by Unknown
“Please…yes…I’m…pregnant. Don’t hurt my baby. I’m begging you.”
“So the sheriff’s got a brat stuck in you too? Busy man.”
“No,” she whispered. “My baby…just…mine.”
He laughed. “I’ve fucked pregnant women before, girly. How far gone are you?”
“What?” Lacey blinked. What was he talking about?
“How many months you knocked up?
“Eight…weeks.”
“Hell, woman, it ain’t much bigger than a tadpole in you. Too bad your ol’ man already put his kid in you, but it don’t matter none to me you got a brat in you. I got plans for you. Big plans.” Smitt yanked off her shoes and socks then jerked her jeans and panties down her legs and tossed them aside.
Lacey smothered a moan. Her chest burned. Her shoulder throbbed. Blood covered her breasts and belly. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Why was it so hard to think?
“Please,” she screamed. “I’m…begging…you! Don’t hurt my baby!”
“Shut up, bitch! You see this knife? You make another sound, and I’ll scalp you alive! Don’t fuck with me. Keep your mouth shut and open your legs. Wide. I said wide!”
Lacey closed her eyes and tried desperately to shut out his touch, but she couldn’t. He dragged the knife across her vulnerable midriff at a snail’s pace. Slow. Slower. The icy stroke of the cold steel sent shivers through her body.
“Oh, God,” she cried at the excruciating pain.
Smitt caught her across the mouth with the back of his hand. “Open your fucking legs or I’ll gut you right here, right now!”
Lacey did as commanded. Her body shook with tiny convulsions. He jerked her legs wider apart and stared. “Oooooweee, girly, you got one sweet looking pussy. I can’t wait to stick my buddy in it, give him his share of the fun.”
She retched when she saw the shiny, wet head of his cock.
He rubbed the purple knob with his thumb tip. “Will you look at that? See that? See how you done got me all excited here? Girl, I done got me some love juice rising to the top of my dick. ”
Lacey bucked, then tried to wriggle away from him. The hard punch to her face caught her by surprise. Stunned, she lay there gasping. Her ears rang, vision blurred and her lips felt as if they’d been stung by bees.
He punched her again, this time splitting her bottom lip and making her ears ring. “I told you no screaming! You best be still, missy, and keep quiet. I ain’t gonna stick it in you right this minute. No, I wanna play first, maybe titty fuck you once or twice. I just wanna good feel of your pussy first, stick my finger in you, get the hot, wet feel of you, so relax.” He jabbed his finger deep inside her.
Lacey moaned. It felt worse to her than either gunshot wound or the blows to her face. This was a personal, private invasion of her body and it hurt, more mentally, than physically, but it still hurt.
“Open your legs wider, girl. Wider!” Smitt placed one hand flat on her belly and pressed down hard, then he pushed the finger deeper inside her as if he was giving her a thorough pelvic. It felt to her as though he was scraping her womb raw. Cramps tore through her stomach.
What was he doing?
She’d thought he was using his finger, but no, it felt bigger. He was using something on her, something hard. What was it? He kept shoving it deep, turning it round and round, then he’d drag it out, moan, then shove it inside her again. The more he did it, the more ragged his breaths became, and the more she hurt.
“Come on. Come on,” he said, frustration ringing in his voice. “Come out of there!”
Then it dawned on her what he was doing.
“Oh God, don’t! What are you trying to do?”
“I’m not trying, Lacey, darling. I won’t stop until it’s done. You know what I’m doing,” he said in a merciless tone. “Don’t you? Don’t you?”
“No,” she weakly. “Don’t hurt my baby.”
“I’m ripping your brat out of you just like you did mine.” Smitt wiped his bloody hand across her belly. “It’s done, Lacey, darling. Do you think for a minute I’d let you keep this tadpole in you after what you did to me? It’s done. No more baby. You’re bleeding, girlie. Oooooweee, you’re bloody like a cut pig, but I got it out of you.”
Tears tracked down the corners of her eyes. Chills crawled over her and settled in an icy pool in her belly where her baby had been. She felt herself drifting away. He defiled her with his touch—wholly destroyed her soul. He grunted and probed deeper, then set a rhythm with whatever it was he was using on her, stroking in and out of her hard and fast.
