Feral Intensity v2: Prologue -

A yelp of pain escaped when his fist smashed into my face. Knees hitting the ground, I caught a heavy blow to the temple and collapsed face down.

My arms were yanked back and wrists cuffed.

Man, Maureen’s going to be pissed in the morning. Fortunately, my hair hid the spreading grin.

Maureen’s my Girl Friday and best friend. She thinks I work too much and has made it a personal mission to regularly drag me out to clubs for fun. Her order is always the same: Leave work at the office and relax, Shady.

Tonight, I’d failed more spectacularly than usual, but the consolation prize was the shocked expression she’d worn, watching me leave with him. Maureen, or Reen as I call her, has an unhealthy interest in my sex life.

Okay, my lack of one.

My attacker began dragging me up the steps of an old farmhouse. His name was Charles Watson; Number Five on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, due to his hobby of rape and murder. The last count I’d seen put the number of victims at twenty-seven. He had stuck to his M.O., which was a club pick up and a drive out to a secluded location.

Too bad I was his choice for tonight’s menu.

Once inside, he shoved me so that I fell onto an old mattress. It lay in the middle of what may have been a cozy living room once, but was a rotting wreck now.

Rolling over, testing the cuffs, I watched as he crossed to a tool box lying near a boarded up window. “Like it a bit rough, I’m guessing.”

“Aren’t you the brave little bitch?” Watson knelt on one knee, opening the tool box to survey the contents. After a few seconds, he selected something. Turning, he held a Bowie knife up so that its blade shone silver in the stray beams of moonlight sneaking through cracks in the old place.

“Nice. I enjoy good showmanship,” I congratulated him.

Watson sneered. “Being brave won’t do you any good.”

I shrugged. “You’re missing something here.”

“What would that be?” He began walking towards me, obviously not worried about any kinks being thrown into his plans for the evening.

“I am a bitch.” The snap of the cuffs’ chain sounded like a shot. Holding my arms up and grinning, I added “Wolven bitch.”

Astonishment spread across his face. I memorized it, to save for later enjoyment. Lunging up, I kicked the knife from his hand and spun, driving a fist into his face. Watson stumbled backwards, tripped over the tool box and fell flat on his back.

A leap ended with my crouching over him, the scent of fresh, hot blood filling my lungs and stirring my wilder instincts. Eyes on his, I slowly leaned closer to lick some from his chin. “Mmm.”

You’d think a guy who enjoyed rape and torture would have a stronger stomach, but Watson’s eyes rolled up and he went out like a light.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Disgusted, I stood and nudged his side with the toe of one boot. “Not much of a challenge, were you?”

With a sigh, I squatted and hefted him in a fireman’s carry. The Feds and local law could scope out the crime scene. They’re welcome to it; I just bring in the bad guys.

Carrying him outside and to his car, it never crossed my mind that capturing a Most Wanted was going to change my life.

Not once.

________________
© 2010 G L Drummond

What do you think? Does it work? Not work? If not, why? Constructive criticism welcomed.

Note: Comments are moderated to prevent spammage. Non-spam comments will be approved when I see them.