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PROLOGUE

Linda Carter glanced the handsome onlooker’s way for what must have been the hundredth time. His broad smile beamed back at her.

Abigail’s elbow connected with her ribs. She winced.

“Girl, does he have the hots for you or what?”

“Behave yourself, Abigail.” Linda blushed. She hoped he wouldn’t notice in the dimmed lights of the nightclub.

After another dig in the ribs, she issued her friend a warning glare.

“Oh my God! He’s coming this way,” Abigail said behind her hand.

Before Linda had the chance to look in his direction, she felt his arm slink around her waist and his hot breath heating up her neck.

“Oh my God” is right!

Abigail drifted away through the crowd. Linda and the hunk danced for the next half an hour or so before they moved over to the bar. He bought the drinks while Linda went to the ladies’ to powder her nose.

She returned and downed her drink in one gulp before he eagerly steered her back onto the dance floor. Was it a coincidence that the music tempo changed to a slow number?

He held her tightly and rubbed his groin against hers. A tingly sensation took over her body as his kisses burned first her earlobe then her cheek.

His hot breath lingered by her ear, and he whispered, “What do you say we get outta here?”

Linda didn’t need asking twice. He was easily the best-looking guy in the club, and he wanted to leave with her. What more could a girl want? She nervously moistened her lips, then nodded her agreement.

He took her by the hand and led her through the heaving club and the main door. She smiled shyly as he shared a private joke with the doorman.

“Where are we going?” Linda asked sheepishly after they reached his Ferrari.

“Thought we’d go back to my place for a nightcap. Is that all right with you?”

She answered him by jumping in the passenger seat. They engaged in light, flirty conversation for the next ten minutes or so before he guided the car into an underground car park. He applied the handbrake, then slid a lazy hand up her thigh. He lingered at the hem of her mini-skirt for a second or two.

Her eyes automatically clenched shut, and she held her breath, anticipating his next movement.

He surprised her by laughing softly and ran his tongue up her right cheek. Linda shuddered as the excitement stirred.

“Not here. Come on,” he told her, his tone sexy and full of promise.

Linda stumbled from the car as if drunk with happiness when he held the door open for her.

“Oops! Steady girl,” she reprimanded herself, pulling her shoulders back. She giggled and asked, words slurred, “You wicked man. Did you slip an extra voddy in my drink?”
His hand covered his chest, and he innocently fluttered his eyelashes at her. “Moi?”
Then he gripped her elbow, and they moved toward the elevator in the corner. The bell tinged, and the doors slid open. With every passing floor, his kisses became hotter and more urgent, until finally, with Linda gasping for air, the doors opened to an illuminated view of London.

“Wow! You live in a penthouse.” She made her way over to the full-length window, her feet sinking into the luxury carpet beneath.

He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Sod the view. I have something crying out for your attention.” His tone was flat.

She felt a stiffness rubbing up and down her backside. She didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what it was.

In a flash he’d turned her to face him. His arms pulled hers behind her. His handsome face had contorted with what appeared to be anger.

Confusion made her ask, “Is something wrong?” Her head swam. Was that the drink or the confusion?

Then she heard a click behind her back and thought she felt cold metal clasp her wrists.

His lips turned up at the corner. “You’ve been begging for this for weeks. Now you’re going to get it.”

Scared, Linda wriggled her arms, trying to release her hands. It dawned on her that they were being restrained by cuffs. “Please, I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Your type take pleasure in leading men on. You prick teaser. Well, I’ll teach you. Take your punishment, or I’ll go after your sister, bitch…”

Linda opened her mouth, but before she got the chance to scream, his mouth roughly claimed hers. His hands tore at the buttons on her silk blouse. Linda squirmed, but his superior strength overpowered her feeble effort.

It wasn’t long before the metallic taste of blood ran between her teeth and down the back of her throat.

His hand thrust up her skirt, and he tore her panties aside. She sucked in a panicked breath.

Everything went black.

* * *

When Linda Carter regained consciousness, she felt dirty. Disgusted. More so with herself than with the bastard who had raped her.

She was lying in an alley. It took her a while to get her bearings and recognise her surroundings. She heard the drunken revellers leaving the nightclub. Even saw a few of the men relieving themselves against the alley walls before they staggered back out onto the high street.

All of them were oblivious to the fact that Linda was in desperate need of medical care.

Please. Somebody please help me!

The attack was a fuzzy image in her mind. When she ran a cautious hand over her limbs, she flinched at the pain her body was in. Her clothes were torn, and her knickers had been removed.

