Page 209 of The Black Trilogy

“Double murder. His wife and her lover. Hammered a stake up the guy’s rectum, by all accounts, and made the wife watch.”

The logistics of that made my stomach turn. “How on earth did he get bail?”

Black shook his head. “The stupidity rife in our legal system never ceases to amaze me.”

I sat on the edge of Black’s desk and swung my legs. “So, when are we off?”

“As soon as you can get your bag.”

For the last couple of months, Black had made me keep a “go-bag” packed with essentials ready and waiting in case I needed to take off at a moment’s notice. “It’s in the trunk of my car.”

Crunch, the freak in question, hung with the Hell’s Angels in Randomville, North Carolina, a town famous for its annual hot dog festival and a serious drugs problem. Black wanted me to travel with them to this delightful place to take Crunch into custody. Problem was, he spent all his time with his biker brothers, who carried enough firepower to give a small army cause for concern.

“Why do you need me?” I asked. “Can’t you catch him on your own?”

I’d worked with Black a few times now, and his ability to reduce grown men to shadows of their former selves within two minutes of meeting them was almost disturbing. I thanked my lucky stars I was on the same side as him, and from what I’d seen of Nate, he was just as tough.

“Dealing with the bikers isn’t a problem,” Black explained. “But we’d prefer to avoid bloodshed if possible. The paperwork’s a nightmare.”

“That’s where I come in, isn’t it? You need a distraction?”

He gave me a cunning grin. “You’re good at driving grown men crazy, Diamond.”

With hindsight, I’d rather have filled out the forms.

Crunch spent his evenings in a biker bar, and the only thing he’d leave his pack for was a woman. Lucky for us, he seemed fond of jailbait, and that was why on a muggy June night, I popped open another button on my checked shirt and bent over the pool table in Lou’s Hog Shack. I had a nicely placed red in front of me and a dozen of the ugliest, meanest men I’d ever had the misfortune to meet staring at my sweet patootie.

Black had helped with my outfit, which meant the shirt was two sizes too small, my D-cups stuck out the top, and when I leaned forward to pot the ball, the whistles from behind told me my knickers were clearly visible.

Fifteen minutes later, I’d successfully manoeuvred my bottom into Crunch’s fetid crotch, and between fetching him drinks and waving my girls in his face, I hinted I wouldn’t be averse to a trip out to the parking lot.

Where Black and Nate were waiting.

After I’d sunk my last shot, Crunch snatched my pool cue and threw it down on the table. My stomach clenched as he grabbed me with his clammy paw and shoved me roughly towards the door. So far, so good.

Well, not good, exactly, but you know what I mean.

Thanks to Nate, Crunch’s Harley had developed an engine problem, so the ugly freak had driven to the bar in an ancient Ford pickup. Apparently, he didn’t understand the concept of DUI. The truck was parked in the shadows created by a spreading maple tree, and as we got closer, I expected Black and Nate to step from the darkness and relieve me of my pervert.

But they didn’t.

We reached the truck, and without further ceremony, Crunch yanked the door open and threw me backwards onto the bench seat. He followed me in, landing on top of me and forcing his tongue into my mouth. As the taste of beer and stale cigarettes invaded my mouth, I struggled to keep from gagging.

“Fancy another game of pool instead?” I mumbled as he rasped a breath.

His only response was a grunt, which might have been appreciation since he’d paused to squeeze my girls. It would seem he didn’t know the meaning of taking it slow, because his hands soon wormed their way downwards.

Black and Nate obviously didn’t know the meaning of taking it fast because WHERE WERE THEY?

Suddenly, my mind filled with an image of mother’s disgusting boyfriend crawling over me when I was ten, and my heart stuttered as panic welled up inside me. I wanted to tell Crunch to stop, but with his mouth on mine, I couldn’t form words. Then, before I was able to process things, he was touching me down there.

“Get off!”

I tried to push him away, but he weighed three hundred pounds to my one twenty, and I couldn’t get the leverage. What to do? What to do? What to do? Finding my senses, I bit his tongue hard, and he reared up. The back of his hand crashed across my face with enough force to make me see stars.

“I like a girl with some fight in her,” he said, moonlight glinting off his grimy teeth.

He forced me down again, and his sweat mixed with mine, a juxtaposition of excitement and fear. Even today, the stench made me gag whenever I thought about the incident. I squirmed, sliding on the cracked leather seat, and finally got a hand free. My fingers raked over his cheek, gouging, and he roared like a demented gorilla as an acrylic nail snapped off and embedded itself in his pudgy face. I was trying to get at his eyes when Black and Nate hauled him off me.

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