He smirks. “You can’t believe how great it was not having to come home to you. Yeah, you did me a big favour by walking out.” Then he leans forward, his face so close to mine I can smell his foul breath and his sweat. “But eventually you’d have started divorce proceedings, and then money would have stopped. And, my dear Alex, no one leaves me. Not unless I want them to. No one causes me shame like that. You leave on my terms, or not at all.” He stands back and stares at me. “Six years being tied to a bitch like you. Six fucking years when I had to put my life on hold. You owe me for that, owe me for every minute of having to sleep next to your disgusting body, owe me for all the suffering you put me through.”
I don’t have much time to ponder his warped reasoning as he pulls something out of the bag that’s been lying, unnoticed, at his feet. My eyes widen as he pulls out a packet of cigarettes. He doesn’t smoke. But he certainly looks like he’s taken up the habit as he lights one and sucks in, making the tip glow orange. He coughs, and huffs a short laugh. “Can’t think why people do this.” Then he comes closer to me, his mouth twists. “Six years Alex, and you’re going to make up for every fucking day.” Before I realise what he’s doing, he presses the burning cigarette end into the tender skin of my breast, slowly pushing it in until it’s stubbed out.
I scream. God, the pain! An intense burning and stinging sensation. I try to curl up to protect myself, but secured as I am, I can’t move. There’s nothing I can do to ease the agonising throbbing on my tender flesh. My eyes have closed, a sound makes me open them. Smoke reaches my nostrils as he lights another cigarette. He brings it closer to my breast, the same one as before, this time torturing me by holding it only just above the skin so I can feel the heat from the tip.
“Please, no,” I cry out. Now that I know the level of pain to expect, the anticipation is made worse. And the look on his face shows he’s got no mercy at all. The end comes down and I scream again.
Tears run down my cheeks. I squirm, but there’s no relief. He lights another cigarette, and then another. I start thrashing, but he easily holds me down with one hand while pressing that burning tip to my skin time after time again. Now I’m breathing in the scent of my own scorched flesh, and turning my head as far as I can to the side, I retch.
“You know, I could get used to this,” he says conversationally as he flicks the lighter again.
When will it stop? My throat feels hoarse from screaming. Any noise I make is futile, there’s no one to hear me, only the man who’s relishing my cries. I’ve lost count of the number of times he burns me, but after a while he pays the same attentions to my other breast.
“It’s looking good. Maybe I’ll start a new trend.” He pauses for a moment to admire his handiwork.
I’ve almost given up, my body automatically jerking as I try to evade the torment he’s dishing out. My screams have become wails which run into each other, pleading and begging for him to stop.
At last he appears to have run out. He grabs the back of my head and pulls it up, holding me roughly by the hair, a further pain which doesn’t even register over the burning agony of my breasts.
“Open your eyes. Look.” He shakes me by his grip on my curls, and reluctantly I obey him. From this point of view, I can only see the top of my breasts, each now marked by a semicircle of angry looking burns. I can only assume the rest of the ring is underneath. He breathes a sigh of satisfaction. “Now no one will ever want to look at your tits.”
He’s scarred me and marked me, quite possibly for life.
I want to hold myself, want to rush and jump into a cold shower. Anything to take the agony away. But I can’t move. My eyes squeeze shut as my mind battles with how evil this man is, as waves of pain wash over me.
“That was fun,” he pronounces. “But not quite enough.”
Oh Jesus. What’s he planning on doing now?
“I mean, you’ve tortured me for years. Making me sick just with the sight of you, and bearing that diseased brat you saddled me with, I deserve some payback, don’t you think?”
I have to swallow to get moisture into my mouth, made dry by my screams and the pain. “I tried to be a good wife,” I whisper. And I had. Devoting my time and energy to looking after him, but nothing I ever did satisfied him.
“You don’t even know what a good wife looks like. A wife, my dear Alex, is someone her husband wants to fuck. And no one would ever willingly fuck you.”
“Open your eyes, Alex. Watch what I do.”
As an answer, I squeeze them shut.
