by M A Comley
CONTENTS
Title Page
Other Books by M A Comley
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Note to the Reader
Other Works
Copyright Page
CRUEL JUSTICE
M A Comley
OTHER BOOKS BY
M A COMLEY
Impeding Justice
Final Justice
Foul Justice
Guaranteed Justice
Ultimate Justice
Torn Apart
Sole Intention
Virtual Justice (coming November 2013)
A Time To Heal
A Time For Change
It’s A Dog’s Life
High Spirits
A Twist in The Tale
Merry Widow
If you fancy something a little saucy why not pick up one of the short erotic stories I have written under the name of Tiffany Towers http://tiffanytowers1.blogspot.fr/
Keep in touch with the author at:
Facebook
http://melcomley.blogspot.com
http://melcomleyromances.blogspot.com
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This book is dedicated to my rock, Jean.
Special thanks to my wonderful editor Misti Wolanski.
Thanks to Karri Klawiter for the wonderful cover, you’re a talented lady.
PROLOGUE
August 30, 2007
The pain intensified from the welts on her naked back. The woman had no concept of time, no idea how long she’d been tied up. Her hands, tightly bound to an old wooden chair, had lost all feeling.
Was this how her life would end?
She had finally grown used to the vile stench permeating her temporary cell.
Time, all she had was time. Time to think, time to ask herself the same questions, over and over. Who was her captor? And why was he holding her captive? What unspeakable thing had she done in her life to make a complete stranger treat her that way? I’m a kind and caring person, aren’t I?
What type of person keeps a woman locked up in a hellhole like this?
He tortured her with silence when he brought her food, if she could call week-old bread food. She had tried different ways to get a reaction out of him, shouting, reasoning—even her pitiful attempt at begging had fallen on deaf ears. His sneer, and the way his dark eyes roamed her naked body, made her skin crawl.
Her own thoughts had started torturing her. Her aching limbs cried out for warm lavender oil-filled baths, if only to wash away the urine stinging her legs and the faeces clinging to her behind. She felt utterly degraded, a far cry from her usual opulent lifestyle.
Every waking minute dragged into agonisingly long hours. Please, when will this nightmare end? How will this nightmare end? she repeatedly asked her Maker.
Water dripped constantly in the corner, adding to her torment. She blocked out the noise by reminiscing about happier moments, hoping the memories would help drive away the insanity threatening to seep into her mind. Fearing her life would soon come to an end, she prayed endlessly that her dead husband would be there to greet her when she finally passed over. How wonderful it would be to feel his arms comforting me now.
Her heart leapt into her throat when the hatch door swung open. The sudden rush of daylight hurt her eyes, causing them to water. She winced and was swiftly reminded that her right eye had doubled in size from the beating received a few days earlier.
The man gingerly made his way down the precarious ladder, followed by another person.
Her pulse accelerated, furiously gathering momentum. The man crossed the stone floor and stopped in front of her, while the other person disappeared into the shadows to her side.
“Please, please let me go,” she pleaded.
The man stared at her for a moment before the vilest of laughs escaped his lips. “Why? Tell me why I should let you go?”
“I beg of you, please, tell me what I have done?”
He smirked and circled her chair. “Ah, ignorance is a blissful thing.”
Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed it back down. “Please, I’m begging you. Please tell me what I’ve done wrong?”
Through clenched teeth, he said, “If only you had done something, helped in some way; but you didn’t, did you? It was far easier to just leave us there, to let us rot in that shithole for years. Well, now you know how it feels.”
The venom in his voice made her flinch. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you mean. Do I know you?”
“You’re all the same. You avoid helping those who cry for help. Your kind makes me sick.” He jerked his head and spat on her face. “You and your ilk think you’re all so mighty. But you’re no better than the shite you’re sitting on. You’re all full of it!”
She cried as he ranted at her.
“You’re a filthy, whimpering bitch! What are you?”
She bowed her head.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
She picked up her head.
“Now what are you?”
“I’m a filthy…”
“Yes? You’re a filthy what?”
Snot ran into her mouth as she said, “I…I’m a filthy…whimpering, bitch…” Her throat tightened.
His laughter filled the room.
“Please, could I have a drink of water?”
“Oh, madam would like to quench her thirst?”
“Please?”
“And how about something to eat? You must be hungry. No?”
“Yes.”
The man pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped his hands into them. He then moved to the back of the chair.
She couldn’t figure out what he was doing, but when he came to stand in front of her again, he smiled. She gulped at what he had in his hand. Her heart pounded.
“Open your mouth.”
