Blood Reckoning: DI Jack Brady 4 (39 page)
Read Blood Reckoning: DI Jack Brady 4 Online
Authors: Danielle Ramsay
It was this that scared her. It was the voice of someone capable of murder.
Her mind spun as she tried to figure out who he was after.
Realising he wasn’t getting anywhere with her, he decided to jolt her memory. He walked over and bent down.
She waited, expecting him to hit her again, but he took her by surprise when he started caressing her bare thin legs with his gloved hand.
She trembled as he touched her gently. He slowly moved his hand further and further up her legs until it was under her skirt.
She tried to struggle, to get his hand away from between her legs. But he had her pinned down.
‘I said, where is he?’
He stopped caressing her. His hand had become a ball of tension, waiting to explode.
She attempted to shake her head.
It wasn’t the answer he wanted. He rammed his fist as hard as he could between her legs.
The pain was unbearable. She was certain she would pass out. Instead she retched.
He stood back and watched while she vomited, until eventually only bile was left. His stomach was turning at the sight of her. Vomit combined with blood trailed down the seeping, swollen mess that was her face.
‘Nick. Where is he, you fucking slag?’
He was starting to lose his patience.
The question jolted her.
‘What?’ she mumbled through swollen, bloodied lips.
But the word she uttered made no sense.
Irritated, he bent over her, bringing his face close to hers. She was terrified. The look in his eyes told him he wasn’t just going to rape her – he was going to kill her.
‘No . . . please . . . no . . .’
But the words were inaudible. The only sound was a gargling, hissing noise.
‘I said, where the fuck is NICK, you stupid bitch?’
He rammed a hand deep under her ribs to make sure that she was lucid.
She gasped in agony.
When she managed to breathe again, she mustered all the strength she had and spat at him.
Blood, vomit and spit hit his face. He took a tissue out of his jacket and wiped his cheek. He then took off the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
‘Maybe it’s time to teach you some manners,’ he suggested as he began to unzip his trousers.
She tried to get up but her body refused to move. She willed herself to make a run for it. But something was wrong. Her legs wouldn’t work.
Move . . . come on, Trina . . . Fucking move, girl! Move it before it’s too late!
Desperate, she tried shuffling backwards on her elbows, dragging herself towards the entrance of the alley.
He was more than ready. He had been anticipating this moment for some time. He took his time stretching a condom over himself. He knew he couldn’t take a chance with this disease-riddled bitch. He kneeled down and grabbed her by the legs as she tried in vain to scramble away from him. He leaned over and flipped her onto her stomach.
She groaned in pain at the sudden, violent movement.
Her reaction had the desired effect. It made him even more excited. He pulled up her faux leather skirt, exposing her black thong.
She attempted to struggle but was unable to move under the crushing weight of his body. She felt him yank her thong to one side before he forced himself into her. The pain was excruciating. But it was more the humiliation that hurt. Hot, furious tears slipped down her face as he succeeded in violently thrusting himself deep into her. One hand restrained her head, forcing her damaged face into the hard concrete, while the other held his phone as he filmed what he was doing to her.
She couldn’t breathe. Dirt filled her bloodied mouth as she choked and gasped, desperate for air.
She could feel her body beginning to convulse as the lack of oxygen took effect. She prayed for unconsciousness. She was lucky. She blacked out before he started to really lose control.
Once finished with her he felt nothing but disgust and contempt. He gave her lifeless body another hard kick. Nothing. Satisfied, he picked it up and dumped it into the pub’s industrial waste bins where it belonged.
Fucking bitch. Deserved everything she got.
He had bigger problems than some has-been prostitute. He still had to find Nick Brady. And when he did . . .
He smiled at the prospect. He had what he wanted safe in a plastic bag: evidence that he had dealt with her. He felt no remorse. She was a used-up prostitute who was better off dead. No one would miss her.
He threw the business card with her name scrawled on the back into the alleyway before turning to walk back to his car. He doubted the police would be able to identify her. Not in the condition he had left her in. But he was more than happy to point them in the right direction. After all, he had a job to do and he had to be sure that the police didn’t fuck everything up.
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There are many more twists to come.
Table of Contents
Chapter One