His hand grabs my hair, pulling it so painfully for a second it overcomes the discomfort of the burns. “Open your fucking eyes, bitch!”
I do as he says. Oh no. He’s got a knife. My breasts are throbbing, and that gleam in his eyes tells me it isn’t enough for him. Has my torture just started, or is he going to kill me now? Tyler. What will he do if I’m gone? Who will look after him? The only thought in my head is for him.
Looking almost bored, he presses the tip of the blade just underneath a couple of inches below my breastbone. He’d have to move it over a bit if he wants it to go through my heart. Why I’m mentally giving him directions, I’ve got no idea.
Then the blade pushes in and I start at the stabbing pain. It’s different to the burns. And then gets worse as he drags the sharp knife downwards in a straight line. He’s cutting deep, I can tell. At first there’s no pain, then blistering agony. His face is creased with concentration as he digs the blade into my side and drags it through my flesh, down and then up. I’m barely aware as he starts cutting again, my brain unable to isolate different areas of pain, and I feel blood welling up and dripping down my skin.
I think I pass out, a slap to my cheek brings me around to a world of pain I could never have imagined.
“Look, bitch. Now I’ve marked you with exactly what you are. Fucking look, will you?”
It’s hard to open my eyes. When I do, it’s to look into a mirror he’s holding up. He’s carved five letters right into my chest, and even backwards I can read the word WHORE. In my semi-faint state I know what he’s done as I watch his handiwork rapidly being disguised by the blood flowing freely. He’s made it so I can never take my clothes off again, in front of anyone.
This must be it. This must be the end to my torture. Even a tormentor as evil as he must be satisfied now. I’m hurting so badly it’s hard to summon up any desire to live.
But I was wrong, it’s not over. He reaches into that bag of implements once again. I’m so weak my head rolls back onto the mattress, almost uncaring of what else he might do. Just kill me now. If by the blood flowing out of my wounds he hasn’t already.
“Tyler.” The word escapes my lips as though on my last breath.
He laughs almost manically. “Just shut up about that fucking brat. He’s no concern of yours anymore.” His hand slaps my pussy. “Fuckin’ dry cunt you always had. You couldn’t even bring anything fuckable to the marriage. Six years of hell, that’s what I went through. When I was lying beside your frigid ass I’d dream up ways to get even with you. And now I’ve got my chance.”
As I’m wondering how on earth he can put it all on me, I feel a stinging and pulling sensation. Fuck! What is that. Jesus! With one last effort, I lift my head to see him with a needle and thread, and he’s using his body to keep my legs wide apart. No! He can’t…
“Nooooo,” I wail out. No, not that. No! Such an invasion worse than anything else he’s done.
He looks up and laughs. “You can lie here and think on the fact I was the last man here. And how I’m ensuring no man can ever go there again.”
Then, with a look of total absorption, he goes back to what he was doing. He’s stitching my labia together. Each time the needle and thread pushes through it causes a sharp tearing. His lips are pursed as he focuses on his task.
And then I’m only able to manage a whimper, my only protest at this final indignity.
At last he’s finished and steps back. “I’ve mar
ked you, made you even uglier than you already are.” He puts his hand on my sore pussy. “You should never have whored yourself out. And now you’ll never be able to anymore.”
Just finish it.
“Right,” he starts conversationally. “Well, it’s been nice catching up. But now I’ve got a boy to deal with. So I’ll be off. This is our final parting, dear wife. We won’t be seeing each other again.” He pauses and his hand touches my face in a parody of a caress. “I would say it’s been nice knowing you, but I don’t want the last thing you hear to be a lie. Goodbye, Alex. And enjoy the rest of your fucking miserable life.”
With that parting shot, he turns.
He’s leaving me? Like this? Lying in agony?
But he lingers for a moment. “You’ll probably bleed out, or die of infection. Or hunger or thirst or the cold. I don’t much care. Just think on your sins, woman. If you’d not left me I wouldn’t have had to go this far. You did this to yourself, it’s all your own fault. If you’d stayed we could have kept up pretences.”