“Please don’t…”
“But you’re hungry. Right? You said you were hungry. Now open your mouth. Wide.”
Eyes stinging, she opened her mouth, and the wider she did, the more her already-chapped lips cracked.
“Yes, your kind are full of it.” He moved closer and shoved a handful of faeces into her mouth. “Now chew and swallow it!”
Between gagging and sobbing, she consumed her own filth.
He looked down towards her pubic area. “You rea
lly are a filthy bitch.” He removed the gloves and tossed them on the floor.
Between bouts of hysterical laughter, he continued shouting obscenities, but his words seemed jumbled to her already confused mind.
Still very much amused, he turned and walked towards the ladder.
Oh, thank God, they’re leaving. She closed her tired eyes for a second, but when she opened them, he was on his way back. Then she noticed the metal bar in his right hand.
Oh, God. Is this the end?
He shuffled closer. “You disgust me!”
Covered in goose bumps, and teeth chattering, she peered up into the evil black eyes angrily eating through her flesh.
“Did you hear me?”
“I—I don’t understand. What have I done to deserve this?” she mumbled.
“I have had enough, you stuttering, smelly bitch.” He raised the bar.
The woman’s terrified scream pierced the tiny room, but her terror was lost in his madness. The bar crashed down, and in one blow, he smashed her skull wide open. Her life’s blood ebbed away.
He continued hitting her as images of his childhood ran through his crazed mind. Strike after strike, he punished her, unaware that her last breath had left her body five minutes before.
Satisfaction overwhelmed him.
A large saw lay in the cellar corner, and as though about to reach an orgasm, he grabbed it and positioned it on the woman’s lifeless neck. Back and forth, back and forth, he pushed it—faster, faster—and as he cut through the tendons and bones, he clenched his teeth until her head fell onto the floor.
The other person stepped out from the shadows from whence she’d silently observed the proceedings.
He turned to face her. He could tell, by the way her face lit up, she was pleased with the precision and the eagerness of his actions.
“The first part of the puzzle is now in place,” said the man.
“Yes, and we both know there’s no turning back, now.”
“Yes. This is just the beginning…”
CHAPTER ONE
September 30, 2007
Lorne pulled the large scatter cushions off the sofa and onto the floor while Tom threw another log on the open fire. They both sighed with satisfaction as they sank into the cushions.
So far, the evening had gone according to plan. It had been months since they’d shared a meal together, and even longer since they’d shared any form of intimacy. She poured two glasses of the wine on the side table next to the sofa and felt excitement build inside.
Tom pulled her back and hooked an arm around her shoulders.
“We miss not having you around,” he whispered in her ear.
Sighing contentedly, Lorne swung her legs over his lap and nestled her head into his shoulder. “I know. I miss Charlie and you, too. I also miss sharing romantic evenings with the man of my dreams. It feels like years since we’ve done anything like this.” She touched the cold wine glass against her cheek to cool it. Was she really blushing, or was that heat from the crackling fire? “I kinda feel like a naughty teenager.”
“Do you remember what we used to get up to as naughty teenagers?” Tom asked seductively, his hand playfully stroking its way up her slim thigh.
His long-awaited touch sent thrills shooting through her usually tense body. “We didn’t know each other when we were teenagers, you idiot. You mean before Charlie came along?”
“Point taken. Do you regret having her?”
Shocked by his unexpected question, she sat up and frowned. “Of course not. Do you?”
Tom had been in a funny mood with her for months—she had put it down to her working more overtime than usual. But maybe she was wrong, and their problems ran deeper than that.
In thirteen years of marriage, they had never really discussed how their lives had panned out since having their daughter, who was away for the night on a sleepover at a friend’s house. Now Lorne couldn’t help wondering where the conversation was leading.
He reached up and gently repositioned her head on his chest before saying, “No, I don’t, but…”
And that one simple word appeared to linger dangerously between them like high-voltage electricity.
Again Lorne tried to sit up, but Tom’s hand clamped her head like a vice. “Tom, let go of me.”
She exhaled a frustrated sigh and tried to suppress the uncertainty bubbling inside. With one forceful kick, she sat upright and glared down at him, shifting position slightly to prevent him from pulling her back into a cuddle. “What the hell does that mean? ‘But…’?”
His arms formed a blockade across his broad chest, his lips pressed firmly together as he refused to answer her.
Sucking in a deep breath, she bolstered herself to demand, “Tom, if you have something you want to get off your chest, let’s have it.”
Oh God, please don’t spoil things and fly off the handle. At the moment, I can’t cope with a week of your sulking.
