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Authors: Abigail Hart
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you like a cup?” Liz asked
“No, thanks.” He said, following towards the kitchen. He didn’t need any type of evidence showing that he had been here.
“I’m not sure I can be of any more assistance than I was on your last visit, Detective,” Liz said as she fixed herself a cup of coffee.
“Liz,” McAllen said with a stern voice, “you can offer a lot of assistance by keeping your mouth shut. We know you know more than you’re letting on! If you value your life, you’ll keep that information to yourself.”
Liz stiffened, reaching slowly for the utensils drawer. “Detective,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pulled out her newest butcher knife as she spoke. She didn’t know who the ‘we’ was that the man mentioned, didn’t even know if he was a real detective, but she did know he wasn’t here on official police business, even if his badge was real.
“You do know, Liz!” McAllen said with a raised voice as he stepped closer to Liz. “This won’t end well for you if you don’t do as I say. Keep your mouth shut and everything will be fine.”
Liz had never been more terrified than she was at that moment. Gripping the knife as tight as she could, she waited for him to get a little closer to her. Liz hoped he wouldn’t see the knife right away. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her neck. She turned quickly, jabbing the knife towards his stomach.
Liz wasn’t fast enough for McAllen. He had expected her to be afraid, expected her to possibly try something. Hell, he couldn’t blame her for that. Her husband had just been killed. Of course she’d be a little more cautious. He struggled to get the knife away from Liz, but she refused to let go of it. She was feistier than he thought she’d be.
They wrestled around, bumping into the table and cabinets before Liz yelped in pain, her breathing heavier and ragged, the knife protruding from her abdomen. A crimson stain grew on her shirt, her small hand gripping the hilt of the blade, McAllen’s large hand over hers. He panicked and quickly stepped back as Liz crumpled to the kitchen floor. She would damn sure talk now. He wasn’t sure what to do. He was only supposed to threaten her, not harm her physically. As she bled from her wound, he looked at her with fear in his eyes. She would talk. He would die. It was that simple.
Seeing the fear on McAllen’s face, Liz gathered all of her strength and laughed. “You messed up, didn’t you? They’ll catch you and your bastard friends. You’re nothing but a dirty fucking cop!”
That laugh infuriated him and he immediately saw red, losing control. Gripping the knife protruding from her body, he jerked it free, watching her squirm as the flow of blood coloring her clothing increased rapidly. He raised the knife high above his head. Liz screamed as loud as she could, hoping someone would hear her calling out for help.
McAllen came down on her like a hurricane, swiftly stabbing with all his might. With each pass of the blade, blood splattered into the air, arcing onto the ceiling and the nearby cabinets as he growled with the fury that had consumed him. Liz was beyond fighting back; she was at the mercy of this beast of a man. She clamped her eyes closed, the ability to cry out long gone now, her strength wavering as she began praying that her daughter would not return until he was gone.
“That’ll teach you to laugh, bitch!” McAllen growled. Righting himself, he took in his handy work. She was a bloody mess. Liz didn’t move a muscle or make a sound. She lay still, eyes closed, praying for someone to find her when the monster left her alone to die. The pain from her wounds was blindingly sharp; she was losing a lot of blood and needed help fast.
McAllen grabbed a kitchen towel from the counter and wrapped the knife in it, then snatched a roll of paper towels from the counter to remove as much blood as he
“No, thanks.” He said, following towards the kitchen. He didn’t need any type of evidence showing that he had been here.
“I’m not sure I can be of any more assistance than I was on your last visit, Detective,” Liz said as she fixed herself a cup of coffee.
“Liz,” McAllen said with a stern voice, “you can offer a lot of assistance by keeping your mouth shut. We know you know more than you’re letting on! If you value your life, you’ll keep that information to yourself.”
Liz stiffened, reaching slowly for the utensils drawer. “Detective,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pulled out her newest butcher knife as she spoke. She didn’t know who the ‘we’ was that the man mentioned, didn’t even know if he was a real detective, but she did know he wasn’t here on official police business, even if his badge was real.
“You do know, Liz!” McAllen said with a raised voice as he stepped closer to Liz. “This won’t end well for you if you don’t do as I say. Keep your mouth shut and everything will be fine.”
Liz had never been more terrified than she was at that moment. Gripping the knife as tight as she could, she waited for him to get a little closer to her. Liz hoped he wouldn’t see the knife right away. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her neck. She turned quickly, jabbing the knife towards his stomach.
Liz wasn’t fast enough for McAllen. He had expected her to be afraid, expected her to possibly try something. Hell, he couldn’t blame her for that. Her husband had just been killed. Of course she’d be a little more cautious. He struggled to get the knife away from Liz, but she refused to let go of it. She was feistier than he thought she’d be.
They wrestled around, bumping into the table and cabinets before Liz yelped in pain, her breathing heavier and ragged, the knife protruding from her abdomen. A crimson stain grew on her shirt, her small hand gripping the hilt of the blade, McAllen’s large hand over hers. He panicked and quickly stepped back as Liz crumpled to the kitchen floor. She would damn sure talk now. He wasn’t sure what to do. He was only supposed to threaten her, not harm her physically. As she bled from her wound, he looked at her with fear in his eyes. She would talk. He would die. It was that simple.
Seeing the fear on McAllen’s face, Liz gathered all of her strength and laughed. “You messed up, didn’t you? They’ll catch you and your bastard friends. You’re nothing but a dirty fucking cop!”
That laugh infuriated him and he immediately saw red, losing control. Gripping the knife protruding from her body, he jerked it free, watching her squirm as the flow of blood coloring her clothing increased rapidly. He raised the knife high above his head. Liz screamed as loud as she could, hoping someone would hear her calling out for help.
McAllen came down on her like a hurricane, swiftly stabbing with all his might. With each pass of the blade, blood splattered into the air, arcing onto the ceiling and the nearby cabinets as he growled with the fury that had consumed him. Liz was beyond fighting back; she was at the mercy of this beast of a man. She clamped her eyes closed, the ability to cry out long gone now, her strength wavering as she began praying that her daughter would not return until he was gone.
“That’ll teach you to laugh, bitch!” McAllen growled. Righting himself, he took in his handy work. She was a bloody mess. Liz didn’t move a muscle or make a sound. She lay still, eyes closed, praying for someone to find her when the monster left her alone to die. The pain from her wounds was blindingly sharp; she was losing a lot of blood and needed help fast.
McAllen grabbed a kitchen towel from the counter and wrapped the knife in it, then snatched a roll of paper towels from the counter to remove as much blood as he
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