I’m too weak to argue, but I know that he’s wrong. If I’d stayed he’d just have found another method of killing me.
Passing in and out of consciousness, I don’t hear him leave, but in periods of lucidity I hear no sound. Weakly I call out, but he’s gone. I test my restraints, only to find I’m still tied up.
Even if I had the strength, there’s no way to get myself loose. These must be police issue handcuffs, designed so a criminal can’t escape. I’m destined to die a slow painful death, alone with no hope of rescue. And with no way of protecting my son from a monster.
I try to stay conscious and fight off the darkness, but I’m losing too much blood and becoming weaker all the time. My eyes flutter open, and then closed again, and this time, they stay shut. My last waking thought is for my son.
Tyler.
Chapter 14
Dart
As the old lady epidemic hasn’t hit the San D chapter, I ask Snips if any of the club girls would be dependable enough to look after a young boy. Before I finish getting the question past my lips, a pretty woman who looks to be in her mid-twenties approaches, her eyes fixed on Tyler.
“And who have we got here?” She’s got a pleasant, musical voice, and I immediately take to her. She’s different from the typical club girls, not so flighty, and with a caring expression on her face.
“Yep, her.” Snips claps his hand on her shoulder. “Dart. This is Eva. She’s got a kid herself, ‘bought the same age, I reckon.”
“That I have.” She gives an easy grin. “He’s with his dad this week. And I happen to know all little boys like cookies.”
Tyler, who’s hiding behind my legs at the moment, gives a small nod as he cautiously eyes the strange men around him. Then his face looks up at the woman. “And bikes,” he tells Eva in a solemn voice.
“Hey, kid likes bikes,” Snips announces to one and all. “Anyone ‘ere got one?” He’s greeted by a round of laughter and sarcastic comments.
Putting his arm around Eva, Snips plants a kiss on her cheek then turns to me. “Dart, Tinder will show you where to take the woman you brought back to get some answers, and Eva and I will entertain young Tyler here.” He crouches down to Tyler’s level. “Cookies, then we’ll take a look at some bikes? How does that sound?” As Tyler lifts his chin, and even in the tortured state of mind I am currently in, the gesture brings a half smile to my face, Snips continues, “Bet we’ve got better ones here than at the Tucson Chapter.”
I give Tyler a little push, and bend down to speak into his ear, but loud enough for Snips to hear. “And I bet they haven’t. You’ll have to tell me later.”
A little more at ease, Tyler gives a small grin then skips off, holding Eva’s hand. I hold my middle finger up to Snips. Better bikes, my ass.
Thompson’s girlfriend is brought in and pushed alongside us as Tinder shows Slick and myself down to a basement. It looks like it’s used for much the same things as our storage room back home. Pulleys are attached to a ceiling with chains hanging down, and various tools are scattered around. There’s a faint lingering odour of blood and urine, not totally disguised by the slightly stronger smell of disinfectant. The woman is looking around with scared eyes and looks almost ready to piss herself.
Ignoring the equipment, I pull a chair into the middle of the room. “Sit.”
Her eyes flick around her surroundings, and she’s gone very pale. She opens her mouth, then clears her throat before speaking. “I don’t understand why you brought me here. And why you’ve taken Tyler. My boyfriend’s a cop. You won’t get away with this. He’ll be angry if you hurt his son.”
Thinking causing Tyler any harm is the last thing on my mind, I pull up another chair and turn it around, straddling it with my forearms resting on the back. I regard her intently until her eyes shift away. “Way I see it, it’s your boyfriend who’s in trouble. He was the one doing the kidnappin’. He took his ex-wife and her kid away from their home.”
“His kid.” Her voice has more spirit in it. “His wife was keeping him from seeing Tyler.”
I nod as if she’s said something completely reasonable. And then bark out, “He brought his wife to San Diego too. Now why the fuck d’ya think he’d do that?”
Again her mouth opens, but all she does is gape like a fish. She’s not got an answer. In the end she resorts to denial. “I don’t know anything about his wife coming back.”
