Left For Dead

LEFT FOR DEAD Detective Laura Warburton Series Book One JAY DARKMOORE Copyright © Jay Darkmoore 2023 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the copyright owner. Also, by Jay Darkmoore – Horror The Space Between Heaven and Hell The Space Between Heaven and Hell – The Shadow Man Dark Fantasy The Everlife Chronicles – Hunted The Everlife Chronicles – Conquest The Everlife Chronicles – Ruin (Coming Soon) Thrillers Detective Laura Warburton Series: Book One – Left for Dead Detective Laura Warburton Series: Book Two – Breaking Point (Coming Soon) Short Story Collections Tales From the Inferno Volume One Tales From the Inferno Volume Two Novellas Lorna – A Dark Romance The Night Shift "People sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." —George Orwell. From the Author – In my years working in crime and investigation, I have seen some of the worst things human beings can do to each other, intent on plunging the world into darkness. This book is dedicated to those that hold the light to that darkness each day, no matter the cost. For my brothers and sisters in blue, that keep the dark away. Without you, this world would be a much worse place. - Jay Darkmoore Support the author by signing up for his newsletter at jaydarkmooreauthor.com for a free novella and exclusive content. LEFT FOR DEAD XXX I clean the knife dripping with the fresh cut on the rag. She was sobbing. I like it when they cry. I look upon her. She is filthy. A Whore. A filthy, filthy whore. Her blue denim jeans ripped. A dark patch in the centre between her legs. “You pissed yourself.” I smile. “You pissed yourself, you dirty girl.” I move closer, the blade handle still nestled in my hand. I feel myself getting hard. My dirty part in my pants. That’s what my mother always said. Don’t touch your dirty part, or it will fall off you bad boy! But it throbbed and ached at the sight of her. But what I do isn’t for sex. No. It was for a much greater purpose. And that is what really got my blood flowing. She tried to kick out as I got closer, but the ropes held her to the chair legs. Her false nails dug into the wood that I had just varnished. I should have taken her fingers first. The scratching rattled through the air. She had no respect for other people’s things, which is precisely why she had found herself here with me. She was crying now. Not like before, but a lower, longer whimper that kept on going, like a vinyl disk held down with fat greasy fingers and pulled under the needle. The rag in her mouth was tucked behind her teeth. I was getting good at this. Too far in, and they would suffocate. Not far enough, and they could shout. I got it just right. Like Goldilocks. Before I got as good as I am now, I had to cut out a few tongues when their shouting got too loud. This whore had some spirit. She had tried to bite me like a feral rat, but I crushed one of her teeth with my pliers when I put her back in the room. After that, she didn’t try it again. “Please…” She muffled behind the rag. I bit my lip. The throbbing grew more intense. They always begged. She tried to say something else, gagging, mouthing something behind that thick ball of rope. I stand before her, eyeing those blue eyes and olive skin. Her hair was pitch black, sticking to her face like a spider’s web drenched in ink. She was such a wonderful sack of meat, and she had wasted every day of her life, filling her body with filth. I made her pure. Now I will make her perfect. She didn’t like the straw at the start. They never do. But they all have it in the end. I lean into her. “Don’t bite.” She nodded, her eyes widening. I pull the rag away and remove strands of straw from between her teeth. I dance the edge of the blade around her exposed chest. The blood from her cuts fell like a red river around her nipples. She eyed me. Primal terror in those eyes. I could untie her right now, and she wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t run. Wouldn’t fight. That’s when I knew it was time. When they had truly surrendered to their fate, like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming truck. It’s their time, and they accept it in a shattering of bone and twisted metal. “Talk.” “What do you want?” She whimpered, spit falling onto her chin like long, melted slugs. Her nose was running, thick and green. “Perfection,” I say. She looks into my eyes through the sagging mask. Her eyes flick to my erection. “You can do anything. You can fuck me. I’ll suck your –” The back of my hand connects with her mouth. “Dirty girl.” She spits blood onto the floor. My. Fucking. Floor. In the house my father built. A flare of rage bubbles, and I squeeze the knife tighter. I grip her face. “Don’t do that. Don’t ever defile my home.” She shakes her head quickly, terror running over her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t think you’re a monster.” I lock eyes with her. “That’s right.” I move away, leaving her whimpering under that dim light, her shadow stretching, desperately clinging to my feet. “I am not a monster,” I say, my back to her. I can hear her nails scratching again, like a cheese grater on my bones. Next time, I think. I’ll take the nails first. “Monsters are amongst men.” I turn to her, the mask in