by Paulie Celt
He slipped the blade beyond his fist and slashed down the material of the young woman's shirt. Rolling a fat, slithering tongue along his lips, he leered at her exposed breasts.
She pulled her arms inward to cover up. They stopped with a grunt as lactic acid burned through the muscles.
His eyes feasting on her nakedness, the attacker traced the point of the blade over the girls collarbone. He teased around the curve of her breast, and poked against the erect knot of her nipple. The rise and fall of his chest increased and saliva dribbled from one corner of his mouth. The rasp of his breath surged through his nostrils.
Susan closed her eyes shut. Her body fell limp in defeat. She widened the lids in surprise, as her fingers clunked against the solid form of the window sill behind her. Her bicep pulsed and reached back further. The handle of the knife rattled on the wooden surface, as she clipped it with a knuckle. She stalled and watched her captor.
The murderer continued to tease at the nipple with the blade, flattening it hard against the young woman's body and allowing it to spring back into shape. “You love this, don't you, whore?” He didn't wait for an answer, instead moving his attentions to the other breast.
Her fingers grappled through the air. A pre-emptive grin shot across her lips as the handle nestled in the clutch of her tightening digits.
“I knew it,” he grinned back. “You're all fucking whores.” He slid the point lower, over the slight rise of her belly and around the twitching knot of flesh in the centre.
The prostitute's breasts bobbled as she filled her lungs and gathered her energy. She bulged her eyes and stilled her pupils in concentration.
He followed the dipping blade with his gaze. Passing her waist, it tickled a path across the young woman's shaven pubis. His breath seethed in rapid bursts as he worked.
She windmilled her fist over her shoulder like a swimmer in the breast stroke. Her teeth grated in rage. A demonic groan surged from her lungs and turned into a seething screech, as the knife crossed her line of sight.
The murderer paused his efforts. He shot his eyes up to the source of the noise.
She plunged the length of the blade down at his face. The sharp metal slurped through his eye socket. It popped free as she tugged it back in her intense grip.
His clutches released in an instant. He dropped the girl and his weapon. His eyes stretched in shock. He fell to his knees and roared through his teeth, with vehemence. His hands clutched to the wound and blood erupted through his fingers like lava from the top of a volcano. He screamed.
Susan scrambled to her knees. The handle pressed so tight in her palm, its edges threatened to pierce the skin. She Jerked it forward and bellowed as it plundered into the attacker's muscular neck.
He cried out in agony as the new wound turned scarlet and wept his life's blood.
She pulled back her wrist and struck again without a pause.
His yell gurgled in his throat.
The young woman's hungry eyes rounded on the new gouge. She grimaced at the handle protruding from the gory mess. The laceration erupted crimson fluid like a bloody geyser.
The colour drained from the murderer's face. Its skin turned ashy white as he toppled to the floor. His hands clutched in desperation at the plugged wound.
The high pierce of the siren broke through the mayhem. A car door opened with a resounding click.
Susan turned to face the window. She narrowed her and flitted her pupils. A gritty determination surged through her muscles and she snarled into the cold air.
She tore the knife from its handiwork, gripping it tight in both hands. Her snarl rose to an animalistic growl. She drove it with intense force into the dying man's scrotum. Her fists twisted the handle and the blade crunched through flesh and bone. She retrieved the weapon and drove it in at least half a dozen more times before dropping it to the carpet with a damp thud. Her arms fell limp from the exertion and she crumpled to the floor.
Her eyes twitched and fought to cling onto consciousness. Susan watched as a tall man in police uniform rushed around the bottom of the bed.
The officer lifted her in his arms and pulled her out of the chaos. His colleague barged past to deal with the rest of the scene.
The petite, young woman hugged her naked form against the cold, damp uniform of the policeman and closed her eyes to rest.
The End.
Prey
By Paulie Celt
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Paulie Celt
Discover other titles by Paulie Celt on Smashwords at: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/PaulieCelt
Table of Contents
Prey
Midpoint
