The Killing League - By Dani Amore Page 0,1

leapt on top of her and pinned her to the ground. He put the knife at her throat.

“I have a little tradition, like who gets to carve the turkey at Thanksgiving,” he said. “I let my girls pick where they want the starting point to be. Where do you want me to begin…opening you?”

Nicole stopped struggling. She accepted her fate. She held out her right hand, the palm open.

“Interesting!” the man said. “The hand! Most pick the forearm, for some reason. The hand, yes! You continue to surprise me, my dear Nicole.”

The man placed the edge of the knife along Nicole’s hand. She closed her eyes and slowly curled her fingers over the top of the blade, and squeezed. The blade sunk deeper and deeper into her hand. Blood gushed from her palm and fingers, red-hot pain shot up the nerves of her arm. She squeezed harder and harder until the blade scraped bone.

The man’s breath came hard and fast and Nicole knew he was getting turned on by the sight of the knife cutting her skin.

When she heard the faint beginning of a small moan escape his lips, Nicole suddenly lunged up, her left hand yanked the punji stick out of her thigh. With her right, she pulled the knife, and the man, toward her. He wouldn’t let go of the knife, didn’t think to, even as Nicole rammed the punji stick into his neck.

For a moment, they had a tug-of-war. The man pulled on the knife, while Nicole twisted the punji stick deeper and deeper into his throat.

Finally, the man’s grip on the knife slackened, and it came free in Nicole’s hand. He toppled off of her onto the ground, blood seeping from his mouth and throat.

Nicole ripped the punji stick from his throat and pushed him onto his back. His eyes were open. She lifted the punji stick over her head and drove it directly into his heart. His body bucked, and then didn’t move.

Nicole stood and looked down, saw the man’s big knife still embedded in her hand. She dropped to her knees. Pulled the knife out of her hand. She held it by the handle then plunged it into what was left of his throat just as someone burst into the clearing.

But Nicole was already unconscious.

Three Years Later

Scouting Reports

1.

Florence Nightmare

Against a backdrop of gray skies and light mist, the Charleston Municipal Hospital appeared even bleaker than its surroundings.

Inside Room 211, seven-year-old Patricia Sirrine slept in her bed. She had light yellow hair that was fanned out around her head, creating a glow that surrounded a deathly pale face.

An i.v. ran to her arm. A plastic hospital bracelet encircled her delicate wrist. Light purple veins pulsed faintly beneath the skin.

The door opened and a woman entered. Ruth Dykstra looked like a country doctor with a friendly, kind face. She wore a cobalt blue sweater over her white, heavily starched nurse’s uniform. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a tight bun.

She walked to the little girl’s bedside.

“How are we doing Patricia?” she said, in a deep but gentle voice.

Patricia’s eyes fluttered open.

“Mmm. Hi,” the girl said.

“Hello, little beauty.”

“Who…?”

“I’m your doctor, honey,” Ruth said.

Patricia struggled to stay awake.

“You’ve had a long fight, my little Pattycake. You’ve been very brave. Some are saying it’s a miracle you beat that nasty old sickness.”

Patricia attempted a smile, but it ended up being more of a grimace.

Ruth went back to the door and closed it, then returned to the little girl’s bedside.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. I’m going to make everything all right,” she said.

Ruth pulled out a four-inch hypodermic needle.

“Now you’re going to feel a little bit of a poke.”

Ruth put a hand on Patricia’s forehead and pushed her head deeper into the pillow. She used a thumb to pull back Patricia’s eyelid. With a quick, fluid motion, Ruth inserted the needle into the corner of the girl’s eye.

The little girl reacted instantly. She kicked and tried to sit up but Ruth held her down. She let go of the needle and clamped her hand over the little girl’s mouth.

The enormous syringe hung from Patricia’s eye.

Ruth spoke to the girl with a calm, loving tone.

“Fight all you want honey, you’ll go faster that way.”

Patricia’s kicks subsided and the little girl went rigid.

“That’s a girl. That’s a good girl.”

Ruth let go of Patricia and took the syringe from the girl’s eye. She pulled out a small cotton swab and dabbed a tiny drop of blood from the girl’s