Blind Alley (2 page)

He stopped caressing her. His hand had become a ball of tension, waiting to explode.

She attempted to shake her head.

It wasn’t the answer he wanted. He rammed his fist as hard as he could between her legs.

The pain was unbearable. She was certain she would pass out. Instead she retched.

He stood back and watched while she vomited, until eventually only bile was left. His stomach was turning at the sight of her. Vomit combined with blood trailed down the seeping, swollen mess that was her face.

‘Nick. Where is he, you fucking slag?’

He was starting to lose his patience.

The question jolted her.

‘What?’ she mumbled through swollen, bloodied lips.

But the word she uttered made no sense.

Irritated, he bent over her, bringing his face close to hers. She was terrified. The look in his eyes told him he wasn’t just going to rape her – he was going to kill her.

‘No . . . please . . . no . . .’

But the words were inaudible. The only sound was a gargling, hissing noise.

‘I said, where the fuck is NICK, you stupid bitch?’

He rammed a hand deep under her ribs to make sure that she was lucid.

She gasped in agony.

When she managed to breathe again, she mustered all the strength she had and spat at him.

Blood, vomit and spit hit his face. He took a tissue out of his jacket and wiped his cheek. He then took off the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

‘Maybe it’s time to teach you some manners,’ he suggested as he began to unzip his trousers.

She tried to get up but her body refused to move. She willed herself to make a run for it. But something was wrong. Her legs wouldn’t work.

Move . . . come on, Trina . . . Fucking move, girl! Move it before it’s too late!

Desperate, she tried shuffling backwards on her elbows, dragging herself towards the entrance of the alley.

He was more than ready. He had been anticipating this moment for some time. He took his time stretching a condom over himself. He knew he couldn’t take a chance with this disease-riddled bitch. He kneeled down and grabbed her by the legs as she tried in vain to scramble away from him. He leaned over and flipped her onto her stomach.

She groaned in pain at the sudden, violent movement.

Her reaction had the desired effect. It made him even more excited. He pulled up her faux leather skirt, exposing her black thong.

She attempted to struggle but was unable to move under the crushing weight of his body. She felt him yank her thong to one side before he forced himself into her. The pain was excruciating. But it was more the humiliation that hurt. Hot, furious tears slipped down her face as he succeeded in violently thrusting himself deep into her. One hand restrained her head, forcing her damaged face into the hard concrete, while the other held his phone as he filmed what he was doing to her.

She couldn’t breathe. Dirt filled her bloodied mouth as she choked and gasped, desperate for air.

She could feel her body beginning to convulse as the lack of oxygen took effect. She prayed for unconsciousness. She was lucky. She blacked out before he started to really lose control.

Once finished with her he felt nothing but disgust and contempt. He gave her lifeless body another hard kick. Nothing. Satisfied, he picked it up and dumped it into the pub’s industrial waste bins where it belonged.

Fucking bitch. Deserved everything she got.
He had bigger problems than some has-been prostitute. He still had to find Nick Brady. And when he did . . .

He smiled at the prospect. He had what he wanted safe in a plastic bag: evidence that he had dealt with her. He felt no remorse. She was a used-up prostitute who was better off dead. No one would miss her.

He threw the business card with her name scrawled on the back into the alleyway before turning to walk back to his car. He doubted the police would be able to identify her. Not in the condition he had left her in. But he was more than happy to point them in the right direction. After all, he had a job to do and he had to be sure that the police didn’t fuck everything up.

Chapter Two

Six days earlier: Saturday, 19th October: 3:07 a.m.

Hidden in the shadows, he waited as she staggered on ahead of him. She made a sudden turn off the road into the alley behind the boarded-up Avenue pub, her body lurching from one side to another as she did so. She seemed oblivious to the fact that the streetlights were out in the alley. Too drunk and too intent on getting home to care. He followed, making sure he didn’t get too close.

She stopped.

He pushed his body flat against the wall, obscured by blackness as he held his breath and waited.

Had she seen him? No . . . He was sure of that. She had no idea that he was there. Or of what was about to happen.

‘Shit!’ she cursed, nearly falling over as she bent down to undo the straps on her black heels.

Successfully removing them, she yanked her dress up and crouched down.

He watched with stirring excitement as she relieved herself.

She was different. His tongue snaked slowly across his bottom lip as he thought about touching her. If he was honest, it was her tattoo that aroused him. It fascinated him.

Unlike with the others, he had waited for this moment – religiously following her movements on Facebook and Twitter. Even tonight she had updated her status:

‘
Out to get as drunk as I can. Are you up for it?
’

He was ‘up for it’ all right. And if it was trouble she was looking for, she was heading in the right direction.

He studied her with a predatory interest as she managed to somehow pull herself up without tumbling forward. She even managed to drag her dress back down. Not that she needed to do that; he would soon be ripping it off.

He double-checked his jacket for condoms. Two weeks of watching her. Fantasising. Planning. Now he was ready, he wanted to savour every detail.

He had his phone with him so he could film her. Not that she could object, given the state she was in. She was lucky he’d been keeping an eye on her. Her friends – if you could call them friends – had abandoned her. Left her dangerously drunk outside the Blue Lagoon nightclub while they went on somewhere else.

It couldn’t have worked out better for him when she decided to walk home – alone at 2:51 a.m. through the dark, empty streets of? Whitley Bay.

