You’re going to suffer, Mason Black. You’re going to suffer more than you’ve ever suffered in your life, and then you’re going to die a slow, painful death.
The thought of causing the private eye so much pain offered him a comforting kind of joy. The Lullaby Killer had been through enough, even if you don’t count recent events—events that only served to increase his anger, boiling his blood like it was in a steaming kettle.
Now two of his safe houses were gone. Taken by Mason and his asshole ex-partner. The killer was running out of places to go, as San Francisco only had so many dark corners for him to hide in. How long before he’d have to fix a fake license plate to his RV? How long before they all caught up to him, ending his plan as quickly as he himself had begun it?
The very thought of it made him seethe with anger. It stole his concentration from the wheel. It also didn’t help that the remaining twin was sniveling like a baby in the back of the RV. As soon as he got a chance to stop, he had to remind himself to close the metal sliding door, enabling the soundproof décor once more.
It was past midnight when he reached the motel. He had been here years ago, but it wasn’t a part of his pattern. The odds of him being apprehended here were indeed very low, but he also knew it was a place he could trust. A place of isolation. Of safety. For him, anyway.
The killer booked a room, then backed the RV up close to the door. From there, he climbed into the back and gagged the crying woman. It was pitiful, really. He wondered if she even cared about her sister enough to truly mourn her passing. Was the human mind really capable of such an emotion as love? Sympathy? Pain? He hoped so—otherwise, he would have nothing to aim for with Mason Black.
No pain to cause him when he killed his family.