buttocks.
Adrenalin coursed through his body and he acted on it. Rashly. Unthinkingly. Impulsively.
And stupidly.
He threw himself at the man groping his wife and the two men staggered sideways with Ed’s arm around Jason’s neck. Jason’s hip bone cracked into a worktop counter, and Ed, despite being a fair few inches shorter and significantly slighter, managed to crack the hand holding the gun against the work surface so that his fingers uncurled and the gun clattered to the floor.
Jason hissed in pain, completely caught off guard. Ed took full advantage and curled his leg around Jason’s, easily toppling him in the most basic of Judo moves he had learned many years ago off a mate that had been a bouncer.
Jason lay sprawled on his side on the ground, the knife dangling uselessly from his fingers, staring up at Ed in disbelief.
If it hadn’t been for Linda, the whole sorry evening might have ended there. Ed was about to stomp on the man’s stomach. And he wouldn’t have stopped, he felt sure of it. He would have stamped on the bastard over and over until he was beyond screaming for mercy.
As it was, Linda picked up the nearest heavy object, in this case a cast iron wok, and launched it over the back of his head with an almighty crack.
Why she did it, Ed would never understand. Why she would aid the lunatic that had mere seconds ago casually ordered the lopping off of her fingers, was entirely beyond him.
That was his last thought before his knees buckled and he passed out.
“That was really fucking stupid now, wasn’t it?” Jason Jacks said when he came round a few seconds later.
The moment had passed. He had lost. Now he was on the floor and Jason was the one standing, reunited with both the gun and the knife.
Ed went to sit up, the back of his head throbbing like holy fuck.
“Jaz.”
“Ed, oh Ed,” she sobbed.
Ed twisted his head to look up at her and Jason kicked him square in the chest.
“How’d you like it, motherfucker?” he asked as Ed rolled onto his side in the foetal position, pain flaring in his chest and rendering him immobile.
He couldn’t breathe. The pain was so intense he wondered if the blow to his chest had triggered a heart attack. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, praying that the pain would pass.
Thankfully, it did, leaving a dull, throbbing ache in its wake that matched the throb in the back of his skull.
“Stand up, we have a game to play. If you pull a stunt like that again I will slit your wife’s throat. I said up.”
Jason kicked him again, lower this time, just below his ribcage.
Ed bit down the indignant howl and gritted his teeth. He would not let the cunt see his pain.
Shakily, he hauled himself to his feet, clutching the back of a kitchen chair for support.
“Better. Now, the game. Ed, you have a choice to make. Would you rather flay the skin on Linda’s back or let me fuck your wife?”
“I just saved your life, you miserable bastard,” Linda piped up.
Ed noticed for the first time she was still holding the wok, which dangled loosely from her hand. Her expression was indignant, rather than scared, and Ed felt another wave of hatred for her so strong that he had to hold his chest because it made his heart beat painfully hard against his battered sternum.
Jaz looked beseechingly across at him, her eyes red raw from crying and her chest hitching with the silent sobbing that she was doing her best to supress.
“Be quiet, bitch.” Jason admonished. “You agreed to come here tonight.” He turned his attention back to Ed, pointing the gun at him. “It is easier to flay the skin on the back rather than anywhere else on the human body. The back’s solid muscular structure gives good resistance and it is easier to peel off the skin.”
“Fuck you,” Linda said.
Jason stepped towards her and clonked her over the temple with the butt of his gun. Linda half gasped, half wailed, and staggered sideways, the wok clattering to the floor.
“Sit down
Adrenalin coursed through his body and he acted on it. Rashly. Unthinkingly. Impulsively.
And stupidly.
He threw himself at the man groping his wife and the two men staggered sideways with Ed’s arm around Jason’s neck. Jason’s hip bone cracked into a worktop counter, and Ed, despite being a fair few inches shorter and significantly slighter, managed to crack the hand holding the gun against the work surface so that his fingers uncurled and the gun clattered to the floor.
Jason hissed in pain, completely caught off guard. Ed took full advantage and curled his leg around Jason’s, easily toppling him in the most basic of Judo moves he had learned many years ago off a mate that had been a bouncer.
Jason lay sprawled on his side on the ground, the knife dangling uselessly from his fingers, staring up at Ed in disbelief.
If it hadn’t been for Linda, the whole sorry evening might have ended there. Ed was about to stomp on the man’s stomach. And he wouldn’t have stopped, he felt sure of it. He would have stamped on the bastard over and over until he was beyond screaming for mercy.
As it was, Linda picked up the nearest heavy object, in this case a cast iron wok, and launched it over the back of his head with an almighty crack.
Why she did it, Ed would never understand. Why she would aid the lunatic that had mere seconds ago casually ordered the lopping off of her fingers, was entirely beyond him.
That was his last thought before his knees buckled and he passed out.
“That was really fucking stupid now, wasn’t it?” Jason Jacks said when he came round a few seconds later.
The moment had passed. He had lost. Now he was on the floor and Jason was the one standing, reunited with both the gun and the knife.
Ed went to sit up, the back of his head throbbing like holy fuck.
“Jaz.”
“Ed, oh Ed,” she sobbed.
Ed twisted his head to look up at her and Jason kicked him square in the chest.
“How’d you like it, motherfucker?” he asked as Ed rolled onto his side in the foetal position, pain flaring in his chest and rendering him immobile.
He couldn’t breathe. The pain was so intense he wondered if the blow to his chest had triggered a heart attack. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, praying that the pain would pass.
Thankfully, it did, leaving a dull, throbbing ache in its wake that matched the throb in the back of his skull.
“Stand up, we have a game to play. If you pull a stunt like that again I will slit your wife’s throat. I said up.”
Jason kicked him again, lower this time, just below his ribcage.
Ed bit down the indignant howl and gritted his teeth. He would not let the cunt see his pain.
Shakily, he hauled himself to his feet, clutching the back of a kitchen chair for support.
“Better. Now, the game. Ed, you have a choice to make. Would you rather flay the skin on Linda’s back or let me fuck your wife?”
“I just saved your life, you miserable bastard,” Linda piped up.
Ed noticed for the first time she was still holding the wok, which dangled loosely from her hand. Her expression was indignant, rather than scared, and Ed felt another wave of hatred for her so strong that he had to hold his chest because it made his heart beat painfully hard against his battered sternum.
Jaz looked beseechingly across at him, her eyes red raw from crying and her chest hitching with the silent sobbing that she was doing her best to supress.
“Be quiet, bitch.” Jason admonished. “You agreed to come here tonight.” He turned his attention back to Ed, pointing the gun at him. “It is easier to flay the skin on the back rather than anywhere else on the human body. The back’s solid muscular structure gives good resistance and it is easier to peel off the skin.”
“Fuck you,” Linda said.
Jason stepped towards her and clonked her over the temple with the butt of his gun. Linda half gasped, half wailed, and staggered sideways, the wok clattering to the floor.
“Sit down
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