She wanted to fight him, struggled to get away, but there was no escape.
“Mmm. Relax. Relax, Lacey, darling, this is going to take awhile.”
Think of something else. It’s only your body. Only your body.
Lacey sobbed.
He can’t destroy what you have with...
Tears slid down her face.
Yes, he could. And he would. He’d take everything.
She couldn’t summon the strength to fight him. So much pain. He kept thrusting inside her until she felt raw and bruised.
Don’t let him see you cry. Don’t cry. You’re tough, Lacey. Fight. Fight!
Tired. She felt so tired. She tried to focus on other things as he grunted over her. Then she heard the oddest noise. It sounded like a squeal, then several high-pitched grunts, ragged breaths and another high-pitched wail.
He was squealing?
Why would he squeal like a pig?
What?
Lacey felt something warm drip on her breasts and slither across her throat. Dear God, what—he was—she gagged. His semen jetted in several warm bursts onto her breasts. It slid across her nipples and oozed toward her neck. She retched and retched again. The bastard was jacking off on her.
“I’m coming for you, Lacey. Coming for you, Lacey.” Abruptly he fell on top of her, his chest heaving with the harsh breaths he sucked into his lungs. “Ahh, that felt good, Lacey, darling. Real good. The head of my cock went off like a geyser. I shot a big load on your belly and tits. Mmmm. Delicious. It eased the pressure on my balls a little so we can relax and take our time now.”
She felt the tip of his wet cock straining against her belly. Then higher.
“I’m still hard, Lacey, darling. Still got a hard-on. There’s something about doing the sheriff’s wife that makes me rock hard.” He slid his cock between her breasts, smashed them together, and rocked back and forth. “Gonna give you the titty fucking I promised you. I’ll be coming for you again real soon.” He grunted and sweated over her. “Relax, baby. It might not be good for you, but it feels great for me. I smell my scent on you.” He lifted his head, curled his fingers around one of her breasts and squeezed it. “Mmm. After I titty fuck you, next time, I’m gonna come in you. And every time after that, until I get bored with you, then I’ll kill you.”
Lacey closed her eyes. Shut out his voice. She focused her attention on the sounds around her.
Was that Joseph crying?
Screaming?
Please, God. Don’t let him hurt my son. Please. Please.
“Lacey? Why is Joseph screaming? Where are you?”
Lacey swallowed back the utter dryness that coated her throat. She didn’t have enough spit to dampen her tongue. Her mouth worked, but she couldn’t form the words to scream, to tell Anna Leigh to run.
The monster who’d just assaulted her pressed his palm over her mouth. “Ssh. Make a sound, I’ll slit your throat.” He punished her left breast in warning. Smitt rose to his feet, grabbed the gun off the table and waited for Danger’s sister to make her appearance.
“Aw, this just isn’t the sheriff’s lucky day,” he whispered.
“Lacey? Are you here?”
“Run, Anna,” Lacey screamed, but it was already too late. Anna Leigh stepped into the kitchen. Smitt squeezed the trigger. Her sister-in-law gasped, staggered back, crashed into the wall, then slid to the floor.
&nb
sp; Smitt stood over her, ready to pull the trigger again, but she didn’t move. He stared at the crimson stain blooming across her midriff and lifted a brow. “Gut shot, Lacey darling. See what you made me do?” He laughed. “Perfect. The bitch will lay there for hours before she dies.” He walked over to Lacey and picked up the knife. “You’re gonna pay for screaming a warning to her, bitch! I told you plain, no screaming. I know how to make you bleed and bleed and take forever to die, Lacey, darling.” He grinned. “Yeah, me and my buddy, we’re gonna have lots of fun.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sex is one of my downfalls. I get sex any way I can get it. If I have to force somebody to do it, I do…I rape them, I’ve done that. I’ve killed animals to have sex with them, and I’ve had sex while they’re alive.
~Henry Lee Lucas
Serial Killer
Davis Farm
Friday 4:00 p.m.
