Читать книгу In the Cold Dark Ground - Stuart MacBride - Страница 7

He rolls over onto his side, blood pulsing from what’s left of his nose. It stains his teeth dark pink. Bubbles at the side of his mouth. Explodes out in a shower of scarlet droplets as the boot slams into his bare stomach again. And again. And again.

He just twitches with the impact. Can’t even defend himself – not with both hands tied behind his back. Can’t do anything but bleed and groan, naked on the damp forest floor.

His lips move, but the words are broken mushy things forced out between ruined teeth. ‘Gnnnnfnnnn … mmmm … nnngh…’

‘Do you see?’ A boot stamps down on his head. Something crunches. ‘Do you see what happens?’

Blood drips onto the mat of rusting pine needles, making it dark and shiny. ‘Nnnngh…’

Another voice: quiet, shaking. ‘Please. Please, I’ll do whatever you want. Please.’

‘Damn right you will.’

A black plastic bin-bag crackles out like the wing of a giant bat. It soars above him for a moment, then gets yanked into place, enveloping his head. The scratchy growl of duct tape rips through the air.

And, at last, he finds enough breath to scream.