Read Online Angel of Death by Ben Cheetham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ben Cheetham
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money?’ Deano let out a small, choking laugh, looking at Angel as though he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Your fucking money?’
Deano’s fist twitched, and Angel knew what was coming. ‘Don’t.’ There was a razor-sharp edge to her voice. Her eyes burnt a warning fire.
Deano hesitated, uncertainty flickering on his face. He blinked hard, as if it had suddenly occurred to him that maybe Angel wasn’t hiding the gun for someone else. Then he shook himself free of whatever he was thinking. ‘Or what?’ he shouted as his fist thundered into her face. ‘Or fucking what?’
Over and over again, Deano hit Angel, concentrating most of his punches on her body – after all, her face was worth a lot of money to him. At first, each blow was like an explosion, blinding Angel with searing pain. But after a while a merciful numbness stole over her. She felt as if she was falling, dropping further and further away to some dark place where Deano couldn’t reach her. She didn’t even realise he’d stopped beating her, until she heard his voice in her ear. ‘You’re my girl. My bitch,’ he rasped breathlessly. ‘Say it. Say you’re my bitch.’
‘No.’ A bloody bubble inflated from Angel’s lips as she spoke. Her body might be weak and battered, but inside she felt strong.
Deano’s voice came again, with a cockiness that stirred a spark of anxiety in Angel’s chest. ‘You’re forgetting that I know your name. All it would take is a phone call, and Grace Kirby would be in all sorts of trouble.’
The words were more painful to Angel than all of Deano’s blows combined. They reached inside her and tore a convulsive groan from her throat. They filled her with such hatred for Deano that in that instant, if she’d had the strength, she would have snatched the gun from him and put a bullet in his head.
‘Now say you’re my bitch.’ Deano’s voice was almost gleeful.
As if dredging the words from the bottom of a well, Angel said, ‘I’m your bitch.’
Deano patted her cheek. ‘Good girl. Now you just lie there and think about how you’ve made me feel. I know I act the tough guy, but I’ve got feelings too. And it hurts me right in here,’ he thumped his chest, ‘when you say you want to leave me.’
Angel closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think, but her inner voice sneered, Leave him, hah! What made you think you could leave him? And even if you did, what difference would it make? You’d still be you. You’d still be a cheap fucking whore. That’s all you’re good for.
The numbness was fading, leaving in its wake a trail of hot, throbbing pain. Her eyes snapped open at a soft sizzling sound. A familiar vinegary smell filled her nostrils, unleashing a sudden overwhelming craving. She glanced at the heroin bubbling on Deano’s spoon, then looked into his face with pathetic, pleading eyes. ‘Have you got one for me?’ she asked as he drew the solution into a hypodermic. He darted a frowning glance at her as she continued, ‘Come on, Deano, please. I…’ Her voice faltered as one final fragment of her shattered self-respect reared its head. But the heroin itch was too intense, too all-consuming to be denied. ‘I’ll do anything you want. Anything!’
Deano’s mouth spread into a smug smirk. ‘I know you will, baby, but you’ve got to learn. You’ve been a bad girl, and bad girls must be punished.’
Setting the gun aside, Deano slid his tracksuit bottoms down and felt for the artery in his groin. He hit himself up, then lay back on the bed, mouth hanging open, eyelids drooping half shut. Like a lover being teased to the point of madness, Angel was racked by shudders of desperate yearning. She tried to sit up, but her body seemed glued to the floor. She closed her eyes. The flowers of swollen flesh and the itch of craving vied with each other as to which hurt most, wringing low moans from her dust-dry throat. Slowly, ever so slowly, she took out her mobile phone and keyed in a
Deano’s fist twitched, and Angel knew what was coming. ‘Don’t.’ There was a razor-sharp edge to her voice. Her eyes burnt a warning fire.
Deano hesitated, uncertainty flickering on his face. He blinked hard, as if it had suddenly occurred to him that maybe Angel wasn’t hiding the gun for someone else. Then he shook himself free of whatever he was thinking. ‘Or what?’ he shouted as his fist thundered into her face. ‘Or fucking what?’
Over and over again, Deano hit Angel, concentrating most of his punches on her body – after all, her face was worth a lot of money to him. At first, each blow was like an explosion, blinding Angel with searing pain. But after a while a merciful numbness stole over her. She felt as if she was falling, dropping further and further away to some dark place where Deano couldn’t reach her. She didn’t even realise he’d stopped beating her, until she heard his voice in her ear. ‘You’re my girl. My bitch,’ he rasped breathlessly. ‘Say it. Say you’re my bitch.’
‘No.’ A bloody bubble inflated from Angel’s lips as she spoke. Her body might be weak and battered, but inside she felt strong.
Deano’s voice came again, with a cockiness that stirred a spark of anxiety in Angel’s chest. ‘You’re forgetting that I know your name. All it would take is a phone call, and Grace Kirby would be in all sorts of trouble.’
The words were more painful to Angel than all of Deano’s blows combined. They reached inside her and tore a convulsive groan from her throat. They filled her with such hatred for Deano that in that instant, if she’d had the strength, she would have snatched the gun from him and put a bullet in his head.
‘Now say you’re my bitch.’ Deano’s voice was almost gleeful.
As if dredging the words from the bottom of a well, Angel said, ‘I’m your bitch.’
Deano patted her cheek. ‘Good girl. Now you just lie there and think about how you’ve made me feel. I know I act the tough guy, but I’ve got feelings too. And it hurts me right in here,’ he thumped his chest, ‘when you say you want to leave me.’
Angel closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think, but her inner voice sneered, Leave him, hah! What made you think you could leave him? And even if you did, what difference would it make? You’d still be you. You’d still be a cheap fucking whore. That’s all you’re good for.
The numbness was fading, leaving in its wake a trail of hot, throbbing pain. Her eyes snapped open at a soft sizzling sound. A familiar vinegary smell filled her nostrils, unleashing a sudden overwhelming craving. She glanced at the heroin bubbling on Deano’s spoon, then looked into his face with pathetic, pleading eyes. ‘Have you got one for me?’ she asked as he drew the solution into a hypodermic. He darted a frowning glance at her as she continued, ‘Come on, Deano, please. I…’ Her voice faltered as one final fragment of her shattered self-respect reared its head. But the heroin itch was too intense, too all-consuming to be denied. ‘I’ll do anything you want. Anything!’
Deano’s mouth spread into a smug smirk. ‘I know you will, baby, but you’ve got to learn. You’ve been a bad girl, and bad girls must be punished.’
Setting the gun aside, Deano slid his tracksuit bottoms down and felt for the artery in his groin. He hit himself up, then lay back on the bed, mouth hanging open, eyelids drooping half shut. Like a lover being teased to the point of madness, Angel was racked by shudders of desperate yearning. She tried to sit up, but her body seemed glued to the floor. She closed her eyes. The flowers of swollen flesh and the itch of craving vied with each other as to which hurt most, wringing low moans from her dust-dry throat. Slowly, ever so slowly, she took out her mobile phone and keyed in a
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