Chapter 46: FeralHis fist smmed into my fabsp; I staggered babsp; No stability in those shoes. My ankle wobbled and I hit the wall. A picture frame shattered against the bay skull. Gss shards rained down about my shoulders. Fosters was on me immediately, another punch catg me iomabsp; Pain fred in my side. I began to crumble, until an uppercut sent me babsp; My shoulder clipped the wall and I spun into the sofa. I hit the armrest and tumbled forward. His knee dropped onto my babsp; He hauled my head back by my hair. My scalp burned. I tasted blood. His fingers closed around my throat.

  “You pathetic wimp,” he hissed. He dragged me off the sofa. I scrabbled useless at his grip. He lifted me up and smmed me against the wall and held me there. “Did you enjoy dressing like this?” His hand released my throat and grabbed at the prosthetic breasts. “Enjoy bei up?” His rough squeeze went u, but with a tearing sound and the popping of buttons he ripped the blouse open. Fosters’ eyes narrowed with disgust at the sight of the grey things stuy chest, and the corset that taihem. “Sick,” he spat, and violently threw me into the opposite wall.

  The wall cracked and dust showed over me as I colpsed to the ground. I lifted myself from the floor. His foot shed out and caught me across the ribs. I dropped again. With a moan I tried to cover my wounded side, only for his fist to smash me back down.

  “Stop!” I cried.

  Ign my plea, Fosters roughly lifted me off the ground and effortlessly tossed me away. I crashed into the end table, falling over it onto the sofa once again. The vase shattered beh my body. Water spshed out and soaked my front. Flowers scattered everywhere. I felt por shards cut my skin as I twisted to stare up at him with terrified eyes. He paused momentarily to drink in my fear, gaze roaming ay form.

  Sprawled across the cushions, with the skirt tangled over stog tops, with one snapped garter hanging loose and my hair tangled about my fa a dishevelled mess, I presented a helpless, fearful girl. Stray locks caught in my earrings, on my makeup, on the blood that trickled from the er of my mouth, and I pulled them away with a trembling hand. The exposed corset gleamed under hospital lights. A stray rose rested on my chest and trasted brilliantly with the satin white. It somehow stayed stue as I pulled myself to a sitting position.

  “Why?” Fosters asked, leaning back against the wall. His hands tio slowly d unch at his side. His rexed posture was agaiive. He banced lightly on the balls of his toes, ready to move. “Will you offer me money? More than Mr Steele has?”

  I shook my head. “No, but . . . you don’t have to do this. . . .”

  He ughed. “Of course I don’t have to do this.”

  “But. . . .” I scrambled for some other way to tempt him, for some way of deying the iable. There was nothing. “I. . . .”

  “How about yourself?” he said, leaning forward slightly. “Offer me your body, dy.”

  “My . . . body?”

  “That lovely mouth of yours. That tight bottom. I don’t suppose you have a pussy buried away down there? Too bad. Go on, dy, suck me off. Or maybe if I fuck your ass, I’ll let you go.”

  The look of revulsion that crawled ay face couldn’t be hidden. Sick bastard. The iable loomed ever closer. “If I . . . if I,” I swallowed nervously. “If I give you a blow job . . . you’ll leave me alone?”

  He was on me immediately, his fist shing out and catg me across the . With a strangled cry I fell bato the sofa. “What do you think I am, some kind of queer?” he demanded, features twisted by rage. “You think I need some shit-stabbing pansy for that?” He lunged forward and grabbed me by the hair again. He dragged me from the coud ignored my feeble cries as he hauled me across the floor. “I’ll fuck your skull if I want to!” he yelled down. “I’ll rape your corpse!” With a final kick he seumbling into Scooter’s waiting room.

  I scrambled away from him on all fours, my ass in the air and spike heels scrabbling as the carpeting burning my palms and knees, until I ran into the far wall. Twisting, I stared back at Fosters, framed in the door and blog any escape. He watched me and slowly smiled. The quick transitions from psychotic rage to ptive delight were unnerving. “Perhaps I should give Mr Steele a call,” he said, patting at some inner pocket. “I’m sure if he knew of your . . . disguise, he might be tempted to make it a little more perma. Would you like that, David? I bet you would, to spend the rest of your life as his bitch, taking it up the ass, sug co some drugged-up haze, a sve to whoever Steele lends you out to?”

