He walked back toward me with his glinting blade at the ready. The ropes around my wrists and ankles dug deeper into my raw and scraped flesh, as I attempted to flail against the bindings tying me to the stone, but the knots wouldn’t give. It amused him to watch me struggle and he laughed, shaking his head as if I was the cutest thing he'd ever laid his eyes on. My face heated with every burst of his hot, stinking breath against my skin as he bent over, looming over my twisted body and pressing his rock-hard erection against my hand.
“Dinnae ye agree, lass?” he asked sweetly, tracing my ear with the tip of his nose. “Ye wouldnae do somethin' like that, would ye?”
In a frantic burst of desperation, I shook my head and repeated a muffled, “no, no, no,” behind the gag forced between my aching jawbones.
“I didnae think so. Ye're a good girl, aren't ye? Just like yer sister. Christ, she was a bonnie lass.”
My guts twisted painfully as he moaned against my neck and twisted one hand into my hair, while his other held the knife's threatening tip against my jugular.
“I wonder if ye're as tight as she was.”
Hot tears soaked my face as I pictured my poor sister, desecrated at the filthy hands of this monster. As I thought of her, I prayed. I prayed for her to watch over me, as he eventually acted out the same grotesque deeds to my body as he’d done to hers. I prayed for her to hold me in her loving palms, as I eventually met the end of my life. And I prayed that whatever she had felt was less than what was about to happen to me.
Sharp untangled his hand from my hair to grasp his erection through his jeans. He stroked slowly, patiently, as he slowly traced a thin line with the tip of his knife, from my throat, and all the way down my breastbone, never once breaking the skin. I sobbed as my bra snapped open, falling to dangle on either side of my exposed breasts. As I screamed from behind the gag, desperate for someone to hear me, Sharp laughed, quickening the speed of his hand against his jeans.
He moaned again, then said, “Yer sister wasnae nearly as scared as ye are right now. I fuckin' love that about ye, Rosie. But Grace put up a fight, mind ye. Feisty little thing, she was. Much more than the others. That surprised me, to be honest. I took one look at her and thought, ah, there's a bonnie wee bird, it'll take nothin' to clip her wings, but …” He groaned, low and deep, as he finished inside his jeans and against my limp hand. Then, stepping back and catching his breath, he said, “She was a fighter, all right. I liked that, though. Didnae think I would, but … aye, I did.”
He stood back, as if to admire his handiwork, and nodded his approval at my bare, goose-pimpled breasts and the tiny slashes against my chilled flesh. Every cut stung in the cold air, sticky with frozen blood. He reached out to palm one of my breasts and hummed his grotesque approval.
“So fuckin' gorgeous ye are, Rosie. Ye truly are,” he muttered, leaning to nuzzle his face against my neck. “I can see why Alec grabbed ye when he did. I only wish I'd gotten to ye first. But I'll make this good for ye, much better than it was for Grace, I can promise ye that. Ye deserve as much,” he said, before tracing my collarbone with his hot, slimy tongue, “after everythin' ye've been through.”
The sound of a hurt animal tore through my throat, as Sharp's knife drew another thin line along the waistband of my jeans, breaking the skin and shedding blood as it went. In a hazy blend of acute fear and pain, I pinched my eyes shut and screamed, soaking the gag with my tears, while his meaty, sweaty hand tore at the buttons and zipper. I begged for him to keep the knife away from the thin material of my underwear, but the words came out as nothing more than incoherent, muffled nothings against the cloth, and the sheer lace easily gave way to the blade, cold against my groin.
“Open yer eyes,” he said into my ear, as the knife dropped to the ground at our feet. “I want ye to look at me.”
I shook my head. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing every ounce of terror and agony coursing through my violated body, displayed in my eyes. He could use my body, he could break it until it was nothing but a sack of torn flesh and weary bone, but he would never know my soul. That was my right, maybe the last one I had, and I would be damned if he took it from me.
But Sharp wouldn't take no for an answer. A villain like him never does. His meaty hand clasped my chin tightly, as his hot breath permeated my eardrum.
