The heel of her Stilettos catches my eyebrow. It takes off a good chunk of flesh, but nothing irreparable. She’s screaming at me, but her cries fall short with the cloth jammed in her mouth. She’s half naked on the ground, her arms bound to her back. The shirt was easy to get off, but the pants, those are proving a bit more challenging than I’d normally be willing to put forth in this sort of thing, but this time the money makes it immaterial. Most of the time I don’t get paid to do this, I just do it. Some guy wants me to find grab this rich fuck’s trophy wife and pays me 50,000 to get the job done? Icing on the cake.
Her husband’s Charles Walton, big time Bio-tech pioneer. Billionaire or some shit. The Walton’s been getting cocky, so some guy calls me and tells me to remind him of just how human he is. Mentions the wife and tells me where she likes to hang out. I pick her up while she’s shopping by trying to convince her that the Butterfinger I have in my coat pocket is a gun. It works, which is funny because I saw that in a movie once. She starts saying ‘money this’ and ‘money that’ and all I can do is smile. Then I take her to this abandoned warehouse I’ve started to frequent.
I get the pants around her ankles and her foot flails around and finds its way into my solar plexus, knocks the wind out of me. She’s got spunk, I’ll give her that. I grab her left ankle and squeeze. I can feel the bone crack, she whimpers, my pants get tighter. I pull off the shoe and then the pant leg, half way there; then the fun starts.
She uses the new found freedom to crash her foot into my skull. It sends me tilting sideways, but only for a moment. A blanket of snow envelops everything. It takes me a second to get myself back up. She’s made it to her knees. Bitch is persistent. I grab her by her hair and pull her back down, she lands next to my lap. I wrap my hand around her neck and hold her against the ground. She swings her feet in the air while I start to play with her jet black hair.
Eventually she settles down and starts staring at me. Her eyes are pleading with me. Like a woman with cancer, she tries to deny the inevitable conclusion. I loosen my grip. I can’t wait any longer. I saddle myself over top of her legs and unzip myself. I look over her body. My eyes start at her chest and roll their way down her stomach towards her panties. She’s gorgeous.
A pain unfolds around my face. I fall backwards; suddenly it’s harder to breath. I look down at my chest to see a river of blood running down the middle of my shirt. The shock leaves and suddenly my nose feels like its become concave. I look up at the girl; there’s a speckle of blood across her forehead. She’s dislodged one of her legs from underneath me and is working on the other one. I raise my hand to stop her. Her free leg comes crashing down in between my legs. I cringe into a fetal position and start to whimper. She gets her other leg back and crawls away.
I turn to see her walking away, she looks at me. Our eyes meet again. She lets out a scream and connects her heel to my face.
Then; there was nothing.