Blood Sport by J.D. Nixon Page B

forget himself enough to put the gun down, so I wrapped my arms around his neck, arching myself closer up against him.
    When he disengaged again, I said breathlessly, “Red, you can’t ever tell Jakey about this. Please. He would be so angry. Not just with me, but with you too.”
    That little touch made him relax. He loved Jake and knew that I did too, but couldn’t help liking the thought of getting one up on his perfect brother. And if that meant sleeping with his girlfriend, then all to Red’s benefit. After all, he’d slept with all his other brothers’ girlfriends.
    “Go lock the door, Tessie. We have business together tonight and then you’re going to leave here with me.”
    “Are you going to kill me, Red?” I wasn’t quite faking the crack in my voice as I asked.
    “I haven’t decided yet. It depends on how much you satisfy me. I might keep you with me forever.”
    “Yes, Red,” I said obediently and padded over to the door, pretending to lock it, but actually double-clicking to lock and then unlock it again. I thought about opening the door and running, but he sat on the bed, his gun trained on me the entire time and I couldn’t be sure I’d be fast enough to avoid being killed. I returned to the bed, standing in front of him as he sat on the edge. He pulled me in close so I was standing between his legs, his little gun pointing at my chest.
    “Take your clothes off,” he ordered, his voice husky with desire. “I’m going around the world with you tonight, lovely. Starting and ending with your mouth. I want to build up a nice load for you to swallow.” His free hand fumbled for the zip on his jeans. “Get on your knees. You need to have your first taste of me.”
    “Yes, Red.” I reached my arms down as if I was about to grab the bottom edge of my pyjama top to pull it over my head, but instead I pulled out my knife. In a quick, smooth movement, I struck his arm upwards forcing the gun to go flying out of his grasp onto the floor where it clattered loudly and slashed out at him with my knife, cutting him lightly on his upper left arm.
    “ Help! ” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “He has a gun!”
    There was no response from the outside cops.
    “ Bitch! I knew I shouldn’t trust you,” he screamed, rolling over the bed to retrieve the gun. I skidded around the bed in my socks, scrambling to reach it first.
    “ Help! I need some help!” I yelled again.
    Still no response. What the hell were they doing out there?
    We lunged for the gun at the same time. I pushed him away with my palm in his face, stretching my left hand towards the gun. Just as my fingertips touched it, he kicked it over near the door, out of both our reach. I gripped his upper arms to stop him heading for it, but my socks were slippery on the floor. He clutched my arms and bulldozed me, his face set with naked anger, driving me backwards against my will.
    I hooked my foot around his ankle and he stumbled, losing his footing and falling backwards, still holding my arms. We fell together and hit the floor hard. The impact bumped my knife out of my hand and it skittered away from me. I dove towards my knife while he headed for his gun. I snatched up the knife and clambered after him on my hands and knees, whimpering with the agonising jolts shooting down my injured arm. I grasped him around the ankle and leapt up onto his back to bring him down.
    He rolled us both over, forcing me onto my back and lying on top of me. He gripped my wrist and squeezed viciously, trying to make me drop my knife. It waved dangerously around in the air as we each struggled for control of it, staring at each other in bitter fury. There was no sound in the room except our grunts of exertion.
    He slowly overpowered me, driving the knife down to my chest, his face contorted with focussed hatred, his arms unrelentingly strong. An abrupt jab from him thrust the knife perilously close to my chest and I raised my left arm protectively. The knife slid