Ripped by Frederic Lindsay

this Underpass of yours.'
    'Your husband wouldn't be stupid enough to listen to him. He has a future if he plays his cards right. You tell him that, keep him right, be a good wife to him.'
    He put his hand on her leg and felt the warmth of her in his palm. She giggled; a surprising noise, very warm and amused.
    'I had a bet with myself you'd do that about now , ' she said and lifted his hand from her. Strangely, for a second as she held it, he seemed to see his own hand through her eyes: plump, very white, wrinkled on the wrist like a used glove. At the firmness of her touch, he felt a weakening pleasure and made no resistance, but his anger increased.
    'Do you want all the nice things as much as he does? Christ, I recognised him as soon as I met him. Men like him – I've been buying them all my life.' It wasn't what he had meant to say. It was stupid to talk like this to her. He could not help himself. 'Buying them or frightening them. Sometimes they have to be frightened.' The tip of her tongue wiped her bottom lip and the corner of her mouth. Where it had passed, her lips shone. It was in his power to arrange for people to be hurt; even if he was old . It made no sense for him to be uncertain or to feel that he was not in control.
    'You want all those nice things,' he said. 'I can tell. A pretty girl like you . You're ambitious. Just like him.'
    He put his hand on her breast . When she did not flinch, he gradually tightened his grip, looking all the time into her face. With his other hand, he grasped her by the jaw and began to draw her towards his mouth. She sank her teeth into the web of wrinkled flesh that hung at the root of his thumb. It was no nip but a real bite that took meat out of his hand as he tore it away.
    He heard a voice whimpering with shock.
    'As if I cared about any of that,' he heard her say.
    He was on his feet looking down at her and there was a noise. It took him a moment to understand that someone was knocking at the outer door.
    'The bell's out of order,' she said . 'Malcolm keeps intending to have it fixed. If I hadn't been expecting you, you might still have been standing on the step trying to ring it.'
    His uninjured hand made itself into a fist, and then it would only be a matter of moving it through the air. Her eyes shone as she looked up at him. The crazy idea came into his head that she wanted him to hit her. By the side of her mouth, there was a smear of bright blood. When his fist opened, his two hands shook.
    'I could have you cut,' he said stupidly.
    He had no help from his anger or his lust. That night both were with him as he imagined what he might have done to her and followed each refinement with another until he climaxed and slipped into a troubled sleep. But when it mattered, he let himself be led through the hall past the telephone and the tea roses. When the door opened, the man outside had reacted very fast, like a fighter, taking a half step back. Before he could stop him, the man had caught his uninjured hand, turning it so that he could look at the wound. 'It's all right, Murray,' the woman had said. 'He's just leaving.'
    The sun struck signals off the windows of cars. His legs and belly ached. It was hard to walk . He felt a great temptation to rest on one of the stone steps that led up into the neat little gardens. When the Underpass is finished, he thought. I'll deal with her then – and him . Afterwards – when I don't need him; that made sense, it was smart; he had been smart. The pain of his hand cut through his confusion, making him feel sick. Where he had cradled it, the blood had spread across his shirt as if he had been wounded in the chest. He hid it in his pocket and with his good hand he drew the jacket across to hide the stain. He tried to think how long he had been in the house. Soon he would come on the parked car. Had he been long enough in the house? Would Denny think it had been long enough?
    He was very tired and the sun beat on his unprotected head. He