Read Online Malevolent (Lieutenant Kane series Book 1) by E.H. Reinhard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: E.H. Reinhard
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fumbling with the door’s lock.
When she saw him, she ran to the kitchen and pulled a knife from the knife block. She had her back to the sink. A wild look filled her face. The knife was at her side, the blade pointed out, ready to strike. A granite-topped kitchen island separated the two. He rounded the side. She headed two steps in the other direction.
She poked the knife at the air in front of her. “What did you do to me, you son of a bitch?”
He took two quick steps toward her. “Give me the knife.”
She mirrored his movement, taking two steps to the side, still holding the knife out in front of her. She glanced toward the living room. A look of horror crossed her face.
He rounded the side of the kitchen island to flush her out. He thought she would make a run for it. She didn’t. Instead, she held her ground and stabbed at him. He dodged to the right as soon as he saw she wasn’t fleeing. The knife tore a hole through his shirt and sliced against the skin of his side.
“Now you’re just going to die, you stupid bitch.” He grabbed her blade-wielding hand and slammed it into the granite countertop. After only two strikes, the knife flew to the floor and skidded across the kitchen tile. He grabbed her other hand as she tried to claw at his face. With both her hands in his control, he reared back and head butted her in the nose with all the force he could muster. He saw a flash of colors on impact and felt her body go limp. The blow left his vision blurred as he opened his eyes. Blood covered her face, her nose broken. The head butt had knocked her out. He let her go. Her body fell to the floor.
He rested against the kitchen island. He shook his head and squinted his eyes in an attempt to clear out the cobwebs. A violent cough from the physical excursion sent blood from his lungs spattering across the granite of the island. He was dizzy, more than likely concussed from the impact. He wiped his mouth and took in deep breaths from his nose—he exhaled. The sound of metal scraping against tile filled his ears. Before he could see where the sound was coming from, he felt an explosion of pain jolt up his leg. He screamed and looked toward his feet.
Diane was lying on the kitchen floor, holding the handle of a knife. The two-inch-wide blade was lodged into his calf. She pulled the blade out, causing him to scream in pain again. She yanked her hand back and went for another stab. He pulled his leg away. The blade missed and stuck into the cabinet door of the island.
He balanced on his injured leg and pulled his right foot up. He stomped her head. It bounced off the tile and back up into the sole of his shoe. He stomped down again and again. Her head became soft. Blood splashed with each blow. She was dead. She lay at his feet. He stomped her again.
“You could have been famous.”
He stumbled out to the garage. Fresh plastic was covering the table and floor. Gone was the blood spatter from Diane’s first operation. He dropped his pants and slid off his bloody shoes. In his blue boxer shorts, he turned his back at the edge of the table and slid himself up onto it. He crossed his injured leg over the other knee to get a better view of the wound. She had plunged the knife into the middle of his calf. With the saline bottle, he flushed away the blood so he could see the extent of the damage. The stab wound was a couple inches across and hung open a quarter inch. His blood flowed from the cut. It needed to be stitched. He took his materials for suturing and a bottle of alcohol from the cart.
His teeth ground together as he splashed alcohol across the wound. He splashed more alcohol across his stitching needle. He looped the thread through the needle and tied it. Though he had drugs to ease the pain, he would take nothing. He wanted to be clear headed. He inserted the curved suture needle into his flesh. His skin bulged and turned white before the tip broke the surface. He pulled the thread through, sank the
When she saw him, she ran to the kitchen and pulled a knife from the knife block. She had her back to the sink. A wild look filled her face. The knife was at her side, the blade pointed out, ready to strike. A granite-topped kitchen island separated the two. He rounded the side. She headed two steps in the other direction.
She poked the knife at the air in front of her. “What did you do to me, you son of a bitch?”
He took two quick steps toward her. “Give me the knife.”
She mirrored his movement, taking two steps to the side, still holding the knife out in front of her. She glanced toward the living room. A look of horror crossed her face.
He rounded the side of the kitchen island to flush her out. He thought she would make a run for it. She didn’t. Instead, she held her ground and stabbed at him. He dodged to the right as soon as he saw she wasn’t fleeing. The knife tore a hole through his shirt and sliced against the skin of his side.
“Now you’re just going to die, you stupid bitch.” He grabbed her blade-wielding hand and slammed it into the granite countertop. After only two strikes, the knife flew to the floor and skidded across the kitchen tile. He grabbed her other hand as she tried to claw at his face. With both her hands in his control, he reared back and head butted her in the nose with all the force he could muster. He saw a flash of colors on impact and felt her body go limp. The blow left his vision blurred as he opened his eyes. Blood covered her face, her nose broken. The head butt had knocked her out. He let her go. Her body fell to the floor.
He rested against the kitchen island. He shook his head and squinted his eyes in an attempt to clear out the cobwebs. A violent cough from the physical excursion sent blood from his lungs spattering across the granite of the island. He was dizzy, more than likely concussed from the impact. He wiped his mouth and took in deep breaths from his nose—he exhaled. The sound of metal scraping against tile filled his ears. Before he could see where the sound was coming from, he felt an explosion of pain jolt up his leg. He screamed and looked toward his feet.
Diane was lying on the kitchen floor, holding the handle of a knife. The two-inch-wide blade was lodged into his calf. She pulled the blade out, causing him to scream in pain again. She yanked her hand back and went for another stab. He pulled his leg away. The blade missed and stuck into the cabinet door of the island.
He balanced on his injured leg and pulled his right foot up. He stomped her head. It bounced off the tile and back up into the sole of his shoe. He stomped down again and again. Her head became soft. Blood splashed with each blow. She was dead. She lay at his feet. He stomped her again.
“You could have been famous.”
He stumbled out to the garage. Fresh plastic was covering the table and floor. Gone was the blood spatter from Diane’s first operation. He dropped his pants and slid off his bloody shoes. In his blue boxer shorts, he turned his back at the edge of the table and slid himself up onto it. He crossed his injured leg over the other knee to get a better view of the wound. She had plunged the knife into the middle of his calf. With the saline bottle, he flushed away the blood so he could see the extent of the damage. The stab wound was a couple inches across and hung open a quarter inch. His blood flowed from the cut. It needed to be stitched. He took his materials for suturing and a bottle of alcohol from the cart.
His teeth ground together as he splashed alcohol across the wound. He splashed more alcohol across his stitching needle. He looped the thread through the needle and tied it. Though he had drugs to ease the pain, he would take nothing. He wanted to be clear headed. He inserted the curved suture needle into his flesh. His skin bulged and turned white before the tip broke the surface. He pulled the thread through, sank the
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