Gage made his living killing people. His specialty was women. Beautiful women. He beat them, tortured them, raped them, and murdered them. Sometimes a bullet to the heart. Sometimes slice-and-dice. This was one of those.

The redhead who lay in his bed wore only a bra and panties. Her skin gleamed like ivory against his black satin sheets as he gazed down at her. “You betrayed me,” he said. “I don’t like it when women betray me.”

Terror filled her green eyes. All the better.

He leaned down and flicked the sheet from her thighs with the tip of his dagger. The gesture galvanized her. She screamed, rolled away, and shot across the room.

He liked it when they fought back, and he let her reach the door before he caught her. She struggled in his arms. When he grew bored with her resistance, he backhanded her. The vicious snap knocked her across the room. She fell onto the bed, breasts heaving, those lovely thighs separating. He showed no emotion beyond a subtle flicker of anticipation. Then his brutally sculpted lips curled in a cruel smile, and one hand flicked open his silver belt buckle.

Gage shuddered. His stomach was unpredictable when it came to atrocities, and unlike the audience in the movie theater, he knew what was coming. He’d hoped the Italian dubbing would distract him enough from the carnage on the screen so he could actually watch his last film, but the remnants of a nasty hangover combined with a serious case of jet lag conspired against him. It was a bitch being Hollywood’s favorite psychopath.

In the old days John Malkovich had done the job, but from the moment the public had set eyes on Ren Gage, they’d wanted to see more of this villain with a face to die for. Until tonight he’d avoided Slaughter Alliance, but since the critics had only mildly detested it, he’d decided to give it a shot. Big mistake.

Rapist, serial killer, assassin for hire. Hell of a way to make a living. In addition to the women he’d mortally abused, he’d tortured Mel Gibson, slammed a tire iron into Ben Affleck’s kneecap, given Pierce Brosnan a nearly fatal chest wound, and gone after Denzel Washington in a nuclear-powered helicopter. He’d even killed Sean Connery. He’d burn in hell for that one. Nobody messed with Sean Connery.