“Open yer goddamn eyes before I do it for ye,” he growled.
There was no doubt in my mind that he would, and still, I kept them squeezed shut. Disappointed, Sharp sighed and then, something—his fist—hit my gut with a sickening fwack! My eyelids flew open involuntarily as my body desperately tried to lurch forward against the ropes.
“I didnae want to do that to ye, Rosie,” he said, as if it was my fault. “But what did I say about respectin' a man? Now, lay back like a good girl, and remember, keep yer eyes open.”
Coughing and sputtering against the rag, I did as I was told, for no other reason than there was nowhere else to go. I looked up at him, nothing but a black silhouette against the blazing firelight. He loomed over me, like a grim reaper sent to take me away, and nodded with approval.
“There ye are,” he muttered, laying his palm over my stomach and smearing the blood. “Now, stay just like that, while I—wha—”
“Touch her again, and I swear to Christ, I'll kill ye.”
My head bolted up from the stone at the sound of Alec's gruff voice, to see his arm wrapped around Sharp's neck from behind. A fresh burst of tears flowed from my eyes and my heart battered wildly against my chest when his face came into view, sneering as he pulled Sharp backward, toward the fire, as something heavy and warm was laid over my body.
“Rosie, I'm Inspector Finley,” another man said, crouched beside the stone, as he pulled the gag from my mouth. “Ye're gonna be fine, lass. We're here now.”
A hysterical howl burst from my lips, as I nodded, crying through a coalescence of fear and relief. “Oh, God,” I cried, as Finley worked a small knife against the ropes. “Oh, my God.”
“Ye're okay,” he kept saying, over and over again, but he was lying. Just a few feet from where we were, Alec was wrestling against Sharp. The fat man had managed to slip from Alec's hold on him and now he was dodging quickly toward the black duffle bag he had by the fire and reached inside.
“Alec! He has a gun!” I screamed, as Inspector Finley helped me to a sitting position and wrapped me in his coat.
“Give it up, Sharp!” Alec shouted, lunging again for the Constable, but the man dodged his attempts and scooped a heavy looking branch from beside the flames.
He swung and Alec jumped out of the way, before swinging his fist at Sharp's face. His knuckles made impact, crashing hard against the man's cheekbone. Sharp cursed angrily and swung again, this time cracking the branch against Alec's shoulder.
“Son of a bitch,” Alec groaned through gritted teeth, while trying to grab the branch and missing, as it came down on his head.
“No!” I screamed, jumping from the stone to help the man who had saved my life. But Finley's arms were around my waist before I could get to him.
“No, lass. Ye've gotta get out of here,” he instructed.
“No! I need to—”
“Rosie, go!” Alec shouted, as Sharp hit him again.
Alec dropped to his knees and another scream ripped through my throat as fresh tears wetted my face. He cursed, as he reached up to the back of his head and came away with a fresh sheen of blood coating his palm.
“G-G-Get u-up, A-A-A-Alec,” Sharp taunted, snickering before kicking Alec in the leg.
Alec shook his head, wobbling and blinking slowly, as he said, “F-Finley, get her out of here.”
Finley grabbed my wrist and pulled, urging me to go with him, but my feet wouldn't let me move. Not when we could still help Alec, swaying on the ground and struggling to stand, while being kicked again and again by Sharp. I ignored Finley's begging voice, as I screamed at Sharp to leave him alone, but the bastard was relentless.
/> “Do ye remember that day, Alec?” Sharp growled, as he hit Alec again over the shoulder. “Do ye remember my brother, tyin' ye to that tree?”
Alec dropped face first into the dirt and grunted as Sharp kicked him in the ribs but made no attempt to get up. I pleaded with Sharp to stop and I demanded for Alec to get up. I begged them both, as I fought against Finley's grasp around my waist.
“Stop it, Rosie,” Finley warned harshly, as he pulled me toward the entrance of the clearing. “We need to go!”
