Friday, April 8, 2011

Lauren's Run -- Part 4

“Hey! Leave her alone!” It was the guy at the counter. He gave up on his meatloaf and slid off the stool, hands on his hips. “I said let her go or I’ll call the cops!”

The Man laughed and nodded at the black woman. Still squeezing Lauren’s neck, she reached inside her bomber jacket with her other hand, whipped out a six-inch carbon steel throwing knife and let it fly, catching the guy in the throat. His carotid artery erupted in a bloody geyser as he melted to the floor.

Bug-eyed, Lauren looked around the diner. There was no sign of the cook or the waitress. For their sakes, she hoped they’d hit the street running and weren’t looking back. The Man had the same question.

“The cook and the waitress – where the hell are they?”

The black woman shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

“Well find out, you stupid bitch! Now! We can’t afford any witnesses.”

“What about her?”

The Man grabbed Lauren’s arm, twisting it behind her back until Lauren was certain he’d rip it out of her shoulder. “Her? I can handle her. Now lock the door, turn off the lights and find those two!”

The black woman picked up Lauren’s Glock, did as she was told and disappeared in the back of the diner.

The Man tightened his grip on Lauren’s arm until she grunted in pain.

“You really bite that farm boy’s cock off?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned in close, cupping her breast and rubbing his cock against her, whispering in her ear. “Guess I’ll just have to play it safe and give it to you up the ass.”
A woman’s scream echoed from the back of the diner. The Man grinned until the lights came on and he saw the waitress, holding the black woman’s head in one hand, blood dripping from her severed neck, and aiming Lauren’s Glock at him. She put a round in the center of his face before he could make a sound.

“I swear to God,” the waitress said, “one more ball-sack-for-brains man comes in here and there’s going to be some serious shit go down. Now what’s all this talk about money?”

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