Excerpt- Netted Book 1- The Beginning

A match. A message. A murder. The dark web's most notorious killer is streaming, and you're about to become part of the show.

Dale Tilson thought online dating would help him move on from his failed relationship. Instead, it delivers him into the hands of a psychotic killer named Marla. Surviving her initial attack is only the beginning of his nightmare. In another corner of the internet, teenage Jessica becomes dangerously entangled with Father Paul's sinister live-stream channel, where torture becomes entertainment for his twisted audience. Their worlds collide in a remote Michigan barn, where Father Paul's cult of killers forces them to make an impossible choice. With the cameras rolling and sadistic viewers betting on their fate, Dale and Jessica must face a terrifying reality: in this game, is survival even possible?

Netted The Beginning is the first book in K.T. Rose's Netted Series. For fans of disturbing suspense, technological terror, and relentless action, this gripping story delivers a horrifying glimpse into the depths of human depravity.

Grab your copy now and discover why some matches are deadly.

Prologue

Sully lifted his heavy eyelids. The blue luminescent light stung, making him squint. He grunted, bringing life to his sore throat. His mouth felt like he’d sucked down a jar of cotton balls. He went to move his arms to wipe the crust from his eyes, much like he’d done every morning throughout his forty-seven years of life.

The belligerent clanging of metal sounded as chains smacked the chair’s steel arms while they held his wrists down.

He shifted his shoulders and met a sheer resistance. An extended grip spanned the length of his chest, crinkling his dingy black t-shirt underneath it. Chains wrapped him so tight; he felt the chill from the links deep in his lungs and heart. He went to move his legs and found his ankles in a similar condition, pressed hard against the chair’s steel legs.

A migraine split his brain, causing him to utter a harsh grunt. This was worse than the tequila hangover from the time he dropped off supplies in El Centro. It was even worse than the time he flew into the grassy knoll off I-64 outside of Louisville, lodging his sleeping face into the thick steering wheel of his rig. This discomfort was a new pain that left his head, from his temples up to his forehead, feeling like aching, useless mush.

Breathing hard, he peered forward with wide eyes. A camera stared back into his face as it sat on a tripod. The dark lens gleamed in the harsh light.

Sweat trickled down his forehead as he tried moving his fingers, but they sat stiff, purple and bulged at the tips as if blood stopped flowing past his bound wrists hours ago.

“Help!” he wailed. He cleared his throat to loosen the thick grogginess in his tone.

His heart dropped when a door to his right swung in, allowing a figure to enter.

The figure approached and stood between Sully and the camera before crouching. The only thing Sully could make of the man before him was the sweater taut against his wide chest and broad shoulders. The cursive letters on his right pec read: Father Paul. A black ski mask hid his face.

“Please…buddy…” Sully cleared his throat again. The stale taste of sleeper’s breath coated his mouth. “You gotta help me. I don’t know where I am…where my rig is…”

The man only stared, his dark eyes scolding Sully from behind a pair of thick goggles.

Sully passed the stranger a peculiar glare as he tried recollecting thoughts from the past few hours. How’d he get here? The last thing he remembered was the motel room off I-94, a big slab of a road. He and his rig were on the way to the Windy City to drop off some car parts from Albany. He’d made perfect timing, nearly setting a record. There was more than enough time to stop two hours west of the Motor City at a dive: Pete’s Grill.

While sitting at the bar, a beaver, Pam, approached him at the bar. Her thick lips and cherry-red hair left him stiffened below the belt. The way that red dress hugged her curvy body made him want to explore what lay underneath it. She was a queen, the type to be his significant other, and deep down, he’d hoped to ask her to take on the road with him. She’d be a beautiful passenger seat cover for the old dog. A worthy companion for a man who only knew the road and planned to live out his days riding it. But it wasn’t only because of her youthful face and gentle smile. It was the noteworthy conversation; she knew a lot about rigs and trailers. Trucks and tires. More than your typical lot lizard.

