‘In the car,’ said the one with the knife. She looked up into a big plug-ugly face with a bulbous nose dotted with blackheads, mean piggy eyes and thick curling black eyebrows that met in the middle.
I know you, thought Annie.
He jabbed the knife deeper into her side. ‘Don’t fuck me around,’ he warned.
Annie saw that the other one was shaven-headed, his tanned face pitted with adolescent acne.
‘Do it,’ said Eyebrows.
Annie got in the car, and off they went.
Baldy stopped the motor by a warehouse down by the docks and together him and Eyebrows dragged her out. Annie’s heart was pummelling her ribs like a drum, but she thought the best thing would be to front it out.
‘You don’t know what you’re playing with here,’ she said, gulping and breathless.
Ridiculously, she heard the next phrase coming out of her mouth, a phrase she openly laughed at when it was uttered by politicians, film stars, people who were so far up their own arseholes that they had lost all sense of reality.
‘Do you know who I am?’ she said.
Eyebrows looked at her. Baldy’s face was like stone.
‘Yeah, we know who you are. And what you are too.’
‘I’m warning you-’ started Annie, and Eyebrows slapped her hard across the face.
She flew backward as if shot from a cannon. The stinging pain of the blow was shocking. She tottered unsteadily on her feet and grabbed her face as if checking it was still attached to her head. She couldn’t take it in. This fucker had the nerve to hit her – her, Annie Carter. She drew in a breath. Her eyes were watering. She started to speak again, and Eyebrows came in close and punched her mid-section.
All the breath went from her in one almighty whoosh of exploding air. She fell to the ground and lay there, unable to breathe, her mind in shock, her body clenched, her stomach a fiery ball of agony.
You bastards! You can’t do this! I’m Max Carter’s wife, are you fucking mental…?
Her mouth formed the words but she couldn’t speak. She had no breath to speak with. Groaning, face screwed up in pain, she tried to crawl away, thinking this can’t be happening. Eyebrows kicked her hard in the ribs and there was a snap and unbelievable pain rocketed through her as she felt something give. She went face-down into the muddy gravel, the rain washing her hair into the dirt, covering her clothes with yellow slime.
She was choking, half-vomiting with the anguish of it, crawling, trying feebly to get away. It wasn’t possible. They were following her, both of them. Kicking her in the guts. And in the end it was easier to just stop moving, to just hope that it would end.
