Serial Uncut - J. A. Konrath [30]
“It’s this one.”
My body was shifted, and I heard the jingle of keys and a vehicle door opening.
“I’ll get in first, pull her up.”
“Check around for witnesses.”
“We’re alone out here, brother.”
Another shift, and then strong hands under my armpits, pulling me up, hands on my ankle, my right shoe coming off, and then…
Something warm and wet on my big toe.
Jesus… he’s got my toe in his mouth.
His tongue circled it, once, twice, and then I felt the suction. Heard the slurping. Heard him moan.
This freak is sucking my toe.
Wet and sloppy, like a popsicle. I wanted to flinch. I wanted to scream.
Stay still, Jack. Don’t kick him. Don’t move.
His teeth locked on, scraping along the top and bottom, not enough to break the skin but enough to hurt, the pressure increasing…
I felt a surge of revulsion unlike any I’ve ever experienced, and my muscles involuntarily locked and my stomach churned, threatening to upload the burger and curds. I was half-hanging out of a truck, and I couldn’t see, but I was going to take my chances and kick this bastard in the face, hopefully burying my shoe heel into his eye socket. It was two on one, and they had my gun, but I wasn’t going to let him chew my toe off without a fight.
“Taylor, let’s hold off until we get her inside.”
My toe was abruptly released, and then I was violently shoved upward onto the fat guy’s lap. I assumed he was sitting in the driver’s seat of a semi. I felt his hot breath on my ear, and then the clammy touch of his lips. One hand pawed at my chest, tugging at my bra through my shirt. The other slid up my leg.
“Such a pretty lady,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “I’m going to love feeding you your face.”
Breathe slowly, Jack. Don’t tense up and let him know you’re awake.
When his lips touched my cheek it was like a taser shock, and my bile began to rise again.
“Take her in the back,” Taylor said. “We’ll bring her up to the sleeper.”
The fat man gave my knee a final squeeze, then grunted as he hefted me up in his arms and shifted his bulk. Once again I was lifted, tugged, and pushed. I chanced a peek, everything dark and blurry, wanting so badly to rub my eyes, and all I could make out was a ladder of some sort.
“There’s a handle on the trap door. Turn it.”
“Where?”
“Right above your head.”
I was shoved through an opening in the ceiling of the cab, then dropped unceremoniously onto a mat. It was hot. I smelled bleach, cheap perfume, and the copper-pennies stench of fresh blood. Also, underneath everything, was an odor that scared me to my core, an odor I recognized from hundreds of cases from more than twenty years of cases. A cross between meat gone bad and excrement that all the bleach on the planet couldn’t ever fully erase.
The stink of dead bodies.
People have died in this room.
“Warm up here.”
“When we get started, I’ll put the air conditioning on. I’ve also got recessed stereo speakers, for mood music, and an AC outlet up by the fire alarm, if you want to plug in any power tools.”
“I like power tools.”
“Give yours a tap, see if she’s awake yet.”
I heard a slapping sound, skin on skin, and then a feminine whine.
“She’s still groggy.”
“She’ll be up soon. I know she’s not much to look at, but that really doesn’t matter once you get started, does it?”
“Actually, Taylor, as grateful as I am to you for inviting me into your home, I’ve been reading about Jack Daniels for years. She’s every killer’s wet dream.”
There was a long pause.
“What are you saying?” Taylor said.
“I’m saying I want the cop.”
“We already agreed, she’s mine.”
“You can have her feet. I want her face.”
“Maybe I want the whole thing.”
Donaldson laughed. “You know, you remind me of my younger brother. I miss that kid, so much that I sometimes regret killing him. But I remember something my father