Periodically, they gather for chicken wings and swap stories of their latest conquests as casually as hunters in a mountain lodge talking about their trophy kills. It’s repulsive. But then the story takes a turn when an eccentric FBI agent enters the picture and makes a proposal that our main character can’t refuse, and the pages keep turning as the club’s members slowly and mysteriously begin to vanish.

Even though he claims to be a good person and not a dirty "skiller" like all the others, our narrator fits the profile like a bloody glove. He is withdrawn and has a desperate need for acceptance with some obsessive-compulsive tendencies and is quite self-conscious about his height. Normally, these qualities wouldn’t equate to violent behavior, but in the right environment and the right circumstances, you never know.

Is the main character a hero or a villain? It may take some time for the reader to answer this question. It’s hard to think of a serial killer as a hero, but if his victims are victimizers? I admit I found myself secretly pulling for him at times and something tells me that I’m not the only one.

This book is twisted. It’s the only thing I’ve ever read that made my neck prickly with fear and also made me laugh out loud. And it’s the only book that ever made me side with a serial killer. There’s something dark and disturbing about that, but try putting the book down. Like a bad traffic accident, you know you shouldn’t be rubber-necking but you just can’t help it. This book is a bad traffic accident in print.