It was not just the sexual abuse but the verbal abuse as well that she found the most offensive. Okay, she was a whore but she was still a girl and still had the right to be treated as such. Then there was something that Thanos had said, or more to the point had not said about when Morton turned up. She got the impression that neither of them would see the morning. She had nothing to lose and waited until his cock was half way in her mouth before biting down as hard as she could.
The tattooed man had both hands on the back of her head as he forced his unwashed penis that stank and tasted of urine deep into the back of her throat. He was lost in the pleasure of enjoying the most beautiful woman he had ever been with – even though he was raping her – and did not realise what she was doing until the pain suddenly gained in intensity. He tried to push her away from him but her teeth had already bitten through the flesh and were sinking steadily into the hardened muscle of his penis.
Kim closed her eyes and bit down as hard as she could. She felt a slight popping sensation as her teeth bit through the soft underside of his erect penis cutting through his urethra. The blood curdling scream that followed conveyed his pain as he realised what she was doing and then came the blow she was expecting. The first punch caught her on the side of her head below her ear at the top of her jaw but she bit down harder.
She felt the warm, silvery taste of blood as it pumped into her mouth and spilt down her chin as she ignored the pain rattling around in her head her jaws exerting a vice like grip gradually pushing her sharp teeth slowly through his erect penis. She could feel the weird sensation of the muscle crunching in her mouth like biting into gristle on meat.
And then another blow came this one catching her on top of her head. She felt the wave of unconsciousness sweep through her and bit down even harder determined to inflict as much pain as possible on her would be rapist before she blacked out. She felt some one try to pull her head back by her hair followed by another blow this one hitting her on the back of her head causing excruciating pain. Eyes closing as her vision started to go, vaguely aware of the muffled shouting and screaming around her that sounded as though it was reaching her through a thick blanket she sunk her teeth further into his manhood until at last her teeth met. Another punch followed by another in the same place on the side of her head and she felt herself falling as more punches rained down on her from all directions. As the final strands of muscle were severed she fell to the floor.
The tattooed man fell to the floor clutching what was left of his penis. The shock, the pain and the loss of blood so great he was now unable to cry out. The fat man looked on with unbelievable horror at his blood soaked comrade turned and viciously kicked the unconscious girl as hard as he could in the stomach. The force of the kick was so great that it turned her over from her side onto which she had fallen onto her back, the tip of the severed penis falling from her open mouth. Not satisfied with himself he ran in and kicked her again and again.
Thanos and Grimshawe stood in the doorway and watched in stunned silence. Neither of them had any intentions of going to help. They turned their backs on the helpless girl leaving her to the merciless kicking of the second cowardly thug and return to the American.
Francesca sensed him before she saw him. It was as though a cold chill had entered the room. She jumped violently as he placed his hand on her shoulder and walked round to face her. She hated the way he looked at her but was too terrified to look away from his cold, soulless eyes or that creepy smirk that seemed to be permanently plastered across his face.
The creepy smile broadened as he lightly ran his fingers along her cleavage looking into her eyes savouring the fear that he could sense before walking behind her. This was how he liked his women, completely helpless and at his mercy. He pushed his hand down the front of her blouse his large, rough hand cupping and squeezing her tit hard.
Francesca stopped breathing closing her eyes tightly. Could they know about her past? Was this their way of getting to her? She did not have time to ponder on answers to questions she would never get to ask. She forced herself to breathe talking to herself in her mind all the time. Reassuring herself so that she could get through this. Breath, she told herself, breath. Relax, they can't do anymore to you than has already been done! Just breathe!
She felt the tug as the front of her blouse was ripped open and heard the small buttons bounce along the floor. She heard a swishing sound and felt something ice cold press against her sternum and then the front of her bra was cut through exposing her breast.
Grimshawe felt his erection growing as he kneaded both her breast taking great pleasure in pinching the nipples hard knowing that he was hurting her. He ran his hand slowly along her flat stomach down towards her crotch and grinned as she closed her legs tightly denying him access.
Thanos stood at the door watching wishing he could touch her. Minions like Grimshawe were replaceable but he could enjoy watching.
The annoying ringtone on Grimshawe`s mobile phone rung, saving her from the ultimate humiliation, it pierced the quietness making her jump. “He’s here, boss!” he announced in a low voice regretting the interruption but there was always later.
Chapter 26
Morton brought his car to a gentle stop outside the rear gates of the yard to the launderette. Getting out he calmly removed his jacket, undone his top button and took off his tie with the air of a man who was in no rush after all, why should he be, he already had an idea of what would be waiting for him on the other side of the gate. Under his shirt he fastened a wide, belt-like leather band with thick padding where his kidneys were. Protection was vital. He had no illusions as to the viciousness of his next engagement.
Reaching into the glove compartment he pulled out his black leather gloves. He had not put these on in a long time and secretly he had wished that he would never wear them again. Specially made for him there was an extra thick strip of leather sewn across the knuckles holding in the brass plate that had been moulded to the exact profile of his knuckles. Another short strip of brass had been sewn in along the outer side of each hand. He changed his expensive polished leather shoes for pair of equally polished heavy steel toe-capped boots.