Had she not watched the news or read the papers? Obviously not.

The police hadn’t taken him as seriously as he wanted. But after tonight all that would change. She was the one. The one that was going to make the headlines. Her name – Chloe Winters – would soon have the following she craved. She wanted to be famous and he would be the one to give her that, and more.

He would make her newsworthy.

He playfully fingered the Stanley knife safely hidden in his jacket pocket for later. What he was going to do to her would take time. He would make sure it was slow and deliberate. The pain would be delicious. He could feel himself getting hard as he imagined the knife slicing neatly through her delicate, pale flesh.

He was ready to make a move.

He crept up behind her.

Hearing someone, she spun round. She froze for a second as she tried to register who was behind her – and why. Even through the hazy blur of drunkenness she could tell that something about him was wrong. She started to edge backwards, away from him. He scared her. It was his eyes. Something was wrong with the way he was staring at her.

Instinct took over.

She made a move and ran as hard and fast as she could.

But he was too quick. That, and she was too drunk to have ever stood a real chance of escaping him.

With no real effort he caught hold of her and rammed her hard up against the alley wall. He then used his body to pin her against it. He knew she could feel his hardness in the small of her back. He pushed it against her, wanting her to know how excited she made him.

He could hear her breathing – short, shallow gasps of air like a wounded animal. She was really scared now. He liked that.

He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her head back. He knew it hurt. He wanted it to hurt.

She cried out from the pain. Stinging tears blurred everything around her. She started whimpering.

He breathed in her fear. He could smell it on her skin, emanating from her pores.

‘Shhh . . .’ he whispered in her ear, enjoying every delectable whimpering sound she made.

Her eyes were desperate. Filled with terror at what was happening to her.

He knew that she couldn’t breathe. He could feel the panic rising up from within her pathetic body as she struggled desperately to prise his hand off her face. It was useless. He completely overpowered her.

He had trained for this – worked out at the gym for hours on end. Pumping weights and then working on his cardio
.
It wasn’t just his body he had taken care of – he also had a place prepared. He had thought of everything. He needed to be certain that nobody would find them. Let alone disturb him. What he had planned for her would take time. Lots and lots of time.

Chapter Three

Saturday, 19th October: 11:05 a.m.

When Chloe woke up, it was to more than just a hangover. She tentatively opened her swollen, bloodshot eyes. Her head was pounding as if it was going to explode. The searing pain was unbearable. She tried to remember how many tequilas she’d drunk. Simple answer – too many. She squinted at the dots of grey light dancing in front of her eyes.

FUCK! Oh fuck it hurts!

She quickly closed her eyes, unable to cope with the pain that the light caused. This had to be the worst hangover ever.

It took her a few more minutes before she realised that she was cold. Bitterly cold. She could feel an icy breeze caressing her goose-pimpled skin. Moaning in discomfort, she turned over. Her face hit something hard and wet. Shocked, she attempted to sit up.

Oh fuck . . . fuck . . . fuck . . .

The pain in her head exploded. She had no choice but to gingerly lie back down and wait for it to ease. Her breathing was shallow and erratic – her head objecting to even the slightest movement.

She didn’t know how much time passed as she drifted in and out of consciousness. When she eventually came round, it was to an unfamiliar reality.

Stunned, then panic-stricken, she held her breath as she realised that she had no idea where she’d spent the night. The shafts of light snaking through the boarded-up window barely penetrated the shadowy gloom of the room. But it was enough for her to make out that she was lying on a grim concrete floor covered in rats’ droppings. She looked around and saw that the room was littered with broken bottles amongst other debris. A filthy, urine- and blood-stained mattress lay next to her. It stank. As did the room. The smell was cloying – suffocating.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Where am I? Where the fuck am I?

She knew something bad had happened even before she caught sight of her body. She was naked. Her black dress and underwear were missing. But that was the least of her concerns. Someone had . . . someone had . . .

Oh God! What did he do to me?

She started sobbing as sordid images flashed through her mind.

No . . . God, no . . . Her tied up on the mattress – face down. Someone was watching her . . . filming her. Filming what he was doing to her.

She suddenly remembered
him.
His face. His smell. The knife . . .

No . . . please . . . no . . . Don’t let that be real . . .

She started to scream. Louder and louder. Anything to block out the horrific images flashing through her head.

She wanted to die long before she remembered the full extent of the sadistic injuries he had inflicted upon her.

Sunday, 20th October: 9:33 a.m.

He watched the film again on his desktop computer. It was his best work yet. She had been worth the trouble. He smiled to himself as he uploaded the sadistic, brutal rape onto YouTube. There was a group of them who followed one another’s work. He was certain they would appreciate this one as much as he did. He watched as it uploaded, already anticipating the comments it would elicit.

Suck my dick, you bastards!

He heard banging and clattering below him. Loud and intrusive.

Fucking keep quiet, you bitch!

He never once took his eyes off the computer screen. He refused to have her break his concentration. His dark, predatory eyes narrowed to slits as he tried to control his anger. His nostrils flared with irritation as the relentless noise continued below.

What the fuck was she doing down there?

He switched to another window on the computer screen.

It was a live-feed of a dark, gloomy room. He scanned the debris, searching for her. It did not take him long before he found her. She was chained to the floor in the corner of the room. Waiting . . . waiting for him.