Half Blood (8 page)

One more step,
she thought.

One more step and then I attack.

One more step.

Buddy pushed into a bar in downtown Buxton; the stench of stale beer, cigarettes and sex raping his olfactory senses. His sharp eyes surveyed his surroundings before he took a seat close to the liquor.

Throwing a coaster onto the pockmarked bar, the bartender asked, ‘What’ll it be Buddy?’

‘The usual,’ he replied from around the hand-rolled between his lips. The bartender grunted a reply and shuffled around the bar, producing cheap whiskey in a dirty shot glass and a beer chaser. ‘Thanks.’

The shot of whiskey burned his throat as it went down, but he let it burn. He needed to feel this pain now. When the edge had worn off, he sucked back his beer, draining the bottle in one sitting. He wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth. As he placed the bottle back on the bar, another shot of whiskey and a fresh beer were sitting there. His eyes met the near black of his new best friend behind the bar and he nodded.

By his sixth ride on the merry-go-shot, Buddy’s body hummed with warmth. The temperature of the liquor in his blood didn’t deaden his hard on for a fight though. If anything it made him hopped-up for more than just one. The sound of rough laughter brought his head up from looking down at his now empty shot glass.

The bar had slowly been filling up with the usual Wednesday night crowd as he sat there drinking himself into a stupor. Most of the cocksuckers were truckers wearing their wife-beaters and ripped jeans like it was something they could be fucking proud about. Their arms had some kind of ink on them, and mostly it was the name of the trash they’d managed to knock up. The rest of the clientele were working girls getting nice and blunt for the whoring that would come later. They were all the fucking same. His top lip lifted from his teeth in a sneer before he focused on the fresh drink in front of him.

His eyes drifted over the guy’s right shoulder. The bottle-blonde who was standing against the pool table was wearing a shirt that was about three sizes too small and a pair of panties that had been mistaken as a skirt. She smiled at him as he looked her over; her legs widening a little telling him all he needed to know—she was jonesing for a fight so she could get laid later on tonight, and by the look in her eyes she wanted it to be him and not the fucking mouth breather standing in front of him.

The guy’s colour changed, reddening as Buddy metaphorically cranked the guy’s balls in his palm. He could smell his anger––the acrid stench of his rage was like a red rag to the bull in him. Buddy saw the trash’s fist flying before the punch could land. Dodging the fist, he elbowed him hard into the solar plexus. The air left the guy’s body in a warm rush of beer-drenched breath as he doubled over. Buddy rammed his knee into his face while he was bent over, knocking him down to the filthy ground.

Like all bar fights, it took less than two seconds for a crowd to form; the bottle-blonde front and centre behind her man. They all yelled and jeered as Buddy’s eyes roamed over the nameless faces. His lack of attention left him open for the punch in the face that he hadn’t even seen coming. Buddy felt his lip splitting open, blood crashing out of the wound in an angry wave. His anger pulsed out of him, his adrenalin kicking in and jacking him up. The guy swung at him again; the blow glancing off his cheek and catching him on the jaw. He stumbled backwards, catching himself on the bar.

The Trash danced back a few steps, holding his hands up in front of him like he was some goddamn professional boxer. The guy squeezed his right eye shut to keep the river of blood from the cut Buddy had opened on his eyebrow from blinding him. His bitch screamed at him to hit Buddy again, but Buddy saw his hesitation.

With a grin twisting up his lips, he pushed away from the bar and kicked the Trash in the kneecap from the side and watched him go down. When he was finally on the ground, a kick to the face made sure that he stayed that way.

‘Fucking cocksucker,’ he growled, spitting out blood onto the guy’s face.

The cheer that erupted from the peanut gallery hurt his ears. He stumbled back until the bar stool hit him in the ass and a fresh shot and another beer were lined up under his nose along with a cloth. Buddy looked up into the bartender’s life-worn face.

‘For your lip,’ he said, pointing down at the cloth.

Buddy picked up the fabric and held it gingerly to his mouth. The pain felt fan-fucking-tastic. It brought back memories from being at school again, fighting for survival, and later on just for the hell of it.

By the time he had downed the drinks, the blonde had twitched her way over to him.

‘Hi handsome,’ she purred into his ear. ‘You wanna get out of here?’ She pressed her silicone wonders against his arm, making sure to jiggle the goods as incentive.

Buddy turned his whole body to look at her. Her eyes were the colour of watered-down peas, her lips pumped so full of collagen that she probably sweat the stuff. There was nothing about her that was real except for her eye colour and even then that was debateable. Physically, she wasn’t anything like his usual type, but she would do. She looked like a screamer.

‘What do you want to do?’ she asked, sucking in her lower lip so slowly that it made his cock grow hard.

‘I’m going to tie you up bitch,’ he growled. She pressed her upper body closer to his, moaning when he ran his hand along her hip and dug his fingers into her ass. He pulled her towards him until she was forced to straddle him on the bar stool. Her skirt rode up revealing just a thin piece of fabric between her core and his straining cock. She ground herself onto him, throwing her head back; her mouth parted in an open invitation.

He glanced over her shoulder to find the whole bar watching their little show. He lifted his hips up to meet her core until she screamed out. He smiled at all the other cocksuckers and pushed her off him roughly.

‘Are we going to get out of here baby?’ she asked pulling her non-existent skirt down.

‘I’m going to finish this drink then I’m going to fuck you next to a dumpster in the alleyway. You feel me?’ he asked raising an eyebrow at her. She nodded slowly at him, her eyes heated. Her arousal was so strong that he could have said anything to her and she would have done it.

Picking up the drink in front of him, he threw it down before grabbing some green from his pocket and leaving it on the bar. The bartender lifted a bushy eyebrow in question.