The wooden gate creaked unusually loudly in the quiet night air as he pulled it open. Loose stones and gravel crunched under his footsteps as he made his way to the middle of the yard. He immediately realised that the only working light was the one over the door that led into the rear of the shop and it had been deliberately angled down so that it shone into the eyes of anyone stupid enough to walk into the trap. The other three had been disabled. Initially the yard seemed empty apart from an old van that was not normally there, parked in one of the darkened corners of the yard.
He turned slightly as he heard the doors of the van open and saw the outlines of two very big men climb out. One swaggered over to the gates and closed them whilst the other slowly and deliberately walked to the midway point between Morton and the gate. He had, what was obviously, a heavy pickaxe handle over his shoulder.
The door opened quickly casting its bright light across the yard and the silhouette of two more big men appeared followed by a shorter man who made sure that he kept himself between his two larger companions and Morton. Thanos had learned over the year never to underestimate his old colleague when it came to violence.
Morton squinted against the light but it was easy for him to make out Thanos`s silhouette, “When I'm done with these arseholes I'll deal with you!”
“Welcome to our extraordinary board meeting!” Thanos still had his flare for showmanship even though he secretly wondered whether his new boy wonder had it in him to take out Morton but he felt better knowing that they outnumbered him. “The job’s already been reassigned. This little gathering tonight is just to, er... formalise things!” God, he thought, he looks really pissed. He had seen Morton like this before. Calm, almost to calm considering what the odds were against him. He had seen first hand only once what he was capable of. He looked at the men with
him in the yard and knew they were the toughest and hardest men he employed. There were not many people out there who would dare to stand up to them.
But Morton was not like any other man he had ever met. He worked best when under pressure. Violent pressure!
“You cheap, little shit! I made you! You were just a failing cab driver when I set you up in business!” his voice was even with no hint of anger just stating the facts as they were.
“Times change, old friend! Nothing personal but…well, you know. Time to move on.”
Morton's head turned slowly towards a noise behind him. For now he was unconcerned as it was a slow shuffling sound and not the sound of someone rushing in. He took a look at the men lining up to kill him. He had given all of them their jobs in crime. Taken them off the streets where they were just like any other street punk and paid them good wages for their services. `Bad Boy` Bobby Dean with the pickaxe handle was no more than a bare-knuckle fighter entertaining crowds in pub cellars just to earn his nights beer money. Alongside him was the ironically nicknamed `Tiny` Terry who was at least six foot six tall and built like a brick outhouse and subsidised his meagre earnings as a porter in the meat market was another bare-knuckle fighter. Standing with Grimshawe was Maloney, an ex-soldier with more than twenty years in the services who could not make it in Civvy Street and soon turned to drink. His drunkenness had cost him his wife and kids and he would probably be dead in some street gutter if Morton had not seen potential in him and straightened him out. And then there was Grimshawe! He saw potential in him right from their first meeting when he came to them for a job as a cab driver and had groomed him ready to take over when the time came for him to `retire`.
Maloney allowed the white plastic carrier bag he was holding to fall to the floor revealing the long, dark motorbike chain it was concealing. Two armed, he thought, three! He knew that Grimshawe would also be carrying some kind of weapon and seeing as he liked knives it was a good chance that would be it.
Thanos watched with mixed feelings as the four men stepped forward as one closing the circle surrounding Morton. He had tried to convince himself that this was like any other business decision one that had to be taken in order to move forward but standing in the shadows watching his pack of dogs surround his best friend, his children’s `uncle`, as they sharpened their fangs ready for the kill he was having second thoughts. Maybe there was another way to deal with this. The problem was if he backed down now and let Morton walk away he would look weak and the one thing a General could never be in front of his men was weak. He wanted to run away. He did not want to witness this but he was compelled by human nature to stay and watch this barbaric execution.
The air around the circle of men was calm and still as though none of them was in any rush to get on with it. He wrestled with his conscious one last time if he should stop this but there was one question that burned in the back of his mind - could he trust his old friend to agree to let bygones be bygones or would he come after him at a future date? No, he decided regretfully, Morton could not be trusted. Morton was a predictable animal. He would want revenge. He felt physically sick and felt the lining of his mouth dry out as he watched the last moments of his friend’s life!
As the four men closed in Morton stood rock steady not even turning his head to look at them. He assessed the situation quickly. Maloney with the chain was his immediate threat but one hit from Dean with that pickaxe handle and the force he could exert behind it would be all they needed to floor him. Grimshawe would not be in the initial wave of the attack – he was a coward!
Maloney let the chain uncoil from around his hand and the end of it hit the floor with a dull thud. The four of them stood far enough back from Morton to make it impossible for him to suddenly charge at any of them. Like him they were experienced fighters and had the utmost respect for their opponent.