How could she have put herself in such a dangerous position? One minute she was dancing and enjoying herself on the dance floor with her friend; the next she was being led outside by the charmer who had been eyeing her up all evening. Foolishly and against her better judgement, she had allowed him to entice her to leave the safety of the club.

Why did I go with him? When he started to lead her out of the club her inner voice had warned her to be careful, but blinded by his handsome features and charming nature, she had obstinately refused to listen.

Her legs wobbled beneath her as she tried her hardest to get off the cold, damp ground.

Finally she found the strength, with the aid of the knobbly wall behind her, to successfully hoist herself to her feet. The pain forced her to steady herself for a moment. Once she’d caught her breath she hobbled, inching her way slowly up the length of the alley towards the entrance.

Every time she put her left foot on the ground, the pain from her injured ankle surged up her leg and rattled through her aching body. She winced as she battled through the discomfort.

When she finally reached the opening onto the high street, she raised her hand to hail an approaching taxi. She felt relieved when he pulled to a stop in front of her instead of the drunken group messing around about fifty feet ahead, though the screech of tyres in the dimly lit street jangled her frayed nerves.

“Where to, love?” the driver asked. His eyebrows knitted together as he studied her in his rear-view mirror. When she didn’t answer, he turned in his seat. He inhaled in a startled breath and mumbled, “Jesus... I’m taking you to the hospital, right away.”

That was the night Linda Carter’s life changed forever.

 

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Foul Justice by Mel Comley

Prologue

Trisha Dobbs cowered in the corner. She wrapped her trembling arms around her two small children and kept her gaze on the three men ransacking her immaculate home. “Don’t hurt us anymore, please!”

The man snarled and ordered, “Get the rope and tie them up.”

Trisha gasped, and he turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. She quickly averted her eyes, not wishing to annoy the man further. She’d already lashed out at him while trying to protect her son and daughter when the three brutes had forced their way into the house. He had a gash above his right eye where her flailing fist had connected, and she had a gash across her cheek where he’d retaliated without hesitation. She’d sensed, then, that she and her children were in for a rough ride and that the man was used to getting his way with women, one way or another.

“Mummy, I want to go toilet,” little Rebecca said as tears welled in her bright blue eyes. Trisha comforted the child and kissed her forehead reassuringly.

“Sssh, hon, try and hold on. Go through your alphabet to take your mind off it, like I told you. A is for apple, B is for—”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” the man snapped, his voice filled with venom.

“I… I’m sorry—” Trisha stopped when the man rushed at her and ripped her daughter from her grasp.

“Mummy!”

“No! I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt my baby.” Trisha sobbed and clung tightly to her two-year-old son, Jacob.

The man picked up Rebecca and roughly dropped her on the large white leather sofa opposite her mother. Trisha soon saw the trickle of yellow liquid drip down the sofa onto the rug below. Sensing danger, she placed a finger to her lips to warn her daughter to keep quiet. Rebecca covered her mouth as her shoulders trembled, and tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks. Too far from her mother’s reach, the four year old was petrified.

The man in charge towered over Trisha, his body blocking the light from the crystal chandelier overhead. “What time will he be home?”

With the man intimidating her, Trisha found it impossible to think properly. She glanced up at the lion head–shaped gold wall clock hanging above the fireplace. “Dave should be home at any minute,” she told him in a quivering voice.

The men had come at eight o’clock, and it was now half past ten. Trisha’s husband always arrived home around eleven on match days when he played at home. He generally declined going for a drink with the rest of the team after work. He was the type who preferred to keep out of the limelight, and he hated the notoriety connected with his job. Given the option, he would choose to be home with his family, unlike most of his teammates, who appeared to revel in fighting off the paparazzi at London’s elite nightclubs.

One of the men tied her arms behind her back before moving on to little Jacob. Her heart went out to her baby, and wanting to protect him, she pleaded, “Stop! He’s only a child. What harm can he do? Please don’t tie him up.”

Appearing uncertain, the man looked over his shoulder at his boss, who glared and nodded for him to continue.

Jacob cried out in pain as the man roughly wrapped the rope around his fragile wrists.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Show Mummy how brave you can be.” Trisha tried to reassure him, hoping to prolong the charade that they were all playing a bizarre game.

Soon both children were sobbing uncontrollably, and Trisha, numb with helplessness, felt as though she’d been stabbed numerous times in the chest. My God, what can I do to get out of this?

“Go upstairs and start on the bedroom. Tear it to pieces if you have to,” the man in charge ordered.

