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I stop, lean over the curb of the sidewalk, and retch into the street, unloading what little I had to eat today and probably the pills Henry gave me crushed up in a drink.
“Oh, you’re gonna puke more when I shove my cock as far down your throat as I can. I cannot wait to make that sloppy ass jiggle like jello again. You’re such a nasty cow, it’s a wonder your brothers can even get hard for you. Those lard thighs and that meaty pussy, you’re fucking disgusting and lucky that I fuck you. Nobody wants to stick their dick in an ugly obese piggy, so you should beg me for it, Kat. You should thank me for making the time to share my cum with you.”
I gag, but nothing comes up this time. Terror runs through my nervous system like a live wire.
Henry jerks to a stop and rummages around in the backpack he’s got slung over one shoulder, producing handcuffs, which he slaps onto our wrists, effectively binding us together. Then extracts a bottle of vodka, which he uncaps and guzzles like water. He’s so foul, so revolting that I lean over and dry heave, my stomach with nothing left to give.
“I’m gonna disinfect your dirty cunt with vodka because knowing you, you already let that dirty thief in. Whores can’t keep their legs from spreading for any cock they see. In fact, if there happen to be any guys down by the boardwalk, I’m gonna let them take a ride on your fat ass after I’m finished with you. And Mom always said the rides down here were no fun. She couldn’t even imagine how wrong she was. Rest in peace, you fucking bitch.”
My heart hurts with each devastating word he says.
We pass a scary-looking homeless man with missing teeth, matted hair, and clothes shredded into dirty rags. He grins at us as he lights a discarded cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his horrible face.
“You feeling frisky, dude? You want to take a ride on this chubby Wonder Wheel? Or just stick your cock in her mouth and take a piss if you feel like it,” Henry gloats.
The man warbles at us in another language.
I yank Henry toward me by the cuff and march even harder in the direction of the beach.
“What’s wrong, Kitty Kat? Wasn’t your type?”
“I just want to get this over with,” I growl at him.
My hope is that he’ll continue to guzzle and imbibe so much that he passes out eventually, as tame as a sleepy kitten. It’s happened so many times before, it’s part of the reason I let my guard down around him in the first place. Henry is meaner when he’s drunk but harmless when he blacks out. I hope the timing is right. Maybe I can escape and let his passed-out ass drown in the waves like he did to everyone else in my life. I can’t let my mind absorb the idea that Henry killed our father. If that’s true, not only is he a rapist, but he’s a fucking serial killer.
He drags me up a pavement-covered ramp, passing the giant sleeping rides. I bet this place is cheerful in the sunshine, but now it’s quiet and immobile. In the light of the moon, it looks like a haunted nightmare. I’d imagined coming here someday with Heath, having fun in the sun together. Under our feet, we step over a faded, hand painted-mural of a clown pointing toward the rides.
“Luna Park this way!” the lettering reads.
I slide my phone out of my pocket with my free hand, point the camera down, and take a picture. I stagger and almost slip before Henry yanks me upright again. Without moving my lips, I pray silently that the picture took.
Maybe if they know where he killed me, they’ll be able to recover my body and bury me next to my one true love in the graveyard at Wainscott Hollow.
Chapter 21
Heath
A fucking psycho clown. I can’t believe I left her alone. I do a reverse google image search on my phone and sure enough, the psycho clown is in Coney Island. My mob experience tells me this might very well be a setup, a plan engineered to make me lose my training, where rage and fury will dominate, allowing emotions to dictate my decision-making. If that’s their plan, it worked because nobody fucking touches Kat. And I will slaughter my way through any obstacles put in front of me to save her. My mind is impenetrable except for one thought, ticking away like a time bomb: Get to Kat.
I hid my Ducati 950 in the shrubbery next to Eddie’s mansion by the sea. She purrs like a kitten when you ask her nicely and roars like a lion when you push her to her absolute limit. I slam my black helmet over my head and yank down the visor. Eddie’s blood hasn’t even dried on my hands, but God protect the poor soul who tries to get in front of me. My killing spree has just started, and they’ve got no idea they fucked with the wrong man when they kidnapped Katelyn Shaw. I’ll gladly die in battle revenging the woman I love, and I won’t stop until every single person who looked at her wrong is dead. Game over.
