Jamie nodded, reassured. He twisted the door handle and ducked through into the delivery corridor

Jason slapped a palm over the back of Jamie’s head and propelled his face toward the wall. It splattered against the stone with a crunching squelch.

“What the fuck?” gasped Costa, next out of the door.

As Jamie slid down the wall, his face left a wide, wet smear of red, like a paintbrush.

Jason grabbed Costa by the throat and rammed two fat fingers into his eye sockets. The dealer struggled pointlessly against Jason’s might, shrieking as blood spurted down over his face.

Waylon couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He looked from Jamie’s corpse to Mike, who was already a lifeless rag doll in Jason’s hands.

Chapter 19, Friday the 13th: Hate Kill Repeat