say, I’m more handsome. Don’t you agree?’
She screamed again.
Rickard leaned in very close. Imogen thrashed and their foreheads bumped. He forced his head against hers so that she was pressed down against the mattress. They were eye to eye.
‘Do you look into his eyes when you’re together?’ Rickard asked. ‘Do you search his soul?’
Imogen screwed her eyes tight.
‘Open your eyes, Imogen. Open them, or I’ll cut off your eyelids so you have no option but look at me.’
Imogen cried.
‘Now!’
Her lids flickered open. He was so close he could see her pupils dilate.
‘Do you see it?’
She mewled like a cat.
‘You do? You see it? Tell me what you see.’
‘You’re a monster !’ Imogen howled.
‘Yes . . .’ Finally, Rickard thought, proof that he was right all along. ‘Tell me more, Imogen. Describe it to me.’
‘Get away from me, you bastard.’
‘Tell me what you see.’
Moaning loudly Imogen tried to fight free. Rickard forced himself against her, bearing down with all his weight. It was no contest. He forced her wrists together, grasping both in one of his hands. His other fingers he twined in her hair, twisting it tight.
‘Tell me, you goddamn bitch.’
‘Touch me and you will die!’
‘No one can help you,’ Rickard said. ‘I can do to you anything I wish.’
‘Joe Hunter will kill you. He’ll come for you and you’ll die.’
‘I didn’t go to all this trouble for nothing. I want him to come. But he’ll be too late to help you.’ Imogen struggled again, Rickard laughing at her ineffectiveness. ‘I’ll kill him as easily as I’ll kill you.’
Imogen screamed.
Surf crashed below the house on its clifftop promontory and gulls wheeled in the iron-grey sky. Her scream was lost amid the tumult of nature beyond the walls.
He let go of her hair, sliding his knees out behind him and forcing a leg between hers. ‘Joe Hunter will suffer before he dies, Imogen. He will know that I’ve had his woman, and the shame will make him burn.’
He ripped her trousers from her, tore at her panties while she fought hard against him. She yanked loose her wrists and pulled at his hair, but he was beyond caring. He pulled down his trousers and he was harder than any time he could ever remember with Alisha.
But his ardour only lasted as long as it took to realise that the pounding on the door meant big trouble.
‘God damn it.’
Pulling away from Imogen, he held out a hand, halting her from following. He pulled up his trousers, quickly reached to a dresser where he’d placed his gun.
‘Say a word and I’ll shoot you in the face.’
He moved across the bedroom to the window, standing alongside the drapes to peer outside. His angle meant he couldn’t see who was at the front door, but he could see the two police cruisers parked on the hard stand next to the house. An overweight cop was standing at the open door of his vehicle, one hand on his radio and one on the butt of his holstered gun. The cop glanced his way, but Rickard pulled back.
Joe Hunter, you sneaky son of a . . .
A fist banged firmly on the front door.
‘Mrs Ballard. State police. Open up, please.’
Imogen struggled into her clothes, throwing her feet over the edge of the bed. Rickard raced across to her, catching her elbow and jamming his gun under her chin. ‘Do not make a sound.’
But Imogen was defiant. She struggled away from the gun, yelling at the top of her voice.
Rickard backhanded her across the jaw, knocking her against a wall so that a photograph of a surly-looking man in Desert Storm fatigues was twisted askew. Rickard glanced at the face and thought that the man was scowling at him.
‘Fuck you, too,’ he snapped.
He grabbed Imogen by the nape of her neck, pushing her towards the door and out on to a landing that overlooked the entrance hall. A shadow moved beyond the glass pane in the front door.
The state trooper shouted an announcement again, trying the door handle. The door swung
She screamed again.
Rickard leaned in very close. Imogen thrashed and their foreheads bumped. He forced his head against hers so that she was pressed down against the mattress. They were eye to eye.
‘Do you look into his eyes when you’re together?’ Rickard asked. ‘Do you search his soul?’
Imogen screwed her eyes tight.
‘Open your eyes, Imogen. Open them, or I’ll cut off your eyelids so you have no option but look at me.’
Imogen cried.
‘Now!’
Her lids flickered open. He was so close he could see her pupils dilate.
‘Do you see it?’
She mewled like a cat.
‘You do? You see it? Tell me what you see.’
‘You’re a monster !’ Imogen howled.
‘Yes . . .’ Finally, Rickard thought, proof that he was right all along. ‘Tell me more, Imogen. Describe it to me.’
‘Get away from me, you bastard.’
‘Tell me what you see.’
Moaning loudly Imogen tried to fight free. Rickard forced himself against her, bearing down with all his weight. It was no contest. He forced her wrists together, grasping both in one of his hands. His other fingers he twined in her hair, twisting it tight.
‘Tell me, you goddamn bitch.’
‘Touch me and you will die!’
‘No one can help you,’ Rickard said. ‘I can do to you anything I wish.’
‘Joe Hunter will kill you. He’ll come for you and you’ll die.’
‘I didn’t go to all this trouble for nothing. I want him to come. But he’ll be too late to help you.’ Imogen struggled again, Rickard laughing at her ineffectiveness. ‘I’ll kill him as easily as I’ll kill you.’
Imogen screamed.
Surf crashed below the house on its clifftop promontory and gulls wheeled in the iron-grey sky. Her scream was lost amid the tumult of nature beyond the walls.
He let go of her hair, sliding his knees out behind him and forcing a leg between hers. ‘Joe Hunter will suffer before he dies, Imogen. He will know that I’ve had his woman, and the shame will make him burn.’
He ripped her trousers from her, tore at her panties while she fought hard against him. She yanked loose her wrists and pulled at his hair, but he was beyond caring. He pulled down his trousers and he was harder than any time he could ever remember with Alisha.
But his ardour only lasted as long as it took to realise that the pounding on the door meant big trouble.
‘God damn it.’
Pulling away from Imogen, he held out a hand, halting her from following. He pulled up his trousers, quickly reached to a dresser where he’d placed his gun.
‘Say a word and I’ll shoot you in the face.’
He moved across the bedroom to the window, standing alongside the drapes to peer outside. His angle meant he couldn’t see who was at the front door, but he could see the two police cruisers parked on the hard stand next to the house. An overweight cop was standing at the open door of his vehicle, one hand on his radio and one on the butt of his holstered gun. The cop glanced his way, but Rickard pulled back.
Joe Hunter, you sneaky son of a . . .
A fist banged firmly on the front door.
‘Mrs Ballard. State police. Open up, please.’
Imogen struggled into her clothes, throwing her feet over the edge of the bed. Rickard raced across to her, catching her elbow and jamming his gun under her chin. ‘Do not make a sound.’
But Imogen was defiant. She struggled away from the gun, yelling at the top of her voice.
Rickard backhanded her across the jaw, knocking her against a wall so that a photograph of a surly-looking man in Desert Storm fatigues was twisted askew. Rickard glanced at the face and thought that the man was scowling at him.
‘Fuck you, too,’ he snapped.
He grabbed Imogen by the nape of her neck, pushing her towards the door and out on to a landing that overlooked the entrance hall. A shadow moved beyond the glass pane in the front door.
The state trooper shouted an announcement again, trying the door handle. The door swung
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