Fierce Bitches (Crime Factory Single Shot) Read Online Free PDF

silhouette merge with another before arterial-spray paints the wall. The shadow divides and leaves one man flailing an arm about while the other clamps onto his neck. He spins round, each pass adding to the gore on the wall. Two, three times and he sinks to his knees and collapses forward, his killer long since moved on.
        In the following minutes, the sounds made by the camp merge together to produce a single, sour note like a dropped accordion. The cries of the men, confused and angry, are short lived and deteriorate quickly into gurgling and silence. It’s over before she can believe it is happening. The hooded raiders are congregating again at the edge of the camp.
        Silent in victory, they move as a collective, never needing to speak, but fulfilling a choreography that seems routine. They have two prisoners, stripped naked and bound with cord that they lead to the perimeter, near her.
        The prisoners are forced to their knees. Too terrified to cry out, they watch bewildered, the turn of events. Behind her, she senses a new presence and turns over silently to watch a pair of heavy black boots approach. The raiders part to grant passage to the newcomer. Every heavy step, dragging one foot, produces a jangling sound like coins in a pocket, until he stands before the captives.
        Two robed figures bring a large rock and place it on the ground in front of one prisoner. He stares at it dumbly. His captors force him to lay his head upon it like a pillow. The man struggles, but every twitch is answered with pain. His arms, bound behind him, are pushed higher until they are nearly at a right angle with his torso, and at the point of breaking. He lays his head down and whimpers. His breaths quicken. He is hyperventilating.
        The man with the heavy stride turns. She sees his cloak fall about his boots followed by a satchel–the source of the heavy tinkling sound when it slaps against his thigh. The prisoner's eyes are riveted upon it and then upon the wooden club swinging slowly in front of him. The big man kneels before him and whispers something that she cannot make out. He places his hand on the man's face as if he were a frightened pet. He feels each feature carefully, tracing the fine structure of his bones, the delicate cartilage of his nose and ears. Gently, he parts the man's lips with his thumb and runs the digit through his denture, then he reaches into the bag and takes out what looks to be a handful of buttons.
        They are teeth, smooth and polished, the enamel gleaming under the moon. He holds them in his palm and shakes them gently as if they are dice, and they fall clicking, back into the bag, slipping through his fingers one at a time.
        Lying still, unable to move, the prisoner's eyes meet hers. This man who had used her without regard only hours earlier, now clings to the time they'd shared, the connection they'd had, like a last hope. What she broadcasts back with her gaze is terror mingled with satisfaction that she will watch him die.
        The large man raises the club high overhead and the gaze of all the hooded follow it.
        The doomed man casts about with his eyes for salvation, and when he finds none, catches sight of her beneath the truck, and he grabs once again at her gaze. His eyes plead with her not to let anything happen. They bulge wide and white and seem like they are about to burst from their sockets.
        They are.
        They pop like kernels of corn on the first blow to the temple.
       The sound is blunt. No reverberation. Repeated seconds later. The skull collapses on the fourth blow and the captors, still holding his arms, drop the body in the sand. A sound like the buzz of locust begins to swell from inside the hoods. Involuntary moans of ascent, indistinguishable from pleasure or pain, build like layers of sediment upon each other until the hum is like silence.
        The rock is moved in front of the second prisoner who begins to curse