Meet Ben. He has problems. Like, his best friend is a sock monkey. Like, his father is a psychotic abuser. Like, he just fell in love. Oh, and he's a psychotic serial killer. Meet Louis. He has nothing but opportunities. Like, he's a wealthy realtor. Like, He's handsome and charming and the girls just love him. Like, he's found a fascinating new toy in Ben. Oh, and he's a sociopathic serial killer. When these two meet in the small town of La Costa, Florida, the results can only be a "Turf War". 

Meet Ben, Meet Louis, Together they will paint the town RED

*This book contains explicit themes, language and scenes. It is not recommended for people under the age of 18.

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 About the Author

Cindy Hutchins was raised in the Smokey Mountains of North Carolina in the town of Morganton. She grew up surrounded by the oral tradition of the South and the supernatural. She currently lives in CharlotteNorth Carolina with her son, Gabriel and three very spoiled animals.



The city of La Costa rose to a picture-postcard morning. The sun dawned over a rolling blue sea, middle-aged joggers ran along the water’s edge and whooping gulls followed fishing boats into the Gulf for a free meal. The smell of sea salt, popcorn and cotton candy wafted everywhere, an adrenal rush of summer and youth.

The citizens warily picked up their newspapers and found no news worth reading.  A collective sigh of relief went through the town—the expected tragedy had somehow been averted.

La Costa is a pretty little town like the hundreds of others in Florida. It’s full of retirement communities and million-dollar houses set against the deep, azure ocean. Fifty miles south of Tampa and St. Pete, La Costa was the perfect place for snowbirds and the people who felt that their sister cities had just become too big. Like any other city it had urban blight and a boardwalk filled with charming shops, entertainment pavilions and arcades.

This town seemed normal, like a hundred others in Florida. However, this community of retirees and sun seekers was under a curse. With all the normal drugs, theft and domestic disputes, a high-cycle serial killer also lurked in their midst and the police seemed impotent to stop him.

But this morning quiet filled La Costa—perhaps just the eye of the storm. People of the water’s edge knew to be thankful, to dance in the eye of the hurricane. Maybe the killer had died or gone, just a bad dream from which they had finally awakened.




The kid looked very young in his apron and name tag, which announced “Ben” boldly to the world. Fifty-fifty shot the kid gave his real name—all psychos are liars by nature.

Louis approached the checkout counter. Beside the kid, a dim-eyed, bleached blonde chewed bubblegum idly and flipped though some tabloid rag. It was close to closing time and they all wanted to go home. The very existence of the gum-chewing trollop annoyed Louis to no end, but when the boy raised his ice-blue eyes and met his own, Louis forgot her completely.

He dropped his soon-to-be purchases on the conveyor belt, drawn in by the sleepy, slow fade of the boy’s eyes, and imagined for a just a second that he could see the monster lurking behind them. He’d seen the kid work a victim once before, through a window, but now that he was close, the boy went from nuisance to more like a potential obsession. Louis marveled–he found the boy to be truly magnificent— handsome, homespun, the boy next door.

More than anything, Louis wanted to possess this, to bend it and warp it and make it as ugly as possible.

“So, kid…” Louis’ mouth opened, but his brain wasn’t sure what would come out next. “You still strangling whores?” For a second his own voice startled and shocked him, but quickly the spirit of the game caught him by the throat and whisked him into the moment full force. This heady little pregame was exciting him.

The kid dropped the oranges Louis had grabbed and the cashier looked up, her mouth agape like a pig just before the hammer comes down.

The boy’s blue-eyed gaze bobbled for a second then he sputtered out a half-syllable question.

With all his heart, Louis hoped and prayed the kid was smarter than he sounded and would not incriminate himself, rather than actually being as stupid as he sounded. “I said, have you ever seen them wrangle a horse? I’m thinking of going down to the Mexicana rodeo tomorrow and wondered if there was anything entertaining over there.”

“It’s pretty cool.” The blond harlot chewed her gum like the cud of a cow as she spoke.

Louis turned his hard eyes to her. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the kid.” He wheeled his eyes back to the kid. “So, anything to say for yourself?”

Ben laughed a little too hard. “I thought you asked me if I killed people.”

“Guilty conscience?” A wicked smile played across Louis’ lips.

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “My conscience is fine.” He shoved the bag at Louis and walked to the back to the store.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Louis muttered as the kid walked away. He swiped his card and took his groceries, which he dropped in a dark corner of the parking lot. He walked to his car, sank into the leather of the driver’s seat and sighed. He’d found a new drug in this whole “Ben” thing, which made this his favorite kind of day.