Cole looked at her. She stood there, wearing only a thong, defiant and proud, as if he no longer frightened her. By doing so, he was sure she was dissing him again, and Cole felt his hate and anger rise. “A loser like him? Ian, is it?” Cole asked, pointing to Ian. “He don’t look much like he’s winning to me. So, fuck you, bitch. I ain’t no fucking loser.” He leaned closer to Ian. “See? I can piss all over this loser, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Where’s your power now, eh? Come on then, girly power. Stop me.” Cole tried to relax his bladder, but piss wouldn’t come. He snarled at himself and turned to Alice. “All right. Let’s fuck instead. The bleeding loser can watch.”
Cole moved in on Alice. She backed up against the bed and Cole laughed. “You’re going nowhere.”
Then an almighty pain hit his foot. And again. He roared. The bastard boyfriend had whacked his foot with the hammer. Twice. It hurt so bad, he must have smashed a bone. The knife fell as he grabbed his foot. He jumped back, but Ian had collapsed onto the floor, as if he had used the last of his fading energy. Cole fell to the ground with a thump and his vision spun as he lay there.
The sound of breaking glass concentrated Cole’s gaze. Alice held the wine glass by the stem. The top had broken off and sharp edges protruded. Wine trickled down her hand.
Then Alice bent down and picked up Cole’s knife. She took a step towards him as sirens sounded in the distance.
125
Alice advanced on Cole as he lay prostrate on the floor. Her eyes never left his. She stared down into his soul, and darkness greeted her.
Cole laughed at her. “You ain't got the bottle.”
Alice said nothing. She took another few steps until she stood over him. “Is this what you want?” She pushed the knife under the elastic of her thong as if she would cut it. Cole’s dilated eyes switched to the space between her legs. Then she crouched a little closer to him. His eyes opened wider, and he stared as if fixated by the sight. “Cut them off,” he said. “Let me see it.”
“You want it?” she asked.
He nodded. “Y..Yes.”
“Then put your hands behind your head.”
Ian moaned, but she ignored him. She concentrated on Cole, watching the emotions flicker across his face. Hope. Lust. Perhaps even twisted love.
She smiled at him.
He smiled back. “Cut your panties off.”
“Oh yeah? Who is in control, now?” She pushed her hips forward. “Who?”
“You are.”
Alice looked into his eyes. She saw places and people gathered in his pupils. Ved Volden. Gronning and Pederson. Her mother. The Provence. Samir Hassan. A jail cell. DI Marks. She nodded once. She tightened her grip on the stem of the broken glass.
“Come on.” Cole’s voice was low. “Show me you want me.”
“No, Alice.” Ian whispered. “Don't.” She looked over to him, and he shook his head. The sirens were closer, and he pointed to his ear. “Police.”
“I have to,” she said. Alice shoved the broken glass into Cole’s crotch. He screamed. She jabbed the glass at his testicles and blood spurted out. His erect penis shrivelled, and she stabbed the glass into it. Cole tried to move away. His screams filled the room. He grabbed the hammer from Ian’s hand and half sat up. With a desperate swing, he aimed it at Alice, but he missed and rolled over. Then he put his hands on the carpet to push himself up. Alice looked down at his bloody genitals. He’d live. The cuts weren’t that deep.
Cole seemed to realise the same thing. He had the hammer in his hand. “You cunt,” he screamed. “I will bash your fucking head in.”
Alice didn't give him the chance. She plunged the knife into Cole’s chest. It hit two ribs with a jolt and wouldn't penetrate further. He gasped. She twisted the knife and stabbed him again, lower this time, into the soft flesh at the base of the ribs. This time the knife went in deep.
He swung the hammer at her. It slammed into her knee. She shrieked as the pain shot up her leg. He grabbed her and pulled her close. She stabbed him again with every bit of strength she had. The knife cut into his stomach, biting all the way to the hilt. When she withdrew the knife, the serrated edges ripped bits of Cole’s insides out. A flood of dark red blood oozed from the cut. He looked down at the wound with a confused expression.
“Daz,” he murmured. “It was all supposed to be for Daz.” He gurgled and blood seeped from his mouth. Still he tried to speak. His voice was raspy and low. “... laundry... supposed to collect it...” Then he slumped down.
Alice stepped back. She dropped the knife and went to Ian. She heard banging downstairs. Ian turned to her. He coughed and blood splattered onto Alice’s face. “You should get dressed.” Ian tried to smile. “God knows what the police will think.”
She pulled on her robe and tied it. A great crash sounded in the hall. She heard shouts of ‘armed police’ and the beat of feet stomping up the stairs. Alice held on to Ian and whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He fumbled for her hand and she squeezed it tight.
“It’s okay,” he said. “The guy deserved it.”
“I’m not sorry for him, I’m sorry for you.”
He nodded. His voice sounded hoarse and weak. “In... in case I don’t... I... I love
