Page 47 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Her vision snapped back into reality.
The man called Quinn had turned. He was still in the tool shed, his face in shadow. But now she could see the light from the kitchen reflecting in his feral eyes.
Twin moons that blazed at her from the darkness.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve made a mistake,’ said Amanda, stepping back, her left palm raised toward him.
He moved forward, out of the dark shed. His voice was soft, yet it carried a sinister hiss.
‘You’re damn right you made a mistake,’ said Quinn, moving forward in step with Amanda’s retreat.
This man wasn’t frightened of her. Amanda felt like someone who had stumbled through the jungle and suddenly come upon a jaguar. Quinn’s eyes were so large and unnerving they looked as though they had no lids. They didn’t move. They were fixed upon Amanda. His mouth, large and wide, drew into a grin exposing sharp, yellowed teeth.
Amanda suddenly became hyper aware of her surroundings. She was a long way from the back gate and her knee was biting her painfully with every step.
‘Who sent you?’ he asked.
‘I’m s-sorry. I-I-I made a m-mistake. I’ll go,’ said Amanda.
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he said, and at once he was moving with tremendous speed toward her, the baseball bat curling in his right hand.
Amanda hurled herself backwards as fast as she could, instinctively holding the axe in front of her.
The baseball batcrackedinto the axe haft, tearing it from her grasp as both bat and axe then cartwheeled through the night air.
Amanda flinched at the impact. Before she could open her eyes, she felt her throat close and she was falling. She landed on her back, the lawn unforgiving.
Quinn landed on top of her, both hands round her neck.
Amanda couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
He was so heavy. Sitting on her chest. His eyes bulging, mouth cracked wide in violent delight, veins standing out on his muscular arms as he squeezed her throat.
‘Go to sleep now . . .’ he hissed.
‘Go tosleeeeep. . .’
21
Scott
The sound of an empty, heavy bottle crashing into a human skull was a dull, echoeythunk. The bottle didn’t break, but the man let out a muffled grunt as he fell into the room and onto the floor.
He landed face down, and immediately got his arms beneath him, to push himself upwards, his legs bending, trying to scramble forward and up into a standing position.
Scott was faster.
The door had hit the opposite wall with a bang and was now swinging shut. Scott was already halfway into the room, and he ducked inside and kicked the door shut behind him.
The man began to shout as he got to his knees.
‘What the fuck is this?’
Raising the bottle over his head, Scott heaved it forward and down. This time it exploded as it hit the top of the man’s skull. Scott still had hold of the neck of the bottle, which was still intact. The man fell forward, rolled to the side, gripping the top of his head.
In that moment, Scott was not the successful Manhattan lawyer, married, with a big house and a huge salary. He was the boy, naked and bleeding on the floor of the shower after the jocks had kicked the shit out of him. Scott felt like his heart was tearing clean through his chest. He was angry and afraid and filled with a rage that he could not control. There was no thought. Only action. As if his body was taking over.
He knelt, straddling the man.