I wonder whether she’d spoken to Tyler, but she must have. Tyler’s first words to me had been concern for his mom. She’s lying. “Where’s he taken Alex?”
Something in my face communicates I’ll have nothing but the truth. Her eyes narrow as she snaps, “I don’t know what he’s done with that bitch. All I know is I haven’t seen her. He wouldn’t bring her to me, not after the things she’s done to him. She’s a cruel, cold-hearted woman. That kid’s better off with us.”
“What do you know about Tyler?” I wonder how deeply she’s involved, and how much Thompson’s told her. “You know that he’s sick? That he needs tablets and stuff?”
She sneers. “That was just his wife being over protective. There’s nothing wrong with the boy. Ron says he just needs toughening up.”
Even if I was going to make damn sure there wasn’t any possibility of it happening, there’s no way I’d consider leaving Tyler to be ‘toughened up’ by his dad. The memory of that child’s pain when he had his episode that day makes me go cold. What would they do to help him through that if it happened again? Which reminds me, I’ve got to keep a close eye on Tyler here and make sure everyone’s aware how to help him.
Her head’s gone down, and now comes back up, and her shoulders slump. “Alright, I admit I know she’s in San Diego. Ron told me she insisted on coming to keep the boy company for the journey. Ron left her at their old house so she could get some of her stuff, and then was going to get rid of her.”
Slick comes up alongside and stands with his arms folded across his chest. “Get rid of her? Your words or his?”
“His,” she replies sulkily.
Slick bends his head to mine. “Move along with it, Dart. We might be runnin’ out of time.”
That was exactly my thought too. “Look, lady. Hell, I don’t know what your name is.”
“I’m Belle. Belinda.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Winscott.”
“Look, Belle, Belinda. I don’t think you understand what this boyfriend of yours is capable of.” In the back of my mind I recall the story of the Satan’s Devil he’d killed. “When Thompson says he’ll get rid of her, he doesn’t mean put her on a train or buy her a bus ticket to get home. He’s going to stash her somewhere, kill her, or at least hurt her.”
Again, she glances down at her feet. “He wouldn’t do that. He’s a good man.”
Slick’s eyeing her carefully. Suddenly he moves and pulls up her sleeves. There are fingermark shaped bruises on one of her forearms. He raises his hand
and touches her cheek and she flinches. “Wearing a lot of makeup there, sweetheart. Your man did this?”
She refuses to answer, neither to deny or admit it.
“I think you do know what he’s capable of. And that includes gettin’ off on makin’ people hurt.” Perhaps that’s why she’s not talking. She’s more afraid of Thompson than of us.
“He wouldn’t kill her. He’s a cop.” Or very naïve.
Cops can do anything, and get away with it too. Who better to know how to disappear a body? Well, except perhaps for us.
I decide to go straight for info. “Has Thompson any property which he owns, apart from the two houses? A garage? Lock-up?”
“If he has, I wouldn’t know.”
Slick crouches down on his haunches. “Look, Belinda. There may well be a woman whose life is at risk at this very moment. Even if we’re wrong, we want to find her. Can you think of anythin’ at all that might help?”
She scrunches up her face, and then shakes her head.
At that moment, Snake walks into the room. He nods at me, then his eyes narrow as he sees the woman sitting on the chair. “You got yer phone on ya?”
He’s a striking man, a snake tattoo winding around his neck. His hair is almost as long as Mouse’s, and currently tied back. At about six-foot-two and massively built, he can be quite intimidating. One look at his face and she doesn’t delay putting her hand in her pocket to pull out an iPhone.
“Unlock it.” He holds out his hand. She passes it over to him. Quickly he scrolls through the contacts, looks at something, and then shakes his head. “Doesn’t look like he shares his location.” This is addressed to me. Well, it wasn’t going to be easy.
“Dart, Mouse is back. He’s got Thompson’s computer. Go and sit with him, see if the two of you can put your heads together and come up with somethin’. I’ll stay here with Slick and we’ll see what else she knows.” And then he removes his attention from me and focuses on the woman in the chair. The last thing I see is her cringing in fear.
Targeting Dart Page 14