Years of experience had taught Morton one thing that patience was essential if he was to survive tonight. Patience and ruthlessness! His only hope of living through this was to take out his opponents anyway he could first time, one punch or kick was all he would get. There would be no second chance!
Morton went through his usual routine before any big fight moving his head from side to side until his neck cracked and then, taking in deep breaths, expanding his already huge chest then slowly exhaling allowing any tension to disappear from his shoulders as they relaxed into a more natural position. He slowly flexed his thick hands waiting to see who would make the first move. It was not going to be him.
Unseen by anybody in the yard another figure appeared. Justino Mendoza stepped out from behind the wall to watch.
Maloney moved his arm slowly backwards dragging the chain along the rough tarmac. Morton still did not move only his eyes turned towards the noise. Again Maloney dragged the chain along the floor. Maloney, Morton thought. Suddenly Maloney stepped forwards and rocked back equally as quickly cracking the chain along the floor like a circus performer wielding a bull whip. Morton judged the path of the chain and still did not move. He turned his head towards a noise behind him as Dean smacked the pickaxe handle down into the palm of his hand.
It was then that Maloney made his move. Seeing his chance as Morton looked away he pulled his arm back ready to whip the chain at Morton's head but, unfortunately for him, Morton was ready.
He heard the chain move before he had even turned his head back. It was a different noise than before. A more urgent sound as the chain was dragged quicker along the ground. Morton moved fast and before Maloney’s arm had withdrawn to its full height he had taken the four very quick steps covering the ground between himself and his attacker and with straightened fingers hit at Maloney’s exposed throat. He felt the cartilage give as his fingers pushed into the trachea cutting off the air supply. Moving with surprising agility for a big man he quickly stepped behind the choking Maloney twisting his head quickly snapping his neck. As the dead man fell to the floor he was already turning to face his next opponent. One, he counted.
Tiny, the only one who was unarmed, rushed forward alongside the pickaxe handle welding Dean confident in the fact that Morton would not be able to take on the two of them at the same time. The death of Maloney had not registered on any of them yet apart from Thanos! Stepping over the falling body Morton walked calmly forward to meet the next two. His eyes and ears alert and his mind working even faster his first concern was not the heavy wooden handle that Dean had already raised above his head poised ready to use but Tiny who had got slightly in front of Dean. Morton's experience told him that even if he managed to block or avoid the wooden handle he would not be able to steer clear of Tiny’s foot that would be aiming at his groin.
Timing was everything. Just before they reached striking distance he turned sideways on and took the kick high on the outer thigh. The pain registered but his training kicked in and he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. Better there than his groin. Raising his arms above his head he easily caught the pickaxe handle in his large, strong hands saving his skull from getting crushed. Bringing his own knee up quickly he put all his body weight into the contact as he caught Dean squarely in the groin.
Already anticipating that the next punch from Tiny would be to his kidney he stepped back and to his left yanking the handle from Dean’s grasp as the punch he expected caught him in his side below the ribs. Again, ignoring the pain he stepped back swinging his right elbow wildly in the hope of making contact with any part of Tiny’s face.
Tiny knew his craft almost as well as opponent and as soon as his punch missed its target he adjusted his position anticipating the back elbow. His second attempt, though, did not miss and landed on target. Morton groaned audibly as the pain surged through him like a sharp knife. He did not have time for pain. He was literally fighting for his life.
Forcing his mind to concentrate and his legs not to buckle he slammed the end of the handle into the side of Dean's face accelerating the man's fall.
His feet moved fast as his ears alerted h
im to the next danger. Quickly stepping behind the falling Dean he swiftly swung the pickaxe handle up and under his chin choking the gasping man as he forced it hard against his larynx lifting him of the ground as he swung him around using him as a human shield against his next opponent.
Grimshawe, seeing that Morton was busy with the two remaining assailants, seized his opportunity. Rushing forwards he pulled out the conceal weapon from his jacket pocket and pressed the button flicking out the blade. He made three short but rapid stabbings motions at the man in front of him.
`Bad Boy` Dean stopped struggling and fell to his knees a confused look on his face as he came eye to eye with his killer. Blood pumped from the deep wounds in his stomach as his life flowed away.
Morton, still clutching the big handle, stepped back dropping the dead weight of Dean to the floor and, without giving a thought about the dying man, swung at Tiny's head. The thick end of the handle struck just above the ear with a sickening, muffled thud as the fragile bone of the skull gave way. Not chancing to see if the first strike was enough to stop his old friend he bought it down again across the middle of his head cracking the skull from back to front. Tiny fell first to his knees and then, as in slow motion, onto his front as blood spilled into his brain.
Grimshawe stood motionless and watched in morbid fascination as his fallen colleague, felled by his knife, sank to his knees on the cold floor, his hands pushing against the spouting wounds trying to stem the blood that now stained the front of his once white tee shirt as he struggled to take his last breath. Slowly his noisy, laboured breathing stopped as his head fell forwards onto his chest as he lost his struggle for life.
The Qadesh Club Page 18