Trisha tried hard not to give anything away with her facial expressions under the man’s intensive stare. She felt confident the gang wouldn’t find the safe tucked under the floorboards in the master bedroom, but considering the mess they’d made of her beautiful home since their arrival, anything was possible.

The man in charge took a step toward her. “If you don’t tell me where the jewellery is, I’m gonna start hurting the kids.”

Knowing she couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer, she sighed. “In the back bedroom.”

“Where?”

“In the wardrobe. On the shelf, there’s a box.”

He leaned close and ran his thumb from one side of his throat to the other. “If you’re tricking me…” Jacob was sitting beside her, and the man yanked the boy’s head back. “He gets it, you hear me?”

“Yes, I understand. My jewellery is in that room. I don’t have much. You think we’re rich, but we’re not. This house is mortgaged to the hilt. All our furniture is on Hire Purchase. Dave doesn’t make the kind of wages reported in the papers, I swear,” she told him between sobs. Stay strong for the kids’ sakes.

“You think I’ve got ‘fucking idiot’ tattooed on my forehead, bitch? What do you take me for?”

“I’m sorry. It’s the truth. You have to believe me.”

“Oh, do I now? You blondes are all the same—thick as shit! You think you can wrap us men around your fingers, don’t ya?”

Trisha remained silent.

The man went into the hallway and shouted up the stairs, “The spare room at the back, in the wardrobe, on the shelf. Let me know when you find something.”

Trisha squeezed her eyes shut and tried to visualise what jewellery she had put in the specific box. Her heart sank when she remembered she’d placed nothing spectacular there. All her best jewellery, Christmas and birthday presents that Dave had bought her, were safely tucked away under the floorboards. She hoped and prayed the children wouldn’t give her away, for all their sakes.

“Something wrong?” The man was in her face again, his eyes glinting with pure evil.

She wanted to be her usual sarcastic self, but the present time wasn’t appropriate. “No. Just hoping Dave returns home soon.”

“So am I,” he said, before releasing a full belly laugh.

A few minutes later, the other two men returned to the living room and handed the box to the man in charge. He threw the glass of brandy he’d poured himself across the room and marched towards her. “Is this it?”

 She gulped. “Yes, I told you, we’re not wealthy. I—”

“That’s bullshit, lady, and we both fuckin’ know it. Where is it? This is your final chance or the kid gets it.”

Words stuck in her throat as the three intruders eyed her with contempt. Suddenly, the man in charge reached out and yanked Jacob to his feet. The man pulled out a knife and placed it against her terrified son’s neck. Trisha watched in horror as the blade sank into her child’s skin, and droplets of blood trailed down onto his white T-shirt, followed by his terrified tears.

“Please! I’ll tell you. Don’t hurt my baby.”

“I’m waiting.”

“In the main bedroom—you have to move the bed—there’s a small safe in the floorboards under the rug.”

He nodded for his men to go back upstairs and check. Seconds later, he received a shout that they’d located it, and seconds after that, little Jacob lay in a heap on the shag carpet, his throat slit from ear to ear.   

New Release - Foul Justice by M. A. Comley

Foul Justice by Mel Comley

Prologue

Trisha Dobbs cowered in the corner. She wrapped her trembling arms around her two small children and kept her gaze on the three men ransacking her immaculate home. “Don’t hurt us anymore, please!”

The man snarled and ordered, “Get the rope and tie them up.”

Trisha gasped, and he turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. She quickly averted her eyes, not wishing to annoy the man further. She’d already lashed out at him while trying to protect her son and daughter when the three brutes had forced their way into the house. He had a gash above his right eye where her flailing fist had connected, and she had a gash across her cheek where he’d retaliated without hesitation. She’d sensed, then, that she and her children were in for a rough ride and that the man was used to getting his way with women, one way or another.

“Mummy, I want to go toilet,” little Rebecca said as tears welled in her bright blue eyes. Trisha comforted the child and kissed her forehead reassuringly.

“Sssh, hon, try and hold on. Go through your alphabet to take your mind off it, like I told you. A is for apple, B is for—”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” the man snapped, his voice filled with venom.

“I… I’m sorry—” Trisha stopped when the man rushed at her and ripped her daughter from her grasp.

“Mummy!”

“No! I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt my baby.” Trisha sobbed and clung tightly to her two-year-old son, Jacob.

The man picked up Rebecca and roughly dropped her on the large white leather sofa opposite her mother. Trisha soon saw the trickle of yellow liquid drip down the sofa onto the rug below. Sensing danger, she placed a finger to her lips to warn her daughter to keep quiet. Rebecca covered her mouth as her shoulders trembled, and tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks. Too far from her mother’s reach, the four year old was petrified.

