He brought in a few more buckets and positioned them below Derrick’s hands. For the blood. They’d been right that their killer was obsessively neat. Besides the buckets and boards, he had rope and padding, which she recognized for wrapping the wrists, scissors, and the gasoline can.

She didn’t see anything that might aid her escape. She moved to the right an inch, wondering if she could make her way to the opposite side of the room without the killer noticing. Impossible.

Could she pretend to faint? Would he stop?

She placed that thought in her “maybe” category.

She could rush at him, throw herself into him in a tackle.

With your arms tied? One blow to your face and you’re out cold again.

He was big. Not bulky, but tall. And physically handled Derrick without any problems.

The killer calmly cut off chunks of Derrick’s hair. Ava watched it fall to the floor, eerily reminiscent of her hair being cut at her salon. The act seemed to push Derrick over the edge. He flailed against his restraints and jerked his head back and forth. The killer glanced at Ava.

“He knows what will happen. I’m going slowly, step by step, so that he’s mentally tortured. It’d be too kind to kill him immediately.”

Ava shook her head at him. The killer gave her a condescending look. “You wanted this. I’m doing this for you.” Anger flashed across his face, and Ava froze.

She didn’t want that anger focused on her. It was too easy to see herself tied to his boards, an iron ring under her back.

She ducked her head in submission. Keep him calm.

The killer went back to his haircut, scraping Derrick’s scalp with his scissors on some of the cuts and making the man cry harder. The hands holding the scissors jerked in impatience. Sweat beaded on the killer’s forehead, and Ava saw drops slide down his temples.

He’s not entirely comfortable with the path he’s chosen.

How could she use that to her advantage?

Hair drifted down and landed on his shoes. He started to mutter. His speech a jumble of swear words and commands for Derrick to hold still. She heard him mix up his words again. With each vocal mistake, he jerked his head in resentment and his scissors chopped harder.

When Derrick was nearly bald, the man tossed the scissors into one of the buckets. Ava stared at the bucket. If I could get my hands on the scissors. The killer took out a utility knife and held it next to Derrick’s neck. The man shrieked behind his ball gag as the killer calmly dragged the knife down Derrick’s chest, cutting open his T-shirt. Realizing the knife hadn’t touched his skin, Derrick went limp in relief. The killer tucked the knife back in his front pants pocket and slowly unbuttoned his own shirt. He held the shirt open, letting Derrick see his chest.

“See the marks? I have them, too. We all have to pay as she did. The marks show our respect for the female form.”

What the fuck? Respect?

Ava caught a glimpse of infected slashes on the killer’s chest. He’d cut the same symbols they’d seen on Joe Upton. He pulled his knife back out and slashed at Derrick’s chest. He screamed. Ava looked away and fought back the bile in her throat.

The hair, the marks on the chest. What was next? She thought back to the last body. That was the extent of the degradation beyond the hanging and wrists. Clearly the killer planned to perform those two steps, but he’d always added something new to each death. What new element would be added to Derrick’s?

Her gaze went to the gasoline can, remembering Derrick’s reaction to it. Oh, no.

The killer stared at the triangles he’d carved into Derrick’s chest and started to ramble. Ava listened closely but the words were a tangled mess. He tentatively touched one of the cuts and smeared the blood across Derrick’s chest as his lips continued to move in his monologue. Ava caught Carson’s, Aaron’s, and Joe’s names. He seemed to be reliving conversations with the men. Derrick held still, his gaze locked on the ceiling, too terror-stricken to look into the eyes of the man who was about to kill him.

Ava scooted over another foot. One look from the killer and he’d notice she was no longer in the corner, but she hoped he was distracted by the man under his hands. She hadn’t seen him lock the door behind him. And when she’d examined the door earlier, there hadn’t been an apparent locking mechanism on the inside. It had to be unlocked.

If she could get to the door . . .

Then what? Sprint with her hands tied behind her back? Sprint where?

People. She just needed to get to where there were other people.

The killer turned. “What do you think? Has he suffered enough?”

Ava froze. And nodded.

He smiled. “No, he hasn’t. You’re getting soft.” He frowned as he noticed how she’d moved out of the corner. “Going somewhere?”

She shook her head, and he gave her a patronizing smile.

“I think we’ll take a trip.” He looked back at Derrick and stroked the man’s wrist, his knife in the other hand. Derrick squirmed, his eyes bulging. “No, not yet. I want you conscious for the next part.”

The gasoline?

Ava choked back saliva, making a coughing sound behind her tape. He gave her a puzzled look. “Are you all right?”

She ducked her chin again and shook her head. He was at her feet instantly, tearing the tape from her mouth. Tears burned her eyes as her lips felt ripped away.

“Breathe,” he ordered.

She took deep breaths, her attention focused on the blood on his fingertips that held the duct tape. He’d touched her skin as he ripped off the tape. Was Derrick’s blood on her face?