SILENCING SAPPHIRE (Sapphire Dubois, Book 2)

Chapter 1

There were two people in the garage that night and only one of them was going to make it out alive.

The light bulbs in the staircase were dying. They flickered on and off as if the building was trying to warn her. Run. He's coming for you.

In the darkness he felt superhuman. The strobe effect moved him from one place to the next in the blink of an eye. She was three flights above him and every time the light flashed back on, he was that much closer to her.

How? was the only question running though his mind. How will she die?

Unlike his fellow murderers, who seemed to have one set M.O., he refused to be redundant. The girl's personality mattered to him, but other than that, he lived his life not day by day, but moment to moment. He ate when he wanted to, killed when he wanted to, and worked only when he wanted to. Unless, of course, he was with his mother, then he did everything she wanted to.

That wasn't the only thing that separated him from the others with a thrill for a kill. He never kept track of how many he slayed. There were only two kills that mattered to him, his first and his next.

The first time he killed was accidental. He was raping a young woman in the alley by a crowded downtown street when it happened.

With tears in her eyes, she reached toward the bustling masses only five yards away. She screamed and he squeezed his hand hard over her lips and nose, drowning her voice with pressure. It took him awhile to realize that the reason her body stopped trembling wasn't because she gave into him, but because he stole her breath.

He would never forget how that last tear trickled down her cheek. Her lifeless eyes and hand still reached to the busy crowd, as if they could save her from death.

Staring down at her, he realized that stealing life was power in its absolute form. He thought raping gave him control, but her death gave him something more. She was dead because he had the power to end her life. The feeling was indescribable. He wanted to repeat and relive that moment of death for the rest of his life.

Tonight was no different.

He flew up the staircase, two steps at a time, chasing after her. She was one level above him now. He could feel the urge to kill rising within him. Hot, black, and overpowering, it poured out of him. He prepared to become her God.

Though she pretended otherwise, he knew she was sacred. Her steps were short and fast because she was tense. Like the others, she didn't want to run because, in her mind, the person following her was not a deranged serial killer, but simply someone who had parked on the same level as her.

But the man following her was, in fact, a deranged serial killer. She was getting the warning signals, but years of social training—don't make a fool of yourself—overrode her survival instincts.

So many girls could have gotten away from him had they listened to their instincts and ran. Honestly, he wasn't that fast.

He leaned over the railing, catching a glimpse of her brown hair and petite frame before she got off on her level.

Her name, which he loved, was that of a gemstone. Then again, weren't all their names gems, sweets, or months of the year?

He took his time with the last steps, grateful that she decided to take the stairs instead of the old elevator. The chase allowed him the time he needed to figure out how she would die.

In order to repeat the feeling of surprise from his first kill, he kept his options open. He might decide on throat-cutting, for instance, then change his mind and rip her esophagus out with his bare hands instead.

For this gem, he already passed on the usual kills. Stabbing felt cliché. Strangling too boring. Decapitation overrated.

The bulb flashes grew faint, their life coming to an end. Like hers.

He sped up and the rapid beats of his steps bounced between the thick cement walls of the garage. He knew she heard him coming. When he reached the last steps, he saw her run.

The bulbs burned out and the staircase turned black. He stared at her from a blanket of darkness. She was exposed and her sprint reminded him of a terrified rabbit.

He knew what he wanted.

He wouldn't kill her in the garage. He would bring her to the woods. There, she would be strung upside down in a tree and skinned alive.

His gaze drew to the humming metal box next to the garage's elevator and a smirk spread across his face. He grabbed his knife and stabbed it into the generator.

The overhead lights shut off in a domino effect that ended at the girl. As the last overhead went out she stopped. After a moment, she moved again. Her pace was fast and focused now, the sound of a woman running for her life.

He moved toward her in the shadows, traveling fast and on light feet. He hid behind a wall divider and peered at her as she scrambled through her purse for the keys. She looked over her shoulder every second, her senses yelling that she wasn't alone.

He waited until she found her keys and got into her car. Just as she exhaled, believing she was out of harm's way, he lunged for her.

He ripped the door open and reached for her. She let out a sharp scream and grabbed his arm. She fought back.

He knew she wouldn't go down without a battle. She was a tough one, which is why he liked her. He just didn't expect her to be so strong.

Trapped by her twisting grip, his knees buckled under him and it looked as though he was losing. It caught him off guard. He was supposed to be Zeus, not her.

He let his free hand search for something, anything. His fingers wrapped around the base of her side mirror and ripped it off.

He swung the back of the mirror and smashed it into her face. Again and again, he heard her bones crack and her skull shatter. He bashed until there was nothing left to bash. He didn't stop until his face was covered in her blood.

As her lights went out, the overheads burst back on; the backup generator had kicked in.

He looked down at her and his adrenaline pumped, filling him with life. Her pretty face was gone. Bloody flesh and fragments of her nose remained.

He headed for the elevator, grinning. The bashing was wonderful, just as unexpected and fulfilling as his first. He killed for fun, and she—his gem—was just that.

The elevator doors closed, and his smile faded on cue. This always happened when the moment was over. She, who had just meant everything to him, now meant nothing. She was in the past, just as forgotten as the others.

He sighed, knowing he would have to walk around with the hollowness as he waited for the only thing that mattered: his next.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened.

Then again, he thought, trying to be optimistic as he looked at his blood splattered watch, the night is young.

And his curfew wasn't until 11:30.