Smitt Davis kicked aside the rotting boards on top of the twenty-foot deep, dry open well at the back of his grandfather’s property line. He hadn’t been here in years. Not since the time he’d set the kitten on fire and threw it in the well.
Hell that was way back in Junior High School. He’d killed other small animals before that, watched them die a slow and painful death, but no one had seen him do it, except maybe his grandma.
His big mistake had been showing off in front of other kids and allowing them to witness what he did when he killed the kitten. The girls screamed, high-pitched screams that hurt his ears.
“Murderer! Murderer!” They screamed the words over and over, forcing him to cover his ears with his hands to shut out their words, their voices.
Jace Remington had knocked him on his ass and bloodied his nose. He never forgot the humiliation of that day when Jace frog-marched him up the front steps and flung him toward his grandma and told on him.
Grandma didn’t even look at Jace, but instead, gave him the cold, flat, unblinking stare that always sent shivers down his spine. He knew his punishment would be severe. It was always severe.
She nodded and ordered Jace to scoot on down the road. Then she dragged him inside the house where she yanked his jeans down to his knees, grabbed his little cock, and stuck the head of it to an ice tray. He cried. He screamed. He begged for mercy.
His grandma had never been merciful.
There was nothing gentle about the way she jerked his dick free from the frozen side of the cold ice tray. He dropped to his knees like a bag of wet cement. Tears rolled down his face. He cupped his privates and rocked back and forth.
“Let that be a lesson to you, boy. You gonna torture and kill somethin’ you don’t do it where there’s witnesses. You ever let any of them pansy-ass kids see you do something like that again, I’ll cut off your weenie and feed it to Sam.”
Smitt shivered and wiped the snot from his face. Sam was the big boar hog Grandma kept out back in a muddy little pen. He’d watched Sam roll in the mud, gulp down rats, snakes, and things he had no idea what it was his grandma gave the big stinking hog to eat.
Grandma always did exactly what she said she’d do. Just like the time she warned his mama if she caught her in the barn screwing Ron Snelling again, she’d kill her. “He already filled your belly with one bastard for me ta rear. You ain’t droppin’ another.”
He always wondered if it meant he belonged to Ron and if so, then Ron’s boy, Ronald Wade Junior, Captain of the Rimrock High School football team, was his half-brother.
But none of that mattered right now.
Right now, he was worried ‘bout keeping his cock, because sure as hell, she’d whack it off and feed it to Sam. If he died, well then, she’d chop him up and feed him to Sam, too, just like she’d fed his mama to the hog two years earlier.
He nearly jumped outta his skin when Grandma blasted Ron with her twelve–gauge shotgun. It blew a hole plum through him. His pretty mama screamed and screamed, until Grandma picked up a shovel off the barn floor and bashed her over the head with it.
Between them, they lugged Ron’s body inside the farmhouse and went back for his mama. Once they returned to the kitchen, his grandma made him watch her hack up the bodies.
Boy that was one bloody day in Grandma’s kitchen. She forced him to watch her chop his mama up in chunks.
“Thought she’d give me another crazy bastard to contend with, that’s what she thunk.” Grandma sliced open his mama’s belly. He puked, but grandma ignored the mess he made and kept right on chopping off limbs and cutting open his mama’s belly.
“Yep. Sure ‘nuff, see that, boy? She done got a baby in her. I know’d it, I heard her puking the other morning. I know’d it, then. Well, she ain’t giving life to another bastard. No, siree. The baby is just as dead as she is, dead in her belly. Our secret, boy. Remember that. No one’s business but ours what happened to my girl and the bastard what was screwin’ her. Understand me, boy? No one’s business. We don’t tell no secrets.”
She made him carry the parts in a bucket and give them to Sam, all because she caught his pretty young mama getting screwed by Ronald Snelling’s daddy. Smitt kicked another board out of his way until he could see clear to the bottom of the well. Doc Snelling should have kept his cock in his pants. “We don’t tell no secrets,” he muttered.