After they had a few draft beers, he remembered taking her for a ride up the road about fifty miles and stopping at the Go Go Inn, her idea. Soon after they’d entered the room, Sully complained about how the ugly floral décor looked like baby-sized cockroaches resting on the mattress and curtains before something heavy pummeled the back of his skull. He recalled falling face-first into the scratchy, dingy carpet. The smell of mildew stuffed his senses before the room blurred and his eyes shut.

Now, there was a blinking red light from a camera, bugging his retinas and intensifying his headache. With every shallow breath, the throbbing in his chest hitched, stuffing a sickening ball in his gut.

“Where am I?” he cried.

Father Paul continued to stare up at him.

The black window across from them, just behind the camera, took on a rectangular gleam. There was a TV mounted to the wall behind him. A red skull spun in its center.

Sully tried shifting his weight by rocking from side to side. Or at least he thought he was. The chair underneath him stood still. Dizzy with exhaustion, panic riddled his nerves. “Answer me!” Tears fell down his face.

Father Paul’s eyes lit up, as if pleased to hear another man beg.

The screen behind Sully went black. Then a short phrase popped up in bold letters. They appeared blurry as tears clouded his sight.

He wished he’d read it. But as he batted his eyelids and squinted hard, the words disappeared.

Father Paul stood straight, towering about six feet over Sully, and swaggered over to an oak bookcase.

Sully watched in horror as Father Paul swiped up a rip saw from the top shelf and walked back over with an urgent stride in his step.

Sully fidgeted and shook. Through exasperated breaths, he said, “Wait, wait, wait! Please don’t. Uh… I’m sorry for whatever I did! Please, just don’t—”

Father Paul pressed the saw’s teeth onto the bridge of Sully’s nose.

Sully sobbed and stammered. “P—p—please!” he said.

Father Paul took a handful of Sully’s thick hair and yanked his head back. Sully’s scalp screamed as his hairline burned. He tried turning his neck and shaking his head, but Father Paul’s grip only tightened.

The grinding of the blades as they chewed through Sully’s face made him wail so loud that his throat strained, and his ungodly squeal filled the room. A hot, sickening impulse shot through his body as his limbs struggled to break free of the bondage.

The sound of cartilage snapping with every movement made his ears pop.

Flashes erupted before his eyes as if he’d been staring into a strobe light. Blood spurted from the fresh cut, coating his deteriorating vision and turning the room crimson. He choked and hacked as blood ran down his throat.

At the end of his cry, Sully let out a weak “Why?” as his face sweltered in a blinding pain. His breath seized as his mind tried to comprehend the damage being done to his nose.

The sawing stopped. Sully yelped as Father Paul tore the dangling nose free from the shred of skin keeping it attached to his face. The ripping of his skin sounded like masking tape being torn from a wall.

Sully wept as Father Paul held the nose before the camera.

Sully dropped his chin to his chest. His shoulders jerked with his sobs. Blood ran free from his face to his jeans.

This wasn’t how he thought he’d die. Mangled and mutilated. Confused and petrified.

All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and ramble off a quick prayer between his truncated blubbering:

“Dear God, f—forgive me for all that I—I—I’ve done in this l—life. I succumb to your glory and come to you with an open m—mind and heart. Please God. Make this end. Make this torment g—go away and take me in your arms for eternity.”

Sully popped his eyes open at the sound of a whirring power drill.

Before Sully could look, Father Paul took another handful of hair and aimed the pointy tip into Sully’s eye. As the spinning tip progressed forward, every bruise and scar burned his skin from the many scaffolds and accidents he’d lived through. Passing the CDL exam and buying his first rig, Ricky Red, sat fresh on his mind. Sully heard his first words and felt his first steps in his parents’ living room out in his desert hometown of El Paso.

He saw the dank motel room and red-haired Pam.

He belted a horrified shriek when the drill’s tip met his right eye.