The only thing Sylvia loved as much as Jean-Pierre was the thrill of the hunt. He'd taught her well. Rule number one? Don't get caught. Rule number two? Hurt no innocents. Rule number three? Leave no trace.

That meant wearing rubber gloves, a balaclava that covered her nose and mouth, and the proper attire.

Good thing her power didn't require direct skin-on-skin contact. Only Jean-Pierre shared that level of intimacy with her. Not these creeps.

The dregs of society didn't deserve her pity or her mercy. They were food. Cattle. No, even worse. They belonged behind bars for life but had gotten away with murder, rape, and more thanks to an unjust legal system.

Like this piece of work laying asleep before her. Alex Luciano. A former football star with rugged good looks and a body fit for a sports magazine. He'd earned a full scholarship to Harvard simply because he could pass a ball and sprint like Usain Bolt.

Granted, he'd worked hard and had plenty to show for it. Life had handed him a way to get filthy rich, recruited by one of the best teams in the nation on a multimillion dollar contract.

Until the allegations had started and Alex had lost it all.

So many underage girls had fallen prey to the twenty-three-year-old pedophile who couldn't wait one damned year or two until they were perfectly legitimate dating prospects. Alex was rich, though. That meant he could afford some of the best defense lawyers in Boston.

Alex received not a single conviction. Not one.

Most women settled on the advice of their lawyers. Some didn't even bother filing charges against him. The ones who persevered despite legal advice found themselves raked them over the coals more than Alex and ended up with nothing to show for it.

Sylvia suppressed a snarl as she touched the man's temples. For one desperate moment, Alex stared at her, wide-eyed before he tumbled down the rabbit hole.

Into Sylvia's nightmare where she could play with him like a cat with an injured bird.

I'll see justice done, you pig.