“Come on, sweetheart. You obviously have something on your mind,” she coaxed, smiling.
“Okay, I’ll tell you what’s going on with me. But remember, you asked,” he replied, reaching for his drink. He downed the contents of his glass in one noisy swallow and looked as if he was trying to summon up the courage to continue.
She nodded. She’d never seen Tom like this. His chocolate brown eyes showed signs of worry that unsettled her stomach.
Clinging onto the now empty glass, he stood up and paced round the room. “It’s not easy to say this.”
His hesitation annoyed her. “Just spit it out, Tom.”
He ran a shaking hand through his thick black hair. She could see how painful it was for him to find the right words. He’s going to confess to having an affair. She braced herself as his lips opened and the words tumbled out.
“I’m fed up with being taken for granted. Your job means more to you than we do. I’m fed up making excuses when Charlie asks what’s keeping you at work. Which you have to admit, happens frequently, lately.”
Tears sprang to her eyes as relief overwhelmed her; he wasn’t having an affair after all. “Oh, Tom. Honey, we knew how much our lives would change when I accepted this promotion. We discussed it—”
“I seem to remember it being a one-sided discussion that began with, ‘I’ve been offered promotion,’ and ended with ‘I’ve accepted it.’ What choice did I have in the matter? None, zilch, nothing, fuck all. Some discussion that turned out to be.”
“That’s not fair. What was I supposed to do? Turn down the promotion? Do you realise how the force would have reacted to that? I would’ve remained a sergeant for the rest of my career,” Lorne said, scrambling to her feet, ready for further confrontation.
“At least Charlie would know who her mother was,” he childishly snapped back.
“I don’t see you complaining when you’re spending my hard-earned money,” she mumbled.
“Oh, it’s your money, is it?” he retaliated, his eyes wide with anger.
“You know I didn’t mean that,” she said, frustrated, beating a clenched hand against her thigh. “I appreciate what you’ve given up to look after Charlie, but that was a decision we made together years ago. Or are you going to throw that one at me next?”
The long drawn-out silence was deafening.
“Perhaps I didn’t bank on Charlie being so difficult to bring up,” he stated quietly.
Guilt wrapped her like a tight bandage. She kicked herself for not appreciating his loneliness sooner. “Baby, I’m so sorry…” she walked towards him.
He turned his back and stood by the window. Shocked, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.
“I don’t want or need your sympathy, Lorne,” he said, pulling back the curtain. He placed his hands on the windowsill and gazed out.
“What do you want, then?”
After a few minutes’ silence, he mumbled pitifully, “I want my fucking life back.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’
m sorry, Tom; I just don’t understand what you mean by that. You have a life. We have a life. We have a very good life, in fact—”
“No, you’re the one with a life. I’m merely existing. You leave the house at eight and get back around seven thirty—when you don’t bother doing any overtime, that is. While ‘good old Tom’ looks after our child’s needs and cleans the house. Christ, do you have any idea how bloody mundane that is, five days a week?” he said, his voice rising along with the colour in his cheeks.
Lorne could imagine the same conversation going on in thousands of households all over the country, except it was probably the wives complaining to the husbands after they came home from a long day at work.
She blew out an exasperated breath and asked, “How long have you felt like this?”
“Months. Only you’ve been too busy to notice.”
Henry, their border collie, sat by the kitchen door, whimpering at their raised voices, and Lorne couldn’t help being distracted for a moment.
“Come here, boy. It’s okay.” He approached her, and she patted his head reassuringly. “Go lie in your bed.”
The dog trotted back to the kitchen, his head hung low. Lorne had bought him as a pup, five years before, as a present for her husband. Tom had named him after his favourite footballer, Thierry Henry. But the dog seemed to regard Lorne as his master, not Tom, which in itself had caused problems between them.
“Huh, even the dog gets more attention than I do.”
“Grow up, Tom.” As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted saying them.
Tom turned to face her and grabbed her by the shoulders, “So that’s what you really think of me? That I’ve failed to grow up along the way? Right, you can bloody well put your resignation in at work tomorrow, because this time next week, lady, I’m going back to work. Do you hear me, Lorne? Then we’ll see how long it takes you to crack looking after our angelic daughter day in, day out. Just remember one thing: It’s taken twelve years for my sanity to diminish. We’ll see how long you last, shall we?”
His grip on her shoulders had intensified during his speech, and he hadn’t noticed her wincing in pain. “Tom, you’re hurting me.”
“Hurt? You don’t know the meaning of the word,” he said through gritted teeth, refusing to loosen his grip.
