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A Killer's Vengeance

A Killer's Vengeance

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FBI Special Agent Aidan O'Reilly engages in a game of wits against a serial killer with a vendetta. How many lives will be lost before justice is served?

Main Tropes

  • Reluctant Partner
  • Inherited Trauma
  • Isolated Setting
  • FBI
  • Personal Vendetta
  • The Secret Insider


FBI Special Agent Aidan O'Reilly engages in a game of wits against a serial killer with a vendetta. How many lives will be lost before justice is served?

For Special Agent Aidan O'Reilly, learning his balance in a new, but familiar, setting is hard enough. Now he finds himself in the middle of another serial killer case with no seeming connections between victims. When he and his partner investigate a shooting, they discover eerie similarities with an earlier murder.

Determined to find a lead, O’Reilly sifts through clues, looking for the trail to the offender’s identity. But he’s horrified when he discovers the deranged shooter is playing mind games with his victims.

As the bodies pile up, a leak inside their office could derail their investigation. Can O’Reilly bring the sadistic killer to justice before more innocent lives are lost?

If you like chilling cases, tense manhunts, and mind-bending twists and turns, then you'll love Angela Kay's heart-pounding page-turner.

Buy A Killer’s Vengeance to get justice today!

Intro to Ch. 1

The first light of morning bathed the forest in a soft glow, illuminating the shade-loving plants of late summer. The distant symphony of birds and summer insects gradually roused the woods from slumber. A lingering scent of rain hinted at a misty mid-morning, while a cool breeze whispered of impending showers. The wooden hunting stand, moist with dew, exuded the forest's rich, earthy aroma.

Hidden amidst a dense thicket, the stand provided a perfect vantage point. From here, the hunter watched a white-tailed deer emerge cautiously from the underbrush, embodying the serene rhythm of the wild.

Hefting his small-plot smasher ambush 300 blackout, the hunter felt its familiar weight, an extension of his own body honed by daily workouts. This weapon, lethal within two hundred yards, was his silent partner in the hunt, minimizing noise and avoiding unwanted attention.

The shotgun didn’t have a scope, but the hunter didn’t need one. He was a skilled marksman, and the deer, some meters less than two hundred feet, would have been a perfect shot, even if the hunter closed his eyes. He’d been told he had a sixth sense in firing weapons.

However, today, it wasn’t the deer he hunted.

As he waited, his patience settled from years of practice. A scratching sound stole his attention. On his right, two squirrels were at play on the side of a thick oak tree, passing a small acorn back and forth. One squirrel squeaked, turned, and scurried down the trunk of the tree, his mate hot on his heels. The hunter chuckled as he watched until, finally, the voices he’d waited over two hours for floated his way.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” The first voice sounded uncertain. “I mean, it’s like searching for a certain needle that’s buried with a bunch of other needles.”

To the left of the hunting stand, the hunter saw two young men approaching, both wearing bright orange shirts. It was hard to see their faces through the leaves and the still-darkened sky.

But there was no doubt it was them.

“Yeah,” the second boy said. “Let me look at the map again.”

Silence fell through the woods, save for the chirping birds.

The hunter lifted his assault rifle and rested the barrel on the edge of the ledge. Zeroing his eyesight in on the tallest boy, the one holding the map, he waited for just a few seconds.

“It’s definitely around here somewhere. According to the map, we should find the treasure southeast.”

“Which way is that?” the younger of the two questioned.

“Uh, well, east is left, so we’ll go this way.”

The boys began walking again, their gait slow as they focused on the map.

A few more steps.

The hunter heard a bleat, a doe calling for her mate.

“What was that?” the younger boy said. He grasped his companion’s shoulder and scanned the area.

“Will you stop being so skittish? Geez. I should have left you home so I could find the treasure myself.”

“No way!” the younger shrieked. He glanced around as if suddenly afraid someone might be listening. “But what if we get caught? We’re on private property,” the younger boy said. “I don’t want to wind up lost. No one will know how to find us.”

“We’re not going to get lost.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Now shut up and let me concentrate.”

The two boys came into better view, and as if luck were on the hunter’s side, the oldest turned and faced him.

His thick blonde hair curled against his forehead and his eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he scoured the area.

The young man next to him was half an inch shorter, resembling his companion, almost mirror images.

They were, of course, brothers. The hunter knew that. He’d studied them, just as he’d studied all of his targets. He still felt the anger he had as he planned, plotted, and prepared for this moment. The burning sensation simmering underneath the lid was ready to spill out.

A chill crawled up his spine. His hands shook, and the gun rattled ever so slightly. A memory stirred, and he gripped his weapon tight. Closing his eyes, he hoped it soon would pass.

The hunter opened his eyes and watched as the boys slowly resumed trekking through the leaves.

The deer in the opposite direction still searched for food, oblivious that he was not alone.

“Wait, stop,” the older of the boys said. He glanced at the map, then at the tree in front of him. “It’s here, I think. This tree…” He pointed, too engrossed in the paper he still held to look up. “It has the same markings as on the map. What’s written on it?”

He stepped closer, studying the tree, running his hands against the words the hunter had carved when he first arrived hours ago.

“‘The hunt ends here,’” the older boy read. He glanced around until his eyes once again settled on the tree. “Stevie, I’m not so sure about this. This is getting weird.”

Stevie ignored him, kneeling to brush away the thick pile of leaves.

“Braxton! Look. We’ve found the treasure!”

He pulled something from the ground underneath a bed of leaves and studied it with curiosity. “It’s the emerald ring.”

The hunter slid his finger to the trigger of his assault rifle, his heart hammering against his ribcage, the rush of adrenaline almost unbearable. Or, perhaps, it was nerves resurfacing. Whichever the case, he took care to keep his movements steady and not ruin his shot.

It wasn’t his first kill. He’d hunted game before, usually deer. His dad had taken him duck hunting once when he was a boy, but neither liked it. They agreed deer was the way to go.

That was until the hunter decided on a new game.

Somehow, this was more satisfying.

Much more satisfying.

Braxton kneeled next to his brother. “Awesome! Where does it say we go next?”

Stevie ran his hand along the ground, brushing dirt away.

The hunter was going to do it.

“There’s no note. Just this picture.”

The trick was, he knew, not to think twice. It was something he’d dreamed of for years, something he’d wanted, although it wasn’t until recently that he realized what he would do to make things right.

Braxton rose and looked around the tree trunk. “That’s strange. Did we win the game?”

The hunter drew in a heavy breath.

Braxton set his hands on his hips. His eyes glued on the carved message, he shook his head. “I think we should get out of here. There’s something not right about this.”

“Like what?” Stevie turned the picture over to the back. “Hey, there’s writing back here.”

In that moment, the hunter aligned his aim with a cold precision.

Braxton looked around, taking a step back. “C’mon, I really think we should—”

The soft pull of the trigger was nearly imperceptible, the rifle's muted report blending seamlessly into the forest's ambient whispers.

Braxton's expression shifted from curiosity to shock in an instant. He collapsed without a sound, the impact of the bullet silent but deadly. Stevie, startled, turned toward his brother just in time to meet the hunter's unwavering gaze.

Before the younger boy could react, the hunter, with practiced calm, adjusted his aim and fired again. The second shot, just as quiet as the first, found its mark.

As the echoes of the forest resumed, the hunter sat back, his breaths slow and even. The forest, once alive with the day's chorus, now echoed with an unspoken truth. In this secluded haven, the hunter had found a new kind of satisfaction, one that transcended the usual thrill of the hunt.

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