  “He . . . doesn’t know?”

  Jeremiah-fug-Steele didn’t know . . . he didn’t know! In his arrogahis sick bastard hadn’t reported i. Maybe Steele knew about the Asklepios ic, but dy remained anonymous. I felt a desperate hope blossom; all my efforts weren’t wasted.

  “So the sissy thinks he’s found a way out, does he?” Fosters shook his head in disbelief as he stepped into the room. His voice hovered on a knife’s edge between anger and boredom. “But no. No phone calls. No hope.

  “Mr Steele will still be pleased when I tell him of the state in which I found you--how you begged to live--and how painfully you died.” He was warmed up now, ready to begin with the real hurting, with the pain that would end in my death. I couldn’t afford to dey any longer. Rescue wasn’t ing after all; I had to fend for myself.

  “Ready to die?” Fosters stepped closer. His smile grew at the sight of his feminized victim curled up in fear against the wall--wavered--and I saw the first shadow of doubt creep into his eyes.

  Up to now he’d been taking it easy, spping me around and holding back his full strength. Even so, my chest should have heaved with fear. I should have been doubled over in agony from the brief but savage beating, clutg at my side, stomach; blood should have been streaming from my face, from a shattered nose or busted lips. Where were the tears, the abject supplications; the sheen of sweat; why hadn’t I even tried to escape?

  Hey, I’m a good actor but not that fug goht?

  I picked the rose from my chest, the thorn only relutly letting go. I momentarily appreciated its brilliant, vivid beauty. So delicate and fragile; with a sigh I crushed the flower in my palm and it tumbled to the floor. Rising to my feet, an easy flick of the head sent that mane of hair back over my shoulder. I straightened my skirt and a slow smile spread ay face.

  “No,” I said.

  The surprise faded from his fabsp; “So, the little sissy thinks he fight back?” His voice dripped with pt. He reached into his jacket. If he pulled out a gun . . . maybe, just maybe I could cross the short distaween us before he drew a bead o—no, it was a knife, a sleek, double-edged thing that gleamed coldly i light. It settled fortably in his grip. “Taken a few karate csses, have you?” He chuckled grimly. “Do your best, David. Make this iing. It’s time to bleed.”

  The fucker was fast, I’ll give him that, faster than I would’ve expected sidering his size. He blurred forward, silently, bde slig for my shoulder. It wasn’t meant to kill--just to cut, badly, make me bleed and disable my arm. Meeting his charge, I caught his attack at the wrist. The tip of the knife wavered an inch from my chest. For a moment our two bodies pressed towards each other, our momentums g. Fosters was bigger, his footing surer; I fell back a step, then another; and then I was back up against the wall.

  Fosters’ breath was sure and measured, his eyes gleaming as he pressed forward with all his weight and strength. Now my chest heaved with effort, pulse pounding in my ears as I fought his attack, desperately struggling to su air despite the corset. My muscles swelled as I pushed against him. It wasn’t enough; he wasn’t strohan I me, but had an advantage of height a, and he was better dressed for bat.

  The kip wavered. The tip touched my right breast, hesitated, and slowly sank into the prosthetic flesh.

  “Yoing to die, David,” whispered Fosters. The knife sank a fra of an inch, another, into the prosthetibsp; Those breasts were all but dead but I still felt the dull throb of that bde sinking into artificial flesh, the pain growing the deeper it peed. An acrid stench of rot escaped from the wound. He tio press down. “Try, you little wimp. Fight!”

  I pushed against him, muscles burning, sweat erupting ay body, burning into my eyes. My breath came in burning gasps, made feminine by the spray. I refused to die--like this—panting like some bit heat….

  “Not enough,” he hissed. “You never had a bsp; I am a killer, David, born and trained.” His eyes bore into mine, burning with huhe animalistic thrill of killing.

  And in my eyes--he saw himself reflected, saw the same beast stare back, ered, feral and so very, very angry. His fidenentarily wavered.

  “Yeah?” I snarled. “Me to.”

  With a final effort the bde sank deeper. Savage, burning pain fred ay chest and seared through my head. . . .

  Author's Notes:

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