Forty-Two
On the first three occasions that he put her to work, the man she knew as Des dragged her from what she had come to regard as her prison cell and led her out into the daylight, across a broken stone courtyard populated by weeds, to a rectangular static mobile home. Each time, he first paused to slip a leather collar around her neck; this was attached to a sturdy chain lead with a leather strap festooned with metal studs at the end. Although he did not force her to walk on all fours like the animal he was treating her as, humiliation burned her cheeks all the same. Once inside the prefabricated home, he brought her into a room so small the double bed inside almost filled it.
What she glimpsed of the rest of the house appeared clean and tidy – as Des himself had always been. Yet this room reeked, a foul stench of dirt and squalor combined with stale sweat and something sweet and cloying. It made her gag and recoil. As he slipped the lead off that first time, Des cupped her chin in one of his big hands. Gone from his gaze was any pretence of affection, or even lust. Instead he regarded her with pure disdain.
‘Behave,’ he said. ‘You do that and I might throw you a treat when you’re done.’
Abbi no longer asked him why he was doing this to her. She’d long accepted his mute disinterest on that subject. All she could do was continue to berate herself as she wandered the dank corridors of her own mind. How had she missed the lack of humanity in those eyes? How had she failed to realise who and what this man truly was? What he was capable of?
On that first day after she had come around, she guessed he must have taken her so that he could later have her by force – and to do so whenever he pleased now that she was being held prisoner. Compliance seemingly no longer fulfilled his baser needs. The desire for control was a part of it; that much was apparent. But she had never once imagined his darker reason for the abduction until that first encounter in the tiny bedroom, where the man she had seen earlier in her dark cell waited for her on the bed.
The man who raped her that day, and the two who followed, choking her as they carried out their sordid and despicable act, seemed to also get off on her being treated like an animal. Kept locked away inside a brick cage, having to wear a collar when she was removed from it, the lead hooked up to her so casually, as if she had become Des’s pet. Her master taking her for a walk, the culmination of which delivered her into the hands of others of his kind.
Abbi dwelt on this after each humiliation. It was hard to imagine anything more degrading for a human being. Any remaining morsel of self-respect she might have had prior to her abduction had been drained away by each subsequent encounter with the lead – more so than the rape and the choking. They were at least acts with which she was familiar; the dregs of human experience, perhaps, but human for all that. All she felt after those first three men was an emptiness inside that she knew would never be filled again.
But the fourth man didn’t want the animal show in the bedroom; instead, he took her while she remained in the bricks-and-mortar pen, on the thin mattress, cold air trapped inside the thick walls. He’d also been the roughest so far. The previous three had demonstrated their experience, understanding precisely how far they could take her into the warm oblivion, using only their hands to regulate her destiny.
The other was nearly her last.
The curious euphoria once again overcame her fear and hostility. But then his hands shifted and the choking became strangulation. Abbi felt panic kick in, the rush of dizziness caused by asphyxiation a dangerous sign her body fought against. He had bound her hands together behind her back, and although she struggled by shifting her body weight and thrusting her head in all directions, he was too strong for her efforts to make any difference.
This is it. You knew the risks, Abbi. This man doesn’t know where to draw the line. He won’t stop until he comes. By which time it will be too late.
Yet by some miracle, he reached orgasm before she passed out. She coughed and spluttered her way back, a dense, fuzzy feeling inside her head. Pinpoints of light glimmered in her eyes. Abbi sucked in the air around her as if it were her last breath, filling her lungs with life. By the time he rolled off and shoved her to one side, she was sobbing and gasping and continuing to splutter.
The man eventually adjusted his clothing and got to his feet. He stood over her, leering and sweating, droplets slipping from his hairline and splashing down upon her bare flesh. Each wet splat felt like a lick of fire. ‘How was it for you?’ he said. He put back his head and giggled like a child. Moments later he let himself out and slammed the door closed behind him, sealing her once more inside what had almost become her tomb.
Des returned ten minutes after escorting the man from the premises. He stood in the doorway and snapped his fingers. ‘Time to scrub yourself clean, you filthy little whore,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you ready for your next owner.’
And my last, Abbi thought bitterly as she struggled to her feet. By whatever means possible.
Forty-Three
Bliss took the call he’d been hoping for before he made it back to Thorpe Wood. It was Bishop telling him that DC Ansari had managed to manipulate the image of the man caught in Abbi Turner’s digital
