VILLAIN LOVE
Meet Francis Medley
from
Nevever Again
by Angela Sanders
EXCERPT
I felt the cold slice
of a knife as it slid down my left cheek, yet I refused to cry out. I wasn’t
going to allow that sick bastard the pleasure of seeing a hint of emotion pass
across my face. Chained to a dank basement wall—the only light shone from a
small bulb dangling from the middle of the ceiling—I could almost make out the
evil glint in his eyes as he took pleasure in torturing me. “My dearest
Charlotte, your detective colleagues will never find you here. You’re all
alone.” My captor’s beady brown eyes roamed over my body, and then he ripped my
blouse open, exposing my flesh. I remained silent, determined not to give in to
his taunts. Little did he know, I’d called for backup before I entered the
premises. Francis Medley—wanted serial killer—and I just happened to be first
on the scene once we learned of his location. It was by chance that I was off
duty and had heard it called over the radio. My thoughts had raced immediately,
thinking this would be it—we were finally taking the sadistic monster down for
good. In my haste, and error in judgment, I went it alone without waiting for
my partner. Francis had left a calling card on all eight female victims: a
diamond-shaped strip of flesh, expertly cut from their abdomen—death by
asphyxiation—but not without torture. Their bodies were left with multiple
lacerations—some with their tongues removed—but always, the same calling card.
He’d escaped us for nine months, but we’d finally gotten a break on his latest
victim, Tracy Harlan. He had been sloppy and left a small trace of DNA. At
twenty-seven, I’d been working for the New Orleans Homicide Unit for only a
year, finally working my way up and earning my detective badge. It was
something I had always wanted to do since witnessing my parents’ brutal murder
at the age of seven. I was bounced around from foster home to foster home,
until at the age of ten, a wonderful family, Dan and Leanne Pierce, had adopted
me. From then on, they made sure I had the best of everything, making up for
the childhood that had been stolen from me. Francis had taken me down with a
blow to the head, removing my service weapon, just after I’d deemed the front
room secure. He had been hiding in a makeshift secret passageway that I hadn’t
noticed—rookie mistake. Now, I was hanging by chains, experiencing a taste of
what his earlier victims had before he’d murdered them. My heart beat
frantically in my chest. To say I was scared to death would have been an
understatement. When I’d been investigating the murders, I’d always tried to
put myself in the victims’ shoes in order to get into the mind of the serial
killer—feel what he was feeling: the motive, the connection. Now, I was
experiencing it firsthand. The blade slid down my stomach, making a deep cut,
and I couldn’t help but wince. “Scream, little bird. No one can hear you.” His
eyes lit up with something that looked like desire, and it sickened me to the
core. This bastard needed to die a long and painful death. Screw the justice
system. If I were to break free, I was going to kill him myself, so he could
never hurt another living soul. I’d ask for forgiveness later. And where the
hell was my backup? Francis grabbed my hair, yanking my head back so I would
look at him. My blue eyes were cold as ice. He held the steel blade close to my
cheek. Just as he was about to slice the corner of my mouth, I spat in his
face. Slamming my head against the concrete wall, he released his grip from my
coal-black hair. “You’ll pay dearly for that, bitch.” I glared back defiantly,
still not saying a word. Let him come near me again. I had a will of steel—one
he could not break. Rushing toward me with his blade raised high, Francis was
clearly aiming to bring it down on my head, but I jerked away just in time,
then brought up my knee, crushing his balls. Take that, fucker. He fell to the
concrete floor, and I heard the clang of the knife. Panicking, I searched for
it in the dimly lit basement, but the only thing I could see was a toolbelt
with metal flaying instruments, lying across a long wooden table situated in
the middle of the room. I gulped down my fear and said a quick prayer that
maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t get up. How had I not noticed that godforsaken
torture table before? Francis was moaning when he lifted himself from the
floor. “Want to play it rough, do you? Let’s play a game.” He limped over to
the torture table from hell, and I felt my heart nearly gallop out of my chest.
If my backup didn’t arrive soon, I would surely be his next victim. How damn
long did it take? It was midnight for God’s sake! I watched as he stroked his
knives one-by-one, like they were some kind of precious toys, and felt the urge
to vomit. Hot tears were threatening to spill, but I held them back. There was
no way in hell I was going to allow that piece of shit to see me cry. With a
sneer, Francis turned around holding a serrated blade in his right hand. “This
will work perfectly.” He strode toward me in what seemed like slow motion. My
mouth became dry, knowing what was to come. I wasn’t sure if I could maintain
my silence any longer once that knife carved into my skin. I yanked and pulled
on my chains, but I was secured tightly to the wall with very little slack. The
only part of my body that I could move freely was my torso and legs. If I was
going to die, I was going down with one hell of fight. I bucked wildly the
closer he came, and the only sound I could hear was the clanging of the chains
that held me, and his maniacal laughter. “Come any closer, and I promise you, I
will kill you,” I growled, lunging forward, my tone deep and deadly. “Music to
my ears.” He continued to advance slowly as if stalking his prey. “Keep
singing, little bird.” I shut my mouth, knowing he was getting his rocks off. I
decided to wait until he was close enough to make my next move. Without
warning, I felt searing pain in my right leg—the son of a bitch had thrown the
knife and hit his target. I held back my cry, throwing my head against the
wall. Sweat was dripping down my face. I knew I was losing a lot of blood; my
vision became blurred, and dizziness washed over me. Then I felt a whoosh as
the knife was ripped from my body, and I sank to the floor with only chains
holding me upright. Another strike, this time in my left arm. Darkness ebbed my
vision, and the last thing I saw was the face of evil, masked behind beady
brown eyes and long, greasy brown hair, then nothingness.
ABOUT
She fought to leave
her past behind her, but for Charlotte, there is no escape. New Orleans
Homicide Detective, Charlotte Pierce, was on the hunt for a sadistic serial
killer who was known for slicing his prey, when she nearly became his ninth
victim. In an effort to leave her past behind her, she walked away from her
profession to start a new life, until a copycat killer hit too close to home.
Now Charlotte must work with the department to find the killer and put this
nightmare to rest once and for all, but that means facing her demons, and
reliving the trauma she’s tried so hard to forget. When people close to her
start dying, she knows she’s going to be next. Charlotte refuses to be another
victim. She won’t let it happen. Never again.
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Last week's Villain
romantic suspense by USA Today bestselling author Carlyle Labuschagne
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