He held the hunting knife in a steady hand, eyes gleaming with sick anticipation.Horror and helplessness filled her as she stared up at him.Then he lowered his gaze and the icy hot blade slowly parted the skin over her sternum. And he smiled as the blood flowed.She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, with the drug in her system, but she felt every damnthing he did to her, cried out her pain and anguish in her mind.He was merciless and ruthless as he guided the tip of the knife deeper into her pliable flesh.He spoke to her in a soothing tone, with wonder and fascination as he worked; marvelledat finally having the perfect victim under his absolute control.Then the rape started. His words turned urgent, told her how much she enjoyed the sexwith him; that she loved what he did to her.She turned her mind inward, to escape the agony, the grief, the rage.
Soft hands touched her, but she resisted, struggled for air, tried to fight her wayfree of the drug he’d used to paralyse her.The hands turned hard, held her down and a new voice made demands of her,that she wake up, that she stop fighting him. But she’d always...
Another blade – hers - sank deep into muscled flesh and hot blood flowed over her hand.Not her blood this time, but
. Grey eyes wide with disbelief and betrayal, as if impossible she kill him for his crimes against her and others.Satisfaction and relief coursed through her veins as the scent of blood flared her nostrils.He couldn’t hurt her any more, or slaughter innocents on whim.Excalibur Jones was dead.
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