Free Stalkers by Paul Finch Page A

take it? Because at the end of the day, I
will
have the things I desire and deserve. And if that means hurting a few little idiot-bitches who think it’s alright to dress provocatively because it makes them feel good, but who scream “harassment” the moment someone so much as looks at them … well, that’s hardly my problem. On the subject of which, you
do
look good, Louise.’
    He slid towards her. She continued to back away; the dressing-room door was close behind her, but of course that offered no escape.
    ‘I’ve watched you every day for quite a few years now,’ he added. ‘Sashaying around Branscombe Court in those “fuck-my-wet-cunt” outfits.’
    Despite everything, it was a chilling shock to hear such profanity from him. Louise couldn’t suppress a gasp.
    ‘Though you never looked as good then as you do now.’
    ‘You bastard,’ she whispered.
    She’d now backed right up to the door. He didn’t come straight up to her but stopped a few yards short, from where he continued to eye her in the sort of brazenly lustful way that nowadays could land a man in court.
    ‘It’s up to you how you play this,’ he said. ‘But if you comply, I reckon we’ll both have a good time.’
    Finally she understood. Several times in the office recently she’d suspected that Blenkinsop was furtively observing her. Evidently it hadn’t just been her imagination. ‘I … I …’
    ‘I think the words you’re looking for are “okay, let’s do it.”’ Blenkinsop was clearly growing impatient; his mouth fixed in a half-smile/half-snarl. ‘Look Louise … it’s not like you’ve got a choice here. You’ve seen the sort of team I’m working with. They don’t mess around. They’ve been watching you for weeks, noting your every move. They know who your friends are, where your family can be found …’
    ‘My … my family?’ she said, with a new sense of creeping horror.
    ‘That’s correct, Louise … your family. If this thing goes tits up, it isn’t going to finish with you. I’m going to get what I want, and I don’t care how. Of course it would be easier for all of us if we kept things nice and friendly.’ He ogled her revealing outfit again. ‘At least … as much as I’m capable of that. Your play, my darling.’
    ‘I … I need a drink first.’
    He looked surprised by that, and not a little pleased. ‘That’s a good girl. Well done.’ He turned to the sideboard, collecting her champagne. ‘This is a Bollinger 1990 by the way. I spared no expense, as you can see.’
    She stepped forward to accept it, trying her best to smile, though it was difficult to keep her lips from trembling. Perhaps he sensed this as she took the drink from him – his expression suddenly changed, but it was too late. She hurled the drink into his face, glass and all. The glass broke with the impact, a shard slicing open his left cheek.
    ‘You fucking bitch!’ he squawked, flailing blindly at her.
    She pushed past him and went straight for the door next to the drinks cabinet, praying that it wouldn’t be locked – though of course it was. She wanted to scream as she pounded on it with her fists. Behind her, Blenkinsop was still swearing. She swung around to face him, expecting to have to ward off blows. But he hadn’t followed her. Instead he was addressing someone else, gazing up at a corner of the ceiling where she now saw a small surveillance camera.
    ‘Look what she’s fucking done!’ he shouted, clamping a handkerchief to his bloodied cheek. ‘I told you I need her compliant. I’ve given her every fucking chance, but she doesn’t want to know.’
    There was a loud thumping of wood, and a
clunk
as a bolt was drawn. Louise toppled forward as the door burst open behind her. Two men came barging in: the black guy in the orange ski-mask and the white guy in the purple. Orange grabbed her by the wrists and threw her onto the bed. Purple, she could see, was already tapping another needle.
    ‘
No!
’
she