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Dean stared at the phone in utter disbelief. "You sick sonuvabitch," he growled, grip tightening on the phone. 

"Shame they were in the way, isn't it, Dean? It was so easy. . . ." The man was quiet for a moment, his steady breathing the only noise breaking the chilling silence. When he finally spoke again, something akin to pure pleasure colored his tone. "The look of terror in a man's eyes when he knows he's going to be murdered is truly breathtaking, Dean. A myriad of emotions all played out for my benefit." 

"Who you talkin' to?" Sam asked, brows pulled together, mouth turned downward as he frowned. 

Dean raised a hand to silence Sam, giving him a warning glance.

"Ah, is that Sammy?" The man chuckled. "I do so love the inflection in his voice. I've often fantasized what it will sound like as he's begging for his life."

The hairs on the nape of Dean's neck stood on end, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "You're not gonna touch him. You hear me?"

"Hang up the damn phone, Dean." Sam turned in his seat to stare at Dean. "Just hang up."

"You know him best, what do you think it would take to make him scream?"

Dean swallowed hard against the tight knot forming in his throat. The muscle in his jaw jerked erratically as he clenched his teeth. "Touch him and I swear to God, I'll hunt you down and kill you." 

"You can't be with him every second, Dean. He is going to die. It's just a matter of when." 

Dean shook his head, eyes narrowing. "You'll never get the chance."

"I can get to anyone . . . anywhere, anytime - like right now." 

Hearing the ominous click-click of a rifle being cocked, Dean dropped the phone. "Sammy, get down!" He grabbed Sam, pushed his head down and ducked. A blast of gunfire echoed through the stillness of the night, quickly followed by another. Glass shattered above them, then the car swerved out of control as the second bullet struck the back tire.
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