The Rome Prophecy

127

Shooter grabs Valentina by the shoulder and spins her round.

He slaps her so hard with the flat of his right hand that the left side of her face feels like it’s been set on fire.

She cannons into the cell wall.

She recovers her balance, sticks her bloodied chin out and spits in his face.

Plucky bitch.

Shooter smiles at her. He’s enjoying this.

Really enjoying it.

He unleashes a vicious backhand slap to the right side of her jaw.

Valentina totters and then falls.

She shuffles back in the dirt. Tries to squash herself into the corner of the cell.

‘You stupid bitch! Did you think you could disrespect me and I’d just walk away?’

He steps forward and tries to grab her feet.

Valentina kicks out at him.

He stamps hard on her thigh.

The dead leg stops her kicking.

Now he grabs her feet. Grabs them and pulls them until she’s in the centre of the cell.

Valentina can’t help but scream.

Shooter leans over and punches her in the face.

The blow shuts her up.

He rips open her blouse.

Her stomach is irresistible. He claws a five-finger scratch mark down to her waistline.

The rage is growing.

Boiling up inside him.

He grabs at the top of her trousers and tears open the button.

Shooter glances up to see her face. To catch the fear about to flicker in her eyes.

But he’s a fraction too late.

Valentina slams her right hand against his stomach.

It feels like nothing.

A girlie slap that doesn’t even knock the wind out of him.

But it’s more than it seems.

He knows that from the expectant look in her eyes.

Valentina places her left hand on top of her right, and keeps pressing.

Now he gets it.

He knows exactly what she’s done.

She’s stabbed him.

He sees it now. She’s broken the thin wire handle off the bucket and stuck him with it.

Skewered him like a pig, and won’t let go.

Shooter grabs her hands, but Valentina uses the shock to shift her weight and push him back.

He tries to fight her off. The more he strains forward, the more he pushes the rusty metal further into his gut.

Shooter topples backwards.

Valentina follows. Driving the metal deep into the abdominal wound.

Her soldier’s instinct and training have kicked in.

No let-up. No mercy. No rest.

Not until he’s dead.