Sharp groaned and threw the branch to the ground. With a sigh, he said, “This is gettin' old,” and then, with a swift flick of his wrist, he pulled the gun from his back pocket.
I was now blinded to Alec's unmoving body, as I stared into the black barrel of the pistol. Finley shoved me toward the entrance of the clearing, and I tripped on unsteady legs, as he shouted, “Rosie, run! Run now!”
He was gone from my side, and I turned to watch as he dodged as quickly as he could toward Sharp. The man was cold-blooded and didn't hesitate for a second as he pulled the trigger. Finley went down, hitting the dirt heavily without uttering another word, and I screamed until the sound died in my weakened throat.
Now, with the two men who had come to my aid, laying motionless on the ground, I stared at Sharp, the monster who had taken my sister's life. He turned the gun on me and seemed to hesitate. I could have taken that opportunity to do or say anything. I could have cursed his life or rushed toward him in one final attempt to save myself. But I did neither of those things, as I stared into his cold, unfeeling eyes. They were the last eyes to see my sister alive, and the last eyes that would see me.
A tear slipped down my cheek as I shook my head and asked, “Why?”
He considered the question with a cock of his head, then shrugged nonchalantly.
“Why not?”
Bang!
He pulled the trigger, and I felt nothing. I dropped to the ground and felt nothing. Then, looking up at the stars speckling the Scottish sky and still feeling nothing at all, I imagined I could see my sister's face, her smile, and her bright and beautiful eyes, until I saw … nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ROSIE
The beeping and whirring of hospital machines woke me from a slumber I couldn't remember falling into. My eyes blinked open to stare not at the stars but at a white, tiled ceiling and blinding fluorescent lights. My back was flat against a soft mattress, and my head against a pillow, as I breathed in and out inside the confines of an oxygen mask. Then, all at once, the calm of restful sleep was stolen, as a tsunami of recollection and questions bowled me over with an urgent gasp.
Alec.
Finley.
Sharp.
The gun.
I had been shot. Was I dead? Was Alec dead? What about Finley? Where was I? Where were they?
I tried to sit up, pulling at wires and an IV line connected to my arm. A nearby nurse bolted over, talking nonsense in a soothing tone, while gently pushing me back to lie down again.
“No, no!” I shouted, pushing away at her fluttering hands. “Where is Alec?!”
“Dinnae ye fuss, miss,” she soothed, stroking a calming hand over my hair. “Just close yer eyes and go back to sleep. Ye need yer rest.”
“No! Please!”
Then, a familiar voice came rushing toward me with the sound of heavy footsteps.
“Rosie! Rosie, you're awake!”
I looked beyond the fretting nurse to see Tom, hurrying to stand at my bedside. At the sight of his face, I gave in to the nurse's insistence and crumbled into a mess of wordless tears and sobs.
“Oh, my God, Rosie,” he said, bending over the bed to rest his face against my shoulder and shed his own tears of relief. “Oh, God, you're okay, you're okay. I promise, you're okay.”
“W-what happened a-a-after I—”
I couldn't say it, that I had been shot, and had almost died. So, I let the question hang in the air as I cried, unable to come to terms with being alive and awake after facing the barrel of Sharp's gun.
Tom stood up and found a chair. Then, sitting beside my bed, with my hand in his, he took a deep breath and began to tell me the parts of the story he knew.
“I know the police want to talk to you, and they'll know more than I do right now, but you were shot in the chest. The bullet just missed your heart,” he said, unable to look me in the eyes. “There were about twenty cuts all over your torso and I think they said you needed over seventy stitches.”
“But …” I shook my head, narrowing my eyes as I tried desperately to remember the moments from when I was blacked out. “How am I even alive?”
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then, shrugged before saying, “I … I don't really know. I don't know all the details. All I do know is, that guy who's house you were staying at—”
“Oh, my God, Rick,” I said with a gasp, recalling his body, laying in the doorway as Sharp dragged me out of the house.
“Right, Rick. He told the police where to look for you.”
“What, um,” I closed my eyes, afraid to ask the question that needed to be asked, “what about Alec and Finley? Are they alive? What about Rick?”
