Port Lands (Hogtown Noir Book 1) by Tod Molloy

Author:Tod Molloy [Molloy, Tod]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781778262623
Publisher: Debtford Press
Published: 2022-11-27T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

I slip onto the floor and roll beneath the table. Blows rain down like thunder, hammering the padding just above me. It’s pitch black and I’m naked and Mandy’s screaming somewhere in the dark.

“SHUT UP BITCH.”

The shouting shakes the walls. Mandy’s screams turn into muffled sobs. In the silence, I hear him panting and catching his breath. He’s standing right beside me.

I drive my heel into his knee. His leg buckles and he falls. A second later, I’m on top of him, knees on his chest, reaching for his neck so I can strangle him or choke him out.

He flails his arms. The wooden bat clatters off the floor. His coat is thick and damp like the hide of some huge animal. Every time I think I’ve found his neck my fingers just slip further up the leather.

He bucks me off and swings the bat into my face. Bright explosions burst inside my head. Saliva pours into my mouth. I crawl away, aiming for Mandy’s sobs, trying not to puke. I grab onto the sink and pull myself upright. The bat crashes off the counter near my fingers. I drop back down and crawl across the floor and duck beneath the table.

Nothing happens at first. Then I hear him slowly turn around, creeping closer, tracking odours in the dark. I get up on my hands and knees. He takes another step. I kick out hard, but my foot connects with nothing. He leaps into the air and throws his weight onto the table and it breaks and collapses on top of me.

Arms pinned at my sides. Legs gone limp and useless. I can feel his hot breath on my skin. I can smell his armpits and his aftershave. He starts getting up and when he shifts his weight, I can’t help but groan.

He freezes, listening. Then he slides his hand across the padding, feeling with this fingers for the face hole. And then he’s touching me. He’s grunting and wheezing and fingering my face. I hear the wood slip through his hands as he plows the bat into my head. Blood pours down in rhythmic spurts. I wait for THE SURGE. But it never happens when I need it. And for the first time in years, I feel truly afraid.

He hits me again. A flap of skin tears off my forehead and folds down over my eye.

“EAT IT CUNT,” he shouts. And his voice is shallow and empty and cold. Unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. It’s not the voice of a man. It’s the voice of a God or a beast. Then he rams the bat into the hole and I’m gone.

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