The man in charge towered over Trisha, his body blocking the light from the crystal chandelier overhead. “What time will he be home?”

With the man intimidating her, Trisha found it impossible to think properly. She glanced up at the lion head–shaped gold wall clock hanging above the fireplace. “Dave should be home at any minute,” she told him in a quivering voice.

The men had come at eight o’clock, and it was now half past ten. Trisha’s husband always arrived home around eleven on match days when he played at home. He generally declined going for a drink with the rest of the team after work. He was the type who preferred to keep out of the limelight, and he hated the notoriety connected with his job. Given the option, he would choose to be home with his family, unlike most of his teammates, who appeared to revel in fighting off the paparazzi at London’s elite nightclubs.

One of the men tied her arms behind her back before moving on to little Jacob. Her heart went out to her baby, and wanting to protect him, she pleaded, “Stop! He’s only a child. What harm can he do? Please don’t tie him up.”

Appearing uncertain, the man looked over his shoulder at his boss, who glared and nodded for him to continue.

Jacob cried out in pain as the man roughly wrapped the rope around his fragile wrists.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Show Mummy how brave you can be.” Trisha tried to reassure him, hoping to prolong the charade that they were all playing a bizarre game.

Soon both children were sobbing uncontrollably, and Trisha, numb with helplessness, felt as though she’d been stabbed numerous times in the chest. My God, what can I do to get out of this?

“Go upstairs and start on the bedroom. Tear it to pieces if you have to,” the man in charge ordered.

Trisha tried hard not to give anything away with her facial expressions under the man’s intensive stare. She felt confident the gang wouldn’t find the safe tucked under the floorboards in the master bedroom, but considering the mess they’d made of her beautiful home since their arrival, anything was possible.

The man in charge took a step toward her. “If you don’t tell me where the jewellery is, I’m gonna start hurting the kids.”

Knowing she couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer, she sighed. “In the back bedroom.”

“Where?”

“In the wardrobe. On the shelf, there’s a box.”

He leaned close and ran his thumb from one side of his throat to the other. “If you’re tricking me…” Jacob was sitting beside her, and the man yanked the boy’s head back. “He gets it, you hear me?”

“Yes, I understand. My jewellery is in that room. I don’t have much. You think we’re rich, but we’re not. This house is mortgaged to the hilt. All our furniture is on Hire Purchase. Dave doesn’t make the kind of wages reported in the papers, I swear,” she told him between sobs. Stay strong for the kids’ sakes.

“You think I’ve got ‘fucking idiot’ tattooed on my forehead, bitch? What do you take me for?”

“I’m sorry. It’s the truth. You have to believe me.”

“Oh, do I now? You blondes are all the same—thick as shit! You think you can wrap us men around your fingers, don’t ya?”

Trisha remained silent.

The man went into the hallway and shouted up the stairs, “The spare room at the back, in the wardrobe, on the shelf. Let me know when you find something.”

Trisha squeezed her eyes shut and tried to visualise what jewellery she had put in the specific box. Her heart sank when she remembered she’d placed nothing spectacular there. All her best jewellery, Christmas and birthday presents that Dave had bought her, were safely tucked away under the floorboards. She hoped and prayed the children wouldn’t give her away, for all their sakes.

“Something wrong?” The man was in her face again, his eyes glinting with pure evil.

She wanted to be her usual sarcastic self, but the present time wasn’t appropriate. “No. Just hoping Dave returns home soon.”

“So am I,” he said, before releasing a full belly laugh.

A few minutes later, the other two men returned to the living room and handed the box to the man in charge. He threw the glass of brandy he’d poured himself across the room and marched towards her. “Is this it?”

 She gulped. “Yes, I told you, we’re not wealthy. I—”

“That’s bullshit, lady, and we both fuckin’ know it. Where is it? This is your final chance or the kid gets it.”

Words stuck in her throat as the three intruders eyed her with contempt. Suddenly, the man in charge reached out and yanked Jacob to his feet. The man pulled out a knife and placed it against her terrified son’s neck. Trisha watched in horror as the blade sank into her child’s skin, and droplets of blood trailed down onto his white T-shirt, followed by his terrified tears.

“Please! I’ll tell you. Don’t hurt my baby.”

“I’m waiting.”

“In the main bedroom—you have to move the bed—there’s a small safe in the floorboards under the rug.”

He nodded for his men to go back upstairs and check. Seconds later, he received a shout that they’d located it, and seconds after that, little Jacob lay in a heap on the shag carpet, his throat slit from ear to ear.