Hi.

Here's the latest of my thriller The Dying Game


I must warn readers though....

I hope the opening scene does not offend anyone.

Happy reading and I welcome all your comments!

Craig

(Tuesday) 7:15 am

It had been the longest night of her life, trapped in a room by people she had never met and in a place she did not recognise. Justine hadn't slept, but lay in pitch black darkness, eyes wide and a cold fear dancing in the pit of her stomach. The only evidence she could find of what time of day it might be came from a gradually brightening shard of light leaking in from the bottom of the door.

She had found herself watching it for any sign of movement. As the light grew she didn't have long to wait. She heard the lock turn in the door and voices, whispering outside. She couldn't make them out.

Suddenly the door opened, drenching Justine in light as she lay curled up on a bare mattress, and she instinctively covered her eyes.

"Wakey wakey sweet heart - you got a visitor." the big Italian said, and Justine slowly sat up and looked in hope. But she was a fool to think anyone was coming to save her.

Then the Italian stepped aside, and a tall woman wearing leather trousers and a tight fitting waste coat walked in, high-heeled boots clicking on the floorboards. Justine looked up at her nervously. The woman was also wearing leather gloves, and her bright white hair was tied tightly in a bun. The woman returned a creepy smile.

"What's this?" Justine asked.

"We're going to ask you a few question - well, more like just one, in actual fact." the big Italian said, then moved from the door to reveal Donatello Concotti, dwarfed by the man's size, standing directly behind.

"Hello Mrs Donnelly...may I introduce myself."

"Save it. I already know. You're Concotti." Justine retorted in recognition.

She had seen him on TV and also knew that her husband had had some business dealings with him.

"Correct. I'm so happy you could come and see me."

"Not like I had a choice."

Donatello smirked.

"Now you're a smart girl. You understand how this works. I have always been a great admirer of your husband. I really wish he could be here. Do you want to make this easier and just tell me where I can find Marcus?"

Justine looked to the big Italian, then to the rather intimidating, butch-looking woman.

"Fuck you." she remarked, and offered a smug grin back to the woman. The woman looked annoyed.

"I thought as much. Francis...you know how this goes." Donatello said.

Justine moved back across the mattress, standing up, then gasped as she came in contact with the wall. Francis, the big Italian came directly at her and, as she raised her hands to fend him off, he grasped her wrists and pushed them over her head. Quickly he fastened them together with soft leather handcuffs, before pulling her into the middle of the room below a beam from which hung a chain. Her hands were hooked above her head onto the chair.

Justine was helpless and at their mercy. Of course she had acted out this kind of thing in her work, but this was real and all the more terrifying.

As she swung slowly, almost lifted above the floor but for the tips of her trainers, Donatello came and stood before her. He raised a hand, and touched her cheek.

"To think, a girl as pretty as you, degrading herself in filthy skin flicks...such a tragedy."

"Whatever you're gonna do, just do it, because if you're gonna keep talking - kill me now!"

Donatello grinned, and then walked away.

"I'll ask you one more time; Mrs Donnelly...where is Marcus?"

Justine watched the woman with trepidation, and then looked over to Donatello.
"Forget it, buster - I give up my husband for nobody."

Donatello tutted, shaking his head, "Stupid girl." he remarked, and then the woman stepped forward, suddenly punching Justine hard in the stomach. Her body swung back from the impact, her face going red from the wind being knocked out of her. Then as her body came back again, she kicked out, hitting the woman sharply in the jaw.

The woman stumbled, then grinned, a dirty tread mark left on her chin, and she returned a swift back hand to Justine's face, resulting in a spray of blood that hit Donatello's shirt. He backed off, shouting gleefully like some perverse spectator.

"Oh yes! That's what I like - a girl with spirit!!" he exclaimed, "Now strip her!"

Justine looked to Francis as he approached, but the woman just pushed him aside with her hand, before grasping the front of Justine's denim jacket. It was torn open with one swift yank, exposing her breasts. A smile of appreciation formed across the woman's face, who then proceeded to pull open the Levis, exposing Justine's black pubic hair absent of underwear.

Soon Justine hung naked but for her denim jacket. But it wasn't the feeling of exposure that was making her pulse race - it was the large leather whip the woman had suddenly produced.

"We'll leave you two to get better acquainted. Come Francis...let's make us some drinks." Donatello said, much to Francis' disappointment, who reluctantly followed, closing the door behind them.

A moment of silence was short lived as the woman spoke.

"This is going to be interesting." she said, her accent Romanian, "I figure a creature such as yourself vill be used to a leetle pain. Let's see how far vee can take this."

Justine squirmed, as the woman backed off, readying the whip, and before she knew it, the first strike left a painful cut to her left cheek, making her cry out loud.

"That is just a taster." the woman announced, then snapped the whip into the air again, and a second cut appeared on her left breast.

Justine's body rocked and swayed on the chain as the pain made her quiver from head to toe. Tears became evident in her eyes.

"Is that..." she groaned, "the best you got?"

The woman smiled, "Not by a long shot, honey." she replied, and then sent another, which cut Justine across her thigh. Justine winced in reaction, breath ragged, teeth clenched tight. Droplets of blood began to stain the floor boards.

Just over an hour later at the motel, Malcolm wheeled himself down a short corridor, and stopped outside a door. He could hear a shower running, and steam filtered out by his feet.

"Nina? You going to be much longer?" he called.

He had been surprised that the young nurse hadn't tried to come on to him all evening. After all, she had made her feelings clear at the hospital. Yet there had been no evidence of them since. Perhaps he had scared her off. He probably shouldn't even be mulling over the idea...after all, he did have a fiancée who adored him back home. That is if he ever saw her again.

As he waited he found himself peering inside at the mirror above the wash basin. Although it was a little wet with condensation, he was still able to view Nina in the shower cubical, slightly obscured by a plastic curtain hanging a little way open. He didn't want to watch. No, that was a lie. He did want to watch, but he wished he didn't, and also wished it wasn't so easy for him to observe her athletic, brown body moving almost erotically under the flow of water.

He then found himself leaning forward, until he caught site of her perfect round ass, water bouncing of the cheeks. He forced himself to look away, then with a second glance his eyes traced the curve of her back, until -

Malcolm's mouth dropped open in shock. Near the top of her back, between and across her shoulder blades, were the most horrible scars he had ever seen (not that he was an expert). They looked deep and permanent. Suddenly any arousal he had experienced faded, and he wheeled himself away as he heard the water go off.

Moments later, Nina came out wearing a towelling robe. She smiled at him as she ran a brush through her hair.

"Sorry, I kind of like to shower." she said, and proceeded into the bedroom.

Malcolm just sat there, not knowing what to think or say. He watched her shadow pass the carpet just visible from the open bedroom door. He guessed it best not to ask questions. After all, he didn't want to scare off his only friend.