Too bad there weren’t any Sam’s around anymore. He’d chop up Lacey and feed her piece by piece to the hog, but this would do just fine. He went back to his truck, dragged her limp body out of the front seat and hauled her over his shoulder. She didn’t make a sound. He didn’t know if she was alive or dead. He didn’t care. He’d carved her up a little, gotten his jollies a couple of times and he’d had a fun-filled afternoon with her doing it, but now he was finished with her.
She was garbage.
Garbage went in the trash, dumped, and left behind.
Smitt dropped her lifeless body on the ground at the lip of the open well.
She didn’t stir.
Was she breathing?
He watched her breasts. He couldn’t detect any signs of her breathing. If she was, she wouldn’t be in a few minutes. It was a long drop to the bottom of the well. He whistled softly, pleased with the fun he’d had. She’d lost the brat in her. He’d worked real hard to make certain she did.
He believed in an eye for an eye.
But what had he done to her?
He remembered her piercing screams, the brat crying in the playpen. He’d shut the kid up. He’d shut them both up, but he couldn’t remember how he’d done it. Oh, but he’d touched her, a lot. Touched her wherever and however he wanted and there hadn’t been one damn thing she could do to stop him. He kissed her, licked her, sucked her tits—done all the things he imagined Danger had once done to her, only he knew he wasn’t as gentle as her husband had most likely always been.
So much red. Red-red-red—a river of red liquid stained the floor, the walls. Everywhere. On him. On his cock. His balls. His mouth. His fingers. He tasted it on his tongue. In his throat. When he’d finished with her, when at last, he crawled off her his scent and semen mingled with her blood.
Smitt stared at her nakedness now and snickered. The bitch had come into the world unclothed. She could damn well leave it the same way. It pleased him to see his bite marks on her tits. Both the beauties bore black and blue marks. Oh yeah, he’d left his brand on her, his marks, his semen, her blood and two bullet holes.
He played with the gun in his blood stained hands. He rolled it across her belly, back and forth, back and forth. Should he go ahead and put a bullet in her brain? End it? Make sure she was dead? Let her die with dignity? Show her a little mercy?
He concentrated on the bites on her tits while he thought about what to do with her.
How many times did he bite her?
Too bad he didn’t have time to count them.
His memory was hazy.
His cock hung soft behind his zipper. He felt good. Relaxed. His balls weren’t aching. He felt so fucking good, but he didn’t remember scr
ewing the cunt. He remembered painting the walls in her kitchen with her blood. He remembered coming on her tits a couple of times, but he wasn’t sure what he did to her after that. No matter.
What was important was the fact he felt fucking wonderful.
“You asked me what I wanted, Lacey. Remember? When you first saw me in your kitchen, you asked me what I wanted. You thought I wanted to fuck you. I didn’t want to fuck you. I never wanted to fuck you. I wanted to have some fun with you. Mostly, I wanted to hurt you.”
Smitt rose to his feet, kicked her in the ribs. He kicked her again and again then he worked the toe of his boot under her back and sent her flying over the edge of the well. He stood there a moment, looking down, taking in the scene far below.
Her body looked as lifeless as a mannequin’s. Blood pooled beneath her head, wet the snow underneath her and mingled with the total quiet.
“What do I want? I want you dead, bitch. That’s what I want. You took my babies from me. I took yours from you. Ain’t payback a bitch? Rot in hell!”
* * * *
Rimrock Sheriff’s Department
Friday 4:15 p. m.
Gertie Mae Crossman dropped the mike from her nerveless fingers. She stared at the dispatch unit. She knew her face must surely look blank. She felt the emptiness there. Hesitantly, she picked up the mike, cleared her throat and keyed the mike. “Sheriff Blackstone?”
Her voice sounded strained to her ears. This was one call she didn’t relish making.
“Go ahead, Gertie. What’s up?”
What’s up? Gertie Mae swallowed hard. Today, she hated her job. “Uh, you sound breathless. What are you doing?”
“I’m busy, Gertie. What’s up? Uh…Gertie? What’s going on? Gertie?”
“Danger?” Her breath caught on a hitch.
“Come on, Gertie Mae. I don’t have time for your games today.”