‘To clean up the mess,’ Buddy told him gruffly. He took the girl around the waist and led her out into the cold, winter night. It was a good fucking night.

Indi’s hand flexed around the handle of her knife and waited in the suffocating darkness for her attacker. Her anger liked the suspense; the anticipation of spilling fresh blood.

‘Found you, Kitten,’ Wright purred above her head. She whipped her head around to look up at him, unable to move fast enough to dodge his hand that was only a few inches away from her now. He pulled her out from behind the dumpster and threw her to the ground. Her teeth rattled as she landed, her fingers losing their grip on the knife’s handle. Wright kicked her knife away, leaving Indi to watch it skid under the dumpster.

She shuffled back against the wall, patting around on the ground for something,
anything
, that would work as a weapon. Her fingers touched something smooth and cold. When she ran the tips of her fingers around one edge to judge the shape, she sucked in a hiss. She’d found a piece of broken bottle. Wrapping her fingers around the neck, she shifted the weapon behind her back to hide it in the space between the small of her back and the wall.

He crouched down in front of her, balancing all his weight on the balls of his feet. The switchblade was hanging casually in one of his hands that rested on his knee. ‘I told you I’d teach you a lesson.’ He caressed her face softly. Indi pulled away and spat in his face.

‘You fucking pig,’ she replied fiercely.

She watched as his face clouded over with dark thoughts. He wiped the spit away with his sleeve and smiled cruelly. ‘Now, Kitten,’ he said with a strained voice, hauling her up by her arm. ‘You’re going to play nice.’ He flipped her over and pushed her in the back until her nose was kissing the wall. He hadn’t seen the piece of broken bottle yet, so she carefully slid it between her body and the wall down near her thigh.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

‘I just want you, Nancy. I saw the way you were looking at me this afternoon. I know you want me as much as I want you. You just like to play hard to get, don’t you?’

Her mouth was suddenly dry. She tried twice to respond before any sound came out. ‘Is this how you get all women to fuck you, you piece of shit?’

Mr Wright growled down low in his throat before he turned her back around again, slamming her back hard against the brickwork. Indi’s head connected with the bricks and the dark-fuzzies were back. She could feel her eyes rolling around in her head, but she couldn’t lose consciousness now. She’d end up dead if she did. She pushed against the cut on her finger until the sting of the cut dragged her back from semi-consciousness.

He brought the tip of the knife to her cheek and pressed it into her skin to make a small dimple without drawing any blood. Indi was suddenly having a moment of clarity, wondering whether
this
man was the rapist. It was only her twisted luck that would land her in a dark alleyway with him. Her promise to herself came roaring back. She wouldn’t be used like that again.

‘Doesn’t your wife indulge your other fucked up sexual appetites?’ she asked, positioning the sharp edge of the glass at her hip. He was only slightly taller than her which meant that if he pressed his body any closer to hers, or rushed her, his stomach would be pierced first. Belly wounds could be fatal. Although he had a knife pressed against her skin, she knew that he didn’t want to cut her face up. Men like him liked their women pretty and unmarred. He was bluffing. He didn’t have the balls to slice up her face … at least that was what she was hoping. She breathed through her pounding pulse and licked her desert-dry lips.

Wright laughed. ‘You have a lot of spirit, don’t you?’

‘Spirit?’ she asked in disbelief. ‘Try a fucking bad attitude.’

He moved his face closer until she felt his hot breath on her cheek. ‘I like spirit,’ he whispered before kissing her roughly on the mouth. She bit him on the lip, drawing blood. She spat in his face again and took the opportunity that she’d just created as he took a step away from her.

Driving her hand up and forward, she felt the glass slice into his belly. He let out a yelp and backed away from her, his hand going to a spot just left of his belly button. She looked down at the bottle, finding the sharp edge only half an inch long. Realising the gravity of her error, she dived for the dumpster and the knife beneath it.

‘You bitch!’ he hissed, tackling her around the knees as her fingers brushed past the handle of her blade. She landed face first on the ground, putting her hands out in front of her to break the fall. Rocks, broken glass and dirt filled the grazes on her palms, but she could live with that. Wright flipped her over onto her back, unzipping his pants and tearing at hers.

Indi kicked out, landing a blow to his throat. His desperate gasps for air filled the dark alleyway and Indi leaped up. She obviously hadn’t kicked him hard enough because he was also on his feet and trying to drive her into the wall again. His hands were all over her body as he tried to finish getting her pants off. She struggled to get free, but as soon as he pinned her arms above her head, she knew she was a little more than screwed.

His breath was hot on her skin as he nuzzled into her neck and collarbone.

‘Let me go,’ she hissed, jerking her body around so that he couldn’t get one solid grip.

He pulled away to look at her face. ‘That’s right, fight it,’ he all but growled. He inhaled deeply. ‘I can smell your fear.’ She fought both her revulsion and her natural instincts by going completely still. She knew her eyes would have been distant, disassociated. This was exactly what she wanted to happen. She let him feel the full weight of her body as he held her by the wrists, giving him the appearance of submission. He relaxed his grip and lowered her arms.

She drove her knee up into his groin hard. Wright crumpled onto himself, his knees hitting the cold hard concrete beneath with a sickening
thud
. Indi shuffled sideways away from his thrashing body, never taking her eyes off his murderous glare. When she got to the dumpster, she slid to her knees and then her stomach to retrieve her knife. When her fingers wrapped around the handle, she stood up again and walked back over to the still-writhing form on the ground. Crouching down an arm’s length away from him, she tapped the end of the knife on the ground. He looked up at her with daggers in his eyes all for her.