S** Serial rapist/serial killer attacks a woman in her home. Later a psychic has a vision of the same incident.

Carolina Moon (2000) by Nora Roberts. Excerpts from an eBook. Warning: snuff

Chapter 19

    A movement at the corner of her eye had her heart wheeling into her throat. The bowl flew out of her hands, and she managed one short scream.

    Then a hand clamped over her mouth. The knife she'd used to make her dinner pricked at her throat.

    "Be quiet. Be very, very quiet, and I won't cut you. Understand?"

    Her eyes were already circling wildly.

    Wings of fear beat in her belly, had her skin going hot and damp. But confusion rode over it. She couldn't see his face, but thought she recognized the voice. It made no sense. No sense at all.

    His hand slid slowly away from her mouth to grip her chin. "Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me."

    “Now, why would I do that?" Her hair smelled sweet. A whore's blond hair. "Let's go in the bedroom where we can be comfortable."

    "Don't." She gasped as the edge of the knife teased along her throat, tipped up her chin. The scream was inside her, desperate to burst out, but the knife turned it into silent tears as he pushed her out of the kitchen.

    Her patio doors were closed now, the blinds shut. "Mongo. What did you do with Mongo?"

    "You don't think I'd hurt a nice, friendly dog like that do you?" The power of the moment cruised through him, spread, made him hard and hot and invincible. "He's just taking a quiet nap. Don’t you worry about a thing. This is going to be just what you want.”

    He shoved her belly down on the bed, put his knee in the small of her back and added weight. He'd brought precautions. A man had to be prepared, even for a whore. Especially for a whore.

    After a while, they screamed no matter what. And he didn't want to use the knife. Not when he was so good with his hands. He took the bandanna from his pocket, gagged her.

    When she began to stir, when she began to struggle, he was in heaven.

    She wasn't weak. She kept the body she liked to flaunt and tease men with in good shape. It only excited him to have her struggle. The first time he hit her, the thrill of it slammed into him like sex. He hit her again so they both understood who was in charge.

    He tied her hands behind her back. He couldn't afford those nails with their sluttish pink polish scraping any of his skin.

    Quietly, he walked over to shut the curtain and close them into the dark.

    She was moaning against the gag, dazed from the blows. The sound of it made him tremble so that he nicked her skin a little as he used the knife to cut her clothes away. She tried to roll, tried to buck, but when he put the point of the blade just under her eye, pressed, she went very still.

    "This is what you want." He unzipped, then flipped her onto her back and straddled her. "It's what you asked for. What you all ask for."

    When it was done, he wept. Tears of self-pity ran down his face. She wasn't the one, but what else could he do? She'd put herself in his path, she'd given him no choice.

    It wasn't perfect! He'd done everything he'd wanted and still it wasn't perfect.

    Her eyes were glazed and empty as he took off the gag, kissed her cheeks. He cut the cord from her wrists, stuffed it back in his pockets.

    He turned her music off, and left the way he'd come in.

Chapter 22

    "He was there. Just there." Tory's breathing came in quick, short bursts now. She had both hands fisted at her throat. "You didn't hear him. You can't see him. There's a knife. He has a knife. Oh God, oh God, oh God. His hand's over your mouth, squeezing. The knife's at your throat. You're so scared. So scared. You won't scream. You won't. You'll do anything if he doesn't hurt you.

    "His voice is at your ear, soft, quiet. What did he do with Mongo? Did he hurt him? It's all tumbling in your head. It's not real. It can't be real. But the knife's so sharp. He pushes you and you're afraid you'll stumble and the knife ... "

    She shuffled out of the kitchen, braced a hand on the wall when she swayed. "The blinds are drawn. No one can see. No one can help. He wants you in the bedroom, and you know what he's going to do. If you could only get away, away from the knife."

    Tory froze at the door to the bedroom. Nausea rolled into her in short, choppy waves. "I can't. I can't."

    She turned her face to the wall, struggling to find herself through all the fear and violence. "I don't want to see this. He killed her here, why do I have to see it?"

    "That's enough." Cade shoved away Carl D.'s restraining hand. "Goddamn it, that's enough."

    But when he reached for Tory, she stumbled away. "It's in my head. I'll never get it out of my head. Don't talk to me. Don't touch me."

    She pressed her hands to her face, trapping her own breath, and let it claw back inside her.

    "Oh. Oh. He pushes you on the bed, facedown. And he's on top of you. He's already hard, and feeling him, feeling him pressing against you, you struggle. The fear's wild inside you. Huge, choking. There's a heat to it. Fear burns."

    She moaned, went down to her knees beside the bed. "He hits you. Hard. The back of the neck. The pain's so sharp, it rushes through you, stuns you. He hits you again, the side of your face explodes with it. You taste blood. Your own blood. Blood tastes the same as terror. The same. He yanks your arms behind your back, and the pain of that's just another layer."

    Tentacles of that pain slithered and groped inside her, tangled with a horror so huge it seemed the mass of it all would burst out of her brain. She pressed her face to the side of the mattress, dug her fingers into it.

    "It's dark. The room's dark, and the music's playing and you can't think over the pain. You're crying. You try to plead with him, but he's tied a cloth over your mouth. He hits you again and you start sliding away somewhere. Half conscious, you hardly feel it when he cuts your clothes away. The knife nicks you, but it's worse, so much worse when he uses his hands on you."

    Tory doubled over, wrapped her arms around her belly, and began to rock. "It hurts. It hurts. You can't even cry when he's raping you. Just let it be over, but he keeps beating himself into you and you have to go away. You have to be somewhere else. You have to go away."

    Exhausted, Tory laid her head on the side of the bed, closed her eyes. It was like being smothered, she thought dimly. Like being buried alive, so the blood rings in your ears like a thousand bells and the sweat that coats your body is cold. So viciously cold.

    She had to fight her way back into the air.

    Back into self.

    "When he was finished with her, he strangled her with his hands. She couldn't fight anymore. She cried, or he did. I can't tell. But he cut the rope from around her wrists. He took it with him. He didn't want to leave any of himself behind, but he did. Like an ice rime on glass. I can't stay here. Please get me out of here. Please get me away from here."