Tom sighed and squeezed my hand. “I don't know. I know the guy who took you is dead—”
“Sharp is dead,” I repeated breathlessly, pressing a hand to the bandage on my chest.
“Yeah, he is,” he said quietly, holding on tight to me. “And I know Rick is alive. The other men that were found with you were brought in, but that’s the last I heard. I don't know what's happened since then, and that was … God, almost two days ago, I guess—”
Snapping my eyes open, I stared at him in disbelief. “I've been asleep for almost two days?”
He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. They said you'd probably be out for a while after the anesthesia.”
Two days was a long time. Plenty of time for a multitude of things to happen and go wrong. In a hurry to find out more of the details, I tugged at the cannula in my nose and the IV in my hand. Tom shook his head and pressed his hands gently to my shoulders, demanding that I calm down and stay in bed. But I couldn't just lay there. Not when I had no idea of what had happened to Alec and Finley.
“How about I get someone, and you can ask?” he offered, pleading me with his eyes to not do anything stupid.
Reluctantly, I nodded. “Okay. But hurry.”
***
We didn't have to wait long for Chief Inspector Frasier to come see me. He regarded me with grave apology, holding his cap over his chest in a respectful manner, as he asked Tom to please step out of the room. My ex-husband and best friend left reluctantly, with a promise that he'd be right outside, and then, once the door was closed, the inspector took a seat by my side.
“I wanna apologize profusely for not bein' more attentive regardin' yer sister's murder,” he began, laying his cap over his thighs. “I once held my department on a pedestal of great prestige, but after the severity of this mistake, I willnae be doin' so any longer.”
I shook my head. “It isn't your—”
“With all due respect, Miss Allan, it is my fault,” he said firmly. “I shouldae looked further into the case before dismissin' it. I shouldae never allowed it. That is my oversight, and it is because of that oversight that Inspectors Brodie and Finley felt they had to solve the case on their own. I will be sorry for that every day for the rest of my life.”
Realizing that nothing I could say would heal the man's hurt, I simply nodded and kept quiet, waiting for him to reveal the things I needed to know.
“When we found ye in Coille Feannag, we thought ye were dead,” he said, his voice somber and gruff. “It looked like a massacre. But thankfully, ye were all alive, with the exception of Constable Sharp. He was already dead.”
I narrowed my eyes and asked, “But how?”
“He was stabbed in the back eighteen times,” the Chief Inspector stated matter-of-factly.
“What?”
&nb
sp; He pursed his lips and looked off to study the honeycomb pattern in the beige blanket laid over my legs. “Ah, I suppose ye wouldnae remember … Inspector Brodie attacked him, after Sharp had shot both you and Inspector Finley. Brodie was beaten with an inch of his bloody life, but he found in him the strength to get up and kill the fuckin' bastard.”
Relief and gratitude forced the air from my lungs as I closed my eyes and held a hand over my aching chest. Chief Inspector Frasier laid a hand over my arm and patted gently in a cold attempt to comfort me, as the tears began to fall.
“Is he … is he okay?” I whispered, keeping my eyes closed, unable to see the man's reaction to the question.
“He took a beatin', and it'll take some time for him to recover, but … aye,” he replied. “He'll be fine, thank Christ. I just wish I could say the same for Inspector Finley.”
“What?” I asked, turning to him. This time, with my eyes wide open.
He sighed and shook his head. “He didnae make it through surgery.”
Another dose of guilt met my persistent grief, as my heart broke for one of the two courageous men who had come to my aid and saved my life. Finley had a family, a wife, and children, and it was because of me that they would never see him again. That was a jagged and bitter pill to swallow. Yet I couldn't ignore the gratitude that also swept over me, knowing that Grace's killer had been caught and brought to justice. Even though it could never bring her back, and I would be forever doomed to miss her, it was a small consolation to know that he could never hurt someone again. For that, I was extremely thankful, to both Alec and his friend, Brian Finley.
A Circle of Crows Page 24
