Free Fire Spirit by Graham Masterton Page A

and call me a peacock. You were never with a man, ever ? How old are you, Tilda?’
    â€˜Twenty-three. Twenty-four, nearly. My birthday’s next week.’
    â€˜In that case, you’re in luck, because we’re going to bust your cherry before you get a single day older.’
    Tilda swayed sideways and almost fell over, but the scowling man caught her arm. ‘Hey – I know this is kind of thrilling for you, but there’s no need for you to pass out on us.’
    â€˜Please,’ Tilda mumbled. ‘What am I going to tell my mother?’
    â€˜Who gives a shit? Tell her you enjoyed it. Tell her anything you want. It’s none of her business anyhow. It’s personal.’
    Tilda suddenly wrenched herself away from him and screamed in his face, ‘ Go away ! Go away all of you and leave me alone ! Get out of my apartment ! Get out !’
    The laughing man waited patiently until she had finished her outburst, and then he said, in that breathless, asthmatic voice, ‘You want to calm down, Tilda. You really do. Think of your blood pressure. Look at yourself, you’ve gone all purple in the face. That can’t be good for you.’
    Tilda’s chest was rising and falling with the effort. ‘Please get out,’ she panted. ‘Please leave me alone.’
    â€˜If only we could, sweet cheeks. But we have to do this, otherwise we’re going to be in deeper trouble than you could ever imagine. Sometimes, in this life, it’s a question of doing what you have to, regardless of the consequences, and no matter who gets hurt in the process.’ He paused for a moment, and then he said, ‘Take off the robe, Tilda. If you don’t take off the robe, we’ll have to hurt you, and we don’t want to do that. No more than necessary, anyhow.’
    Tilda looked up at him. If only she could see his face. If only she could tell what he was thinking. But all she could see was that maniacally laughing mask, a frozen reaction to a long-forgotten joke.
    â€˜Come on, Tilda,’ he coaxed her.
    She loosened her sash, and then she let her arms drop to her sides, so that the robe slid off her shoulders by itself, and dropped on to the floor.
    â€˜My God,’ said the scowling man. ‘You’re one whale of a woman, I’ll have to grant you that.’
    Tilda could see herself reflected in the mirror beside the front door. She hated looking at herself naked. Her breasts were enormous, and her stomach bulged as if she had just walked out of the ocean with a half-deflated lifebelt hanging around her hips. Her massive thighs were already dimpled with cellulite, and her ankles were so swollen that the straps of her shoes left indentations in her flesh.
    The laughing man looked around the apartment. His eyes lighted on the wooden bowl of fruit on the kitchenette counter. He went over to it and picked out an apple.
    â€˜Get yourself down on all fours,’ he told Tilda.
    â€˜What?’ She was trying to cover her breasts with her left arm and keep her right hand cupped between her thighs.
    â€˜You heard me. Get yourself down on all fours.’
    â€˜No,’ she retorted, although her voice was so weak that the laughing man pretended not to hear her at first, and mockingly cupped his hand to his papier mâché ear.
    â€˜ No ,’ she repeated.
    The laughing man returned to the kitchenette and noisily pulled open the drawers, one by one, until he found a six-inch boning knife. He came back and held it up in front of Tilda’s face. ‘Don’t get argumentative, OK? That’s all I’m asking. You look like a pig already, but I can make you look even more like a pig if I cut your nose off.’
    Tilda stared at him, breathing faster and faster. He hesitated for a few seconds, and then he jabbed the end of her nose with the tip of the knife. She said, ‘ Ah !’ and lifted her hand to her face, but then she realized that she