.

I opened the trunk of my SUV.

“Let me help you with that,Sir.” The muscle in my jaw ticked at the mere sound of his voice. My fingers itched to snap forward, to grab the lug wrench I’d deftly stored in an accessible side compartment next to my golf bag.

I flexed my hand and turned to face him. Inhaling a long and sharp breath through my nostrils, my eyes roved over the face I’d looked at probably a hundred times at this point through my computer screen.

I forced a tight smile. “Sure.”

I stepped out of the way, allowing him access to my bag.

I wanted nothing more than to hear the sound of his skull fracturing beneath the blunt force of the nearest heavy object.

The wrench. My irons.

The back hatch of my SUV would probably do the trick if I slammed it hard enough. A cervical fracture would almost be too easy.

He was right there, the base of his skull totally open and unprotected as he leaned over to heave my clubs over his shoulder.

Spinal cord injuries don’t require much effort. I could probably even make it look like an accident.

But it wasn’t time.

In reality, I didn’t have to be here today. In this particular case, I simply wanted to be. I enjoyed toying with my victims. Putting myself into their personal space for a short time, allowing them a glimpse.

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