Never Say No to a Killer Read Online Free PDF

going to stop sticking pins in people, especially broads.
    And that was when I pegged her.
    Suddenly all the pieces fell into place, and I grinned. I had Dorris Venci pegged now, sure as hell!
    I said, “What's wrong with you, Mrs. Venci?”
    She didn't make a sound.
    I took a step forward and she moved back until her back was against the wall. You could almost hear the scream in her eyes. I knew her little secret now, and it had been the simplest thing in the world, once I got the scent of it.
    All I had to do was ask myself what kind of woman was it that would go for John Venci, really go for him, not love him, necessarily? That was where I had been thrown off-confusing love with something else. Once I got back on the right track, the answer was simple. John Venci had been a tough boy; he had had a good, hard tough brain. Tough! So any woman who went for John Venci had to be a glutton for punishment. And that was the answer.
    There was nothing new or unique about it; masochism is as old as Adam.
    I said, “You look upset, Mrs. Venci. Why don't you sit down and take it easy for a minute.”
    She said, “Don't touch me! Don't touch me!”
    “Gods don't die, Mrs. Venci,” I said, “really they don't.”
    She made a small, thin sound-thinner than a spider's thread, harder than iron, and I grabbed her. I grabbed one shoulder and jerked her around, then I caught her wrist, twisting it behind her, and threw a hammer-lock on her. Her mouth snapped open and that thin little sound came out again as I put my back into it. I applied the pressure. I jerked up on her arm and jammed her clinched fist against the base of her skull.
    She was very strong for a woman, and it was no easy matter keeping the hammer-lock on her. She fought like a tigeress, hissing, cursing, clawing, and then she tramped down on my instep with the point of her French heel and I damn near tore her arm off at the shoulder.
    “Don't!” she said, her voice sounding like it was being squeezed through a sieve. “Don't! Don't! Don't!…” Then it trailed off and she began shuddering.
    I had her hard against the wall now and she suddenly turned to jelly in my hands. She had no more strength or resistance than a pile of quivering flesh. I was completely fascinated with this transformation. Of course, I had heard about masochism, but this was the first time I ever walked up to it and looked it in the face.
    When I put my back into that hammer-lock it was just like throwing a switch that set off a blast furnace. I could feel lust surge through her like a thousand volt shock. She gasped and closed her eyes and mashed herself against me, making little whimpering sounds, sounds like a whipped dog makes, a dog that is so completely broken that it is afraid to yelp.
    I could have had her. There is absolutely no doubt about that; I could have had her but the phenomenon itself so completely fascinated me that I almost forgot for a while what it meant. But it crossed my mind, all right, you can bet your life on it. It wasn't because I didn't think of it that nothing happened.
    It simply wouldn't be the smart thing to do-it would indicate that I needed her more than she needed me, and that would not do. I let her go.
    She couldn't believe it. She stared at me, waiting, her breathing very shallow and rapid, and at last she realized that I was not following through. There was horror in her eyes. She leaned against the wall, she pressed her face to the wall, biting her lower lip as great tears spilled down her cheeks.
    I said, “We learn something every day, don't we Mrs. Venci? Today we learned who's boss, isn't that right?”
    I took her arm again. “Isn't that right?”
    She nodded. Quickly, eagerly, the instant I touched her.
    “All right,” I said. “You'd better relax; we've still got some business to talk over, remember?”
    I went to the kitchen and had a glass of water. I thought: I hope she never finds out what that cost me!
    I began to calm down, slowly. I