Zoe Rosi - Pretty Evil

PRAISE FOR PRETTY EVIL (PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED AS PREDATOR )

Utterly unputdownable, the novel is not only complexly plotted but lyrically written, with vivid and striking lines that will linger in the readers mind.

Daily Express

Rosi fires on all cylinders in this stylish erotic thriller. A dark, hugely enjoyable read that had me rooting for the cold-blooded killer.

G.D. Abson, bestselling author of Motherland and Black Wolf

Oh-my-word! A seriously dark, explicit, no-holds-barred novel that will send shivers down your spine!

Noelle Holten, bestselling author of Dead Inside and Dead Wrong

One of the best books I have read this year. Simply outstanding.

Keri Beevis, bestselling author of Dying To Tell and Deep Dark Secrets

If you enjoyed American Psycho , you will love this!

A.J. Campbell, bestselling author of Leave Well Alone and Dont Come Looking

Super-taut and pacy thriller. This novel will have you on the edge of your seat.

Sophia Spiers, author of The Call of Cassandra Rose

Dark, twisted and satisfying.

J.A. Andrews, bestselling author of You Let Him In and Mummys Boy

ALSO BY ZOE ROSI

Someones Watching Me

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Text copyright 2020, 2023 by Zoe Rosi

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

First published as Predator by Bloodhound Books in 2020. This edition contains editorial revisions.

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781542037167

ISBN-10: 1542037166

Cover design by The Brewster Project

CONTENTS

Chapter One

The date rape drug hed intended to give me has knocked him out so hard hes barely even flinched, despite being dragged to the top of a twelve-storey building, stripped naked and bound to a post.

His head lolls towards his chest. I stand back to admire him, taking in his slumped frame as he wilts against the pressure of his rope bindings. He looks Christ-like, vulnerable. His skin is grey in the murky moonlight. His body is incredible. Hardly surprising, since he seems to spend half his life at the gym. His stomach is taut, rippled with abs. His pecs are straight from a swimwear ad, his broad shoulders and ripped arms built like a boxers. His biceps are strong, lined with veins that will soon cease to pump blood. He has the kind of arms that could pin you down so tightly you wouldnt be able to move a muscle. His hands are large the least attractive part of him: dry, thick, stubby. Theyre the type of hands that could grip your wrists and stifle screams. Hands that could have killed me tonight. Hands that would have hurt me. Hands that would have held me in place while he raped me.

I let my eyes wander down to his cock, which would probably have been pounding away inside me around now if things had gone his way. I could tell pretty early into our date that he was a predator. Perhaps it takes one to know one, but I could see it in his dark eyes and sly glances, the hungry way he took in my body, the type of questions he asked, his eagerness to buy me drinks. He probably didnt think I had it in me to notice. Of course he didnt. He just saw my shiny, sweeping hair, my lashes, my clothes, my smile. He saw what everybody else sees: my mask.

Its several hours earlier and were one drink into our date. Hes wearing a crisp navy shirt, and asking the kinds of questions that could pass for ordinary getting-to-know-you chit-chat, but actually provide highly useful nuggets of information for rapists. Do I have many friends locally? Am I close to my family? Do I live alone? Do I get on with my neighbours? He probably thinks hes coming across as interested in my life, rather than concerned about whether someone will hear a struggle or see him leaving the scene. He probably doesnt think I suspect a thing, but he doesnt know me.

I excuse myself to go to the toilet and deliberately leave my glass of Shiraz alone with him: a test. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk to the bathroom. I feel them land on my body, sliding over my hair, my waist, my arse, my legs. I turn to look at him over my shoulder. His gaze darts back up to my eyeline. I give him an indulgent, flirty smile and he winks. He literally winks.

I head through the door leading to the toilets, and once Im on the other side, I shudder. Eughhh . I walk past the ladies and slip through the fire escape at the end of the corridor instead. The air is cool as I step out into the alleyway where the bins are kept. I came here a few weeks ago and I remember the layout. Its a new place, not far from my flat.

I hold the fire escape door ajar and look around for something to jam it open with. I scan the ground, but I cant see anything. I reach into my handbag and pull out an eyeshadow palette. Its longish and narrow; itll do. I wedge it between the doors and then I creep, ninja-like, to the front of the bar. I peer through a gap in the curtains and watch Julian. Thats my dates name. Quite a nice name, actually. Wasted on someone like him.

For a minute, as I watch him sitting there, his back to me, staring into space, I wonder if maybe Ive got this all wrong. He looks bored. My glass of Shiraz is untouched. Perhaps hes not going to tamper with it after all. Maybe all those questions came naturally to him, and he just has a unique interest in my neighbourly relations. But then, suddenly, he leans forward. He moves my drink closer to him. Here he goes. I was right. My guts always right. Julian reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls something out. He looks around, checking no ones looking, and then he brings his hand up to my glass, swiftly dropping a pill into my wine. Done. In less than a second. He slides my glass back across the table, before reclining in his chair.

I knew it, but even my suspicions werent enough to prepare me for this: the feeling. The prickling, cold, sinking, empty, suffocating feeling. The icy vice that constricts my heart, my throat, my lungs. Again. And again. And again.

I turn to head back to the fire escape. My shock is morphing into something different now: a lip-curling, snarling sense of disgust. The kind of disgust that makes your skin crawl.

Fucking asshole. Fucking prick. Fucking, fucking prick, I spit to myself as I pace down the alleyway. I knew Julian was a bad guy, but a rapist ? How dare he?

I pull the fire escape door open, scoop my eyeshadow palette off the ground and slip back inside. For a moment, I pause in the corridor and catch my breath. Adrenaline is surging through me. Rage. A normal woman would call the police at this point. But a normal woman would never have been paranoid enough in the first place to pretend to go to the toilet, only to sneak out of the fire escape and spy through a window to watch what her date does when he has five minutes alone with her drink. Nope. A normal woman would have gone to the loo, done a pee and topped up her lipstick. Or shed have texted a friend about her hot date, feeling giddy with hope and excitement.

Now, lets think about what would have happened to a normal woman.