Flawed Beauty Read online

  Her tormentor is skilled in the art of pain. Smiling all the while, they use both thumbs to exert direct and excruciating pain and pressure on her windpipe. The blackness is all-consuming and Shreya feels herself fading fast. Then, once again, she is able to gulp sweet, fresh air. But only for a few precious seconds, until a hand covers her mouth again, and with an expression at odds with their recent actions, her attacker looks down on her smiling sympathetically.

  “I just want to ask you some questions. That’s all. But you must stay quiet. Can you do that?”

  The face is vaguely familiar, but fear leaves Shreya struggling to place it. What is not in doubt is the fact she is looking into the face of evil and her only hope of survival is to do exactly as she is asked.

  She nods obediently, and the stranger smiles. “Okay, let’s begin.”

  The first question is shockingly direct and aggressive. “You’re a dirty slag who thinks she can have anyone she wants, aren’t you?”

  Stunned by the ferocity of the question, Shreya pleads frantically, “What? No. Please, what do you want from me?”

  “Yes, you are!” her assailant barks, slapping her hard across the face. “You’re a dirty slag and you think you’re beautiful, don’t you?”

  “No, please,” Shreya begs again. “Just tell me what you want. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t hurt me.”

  Waving the hammer again menacingly in her face, the stranger sneers mockingly, “Please don’t hurt me. I’m not a slag, but I’ll do anything you want.”

  Then almost spitting in Shreya’s face with rage, they ask, “What’s that then, if not a slag?”

  Then, just as quickly, their voice becomes seemingly reasonable and calm. “What about me? Am I beautiful?”

  Confused, Shreya asks, “What… what do you mean?”

  “Am I beautiful? It’s a simple enough question. Yes or no? Am I beautiful?”

  “Yes. Yes, you are,” Shreya replies. “Please… please let me go now.”

  Her desperate plea is brushed aside again in favor of another question. “But am I more beautiful than you? And you must be honest with your answer.”

  Choking back tears, Shreya gasps, “Yes, you’re incredibly beautiful. And I promise if you let me go—”

  “I asked if I was more beautiful than you,” her assailant angrily snarls.

  The salt from her tears is burning her eyes, but determined to stay alive, Shreya blinks them open and forces a smile. “Yes, yes, so much more beautiful than I am.”

  Relaxing slightly, her tormentor sits upright and slowly lowers the hood to fully reveal themselves. Gasping with recognition, Shreya tries to speak, but a hand around her throat squeezes hard to stop her. “You’re a lying bitch. Just look at me. I know what I am, and I know what you are. You’re beautiful and I’m ugly. You’ve never known what it’s like to be ugly. But you will. I can promise you that.”

  The hammer reappears, and Shreya fights desperately for her life. “Please no. I’m telling the truth. You are beautiful. Please don’t do this. I’m sorry for what —”

  Three fast and vicious punches to her face leave her stunned. Neither conscious nor unconscious, she is now only vaguely aware of what is about to happen.

  Something hard and metallic is forced violently upward into her nostrils. Thrashing wildly and fighting for breath, the pain, though excruciating, is mild in comparison with what’s still to come.

  Using the fullness of their body weight to keep her pinned down, her tormentor leans forward and calmly whispers in her ear, “No, no, don’t fight it. This is the only way for people like you to understand the error of your ways. It’s the only way for you to understand that the accepted definition of beauty is a flawed concept. It’s the only way for you to understand that we all carry something very ugly deep inside ourselves.”

  Then they tenderly kiss her earlobe. “I’m sorry, Shreya. You brought this on yourself by acting like a whore. You only have yourself to blame.”

  While one hand firmly covers her mouth, the other hand jerks sharply down on the shaft of the hammer. The claw designed to remove nails makes no distinction between bone, muscle and sinew. The entirety of Shreya’s nose is torn from her face along with sizeable and bloody chunks of her cheeks and top lip. The pain is blinding and like nothing she has ever experienced before.

  Shreya silently prays for a quick release from her unbearable agony, but it is not to be. The heart within that was once so vital for life seems now to both tease and mock her in equal measure. Refusing to give in, it stubbornly continues to beat and to pump the life-preserving adrenaline through Shreya’s veins, keeping her alive.

  Happy thus far with their efforts but not yet done, her attacker tears open Shreya’s blouse to inflict one final indignity.

  Warm, sticky blood from the hole in Shreya’s face is scooped up with an index finger and used to roughly scrawl a single word across the top of each of her breasts.

  Trembling with arousal, the crazed monster looks down upon their handiwork in the same way that da Vinci might once have gazed upon his greatest masterpiece. The hammer is raised again to deliver the coup de grâce before their appetite is finally sated.

  Expertly placed, the blow to her temple ends Shreya’s life, and along with it, mercifully, also her torment.

  Chapter One

  Three Months Earlier – Christmas Eve 2018

  Ask any of Erin Blake’s friends or colleagues and all would be likely to say that she is nothing if not forthright when it comes to expressing an opinion or delivering unwelcome news in the course of her duty. Tonight, however, the unwelcome news is for someone close to home and Erin is uncharacteristically nervous.

  Raising her shot of tequila, she smiles at the man in the seat opposite before turning to the rest of her colleagues to offer a toast. “To the best and baddest team on Merseyside. Merry Christmas, you crazy bunch of bad bastards!”

  As one, the team raise their glasses and enthusiastically return the compliment. “And to you, boss. The best and baddest of us all.”

  One of the younger officers, less used to hard drinking, chokes on his shot and makes a frenzied dash for the bathroom, badgered all the way by the jeers and catcalls of his compatriots.

  Erin clears her own shot, then nods across the table to where Tony Bolton is shaking his head disapprovingly.

  “What’s up, Tony? Were we not as young and innocent as that once?”

  “Oh, we definitely were,” he replies. “We could hold our liquor, though. And it was expected of us. The youngsters coming through today, though, are more interested in hitting the gym than hitting the town after a hard week.”

  “And is that a bad thing?” Erin asks.

  “No. Not necessarily a bad thing, boss. But unwinding as a team after a big case or a tough week is good for team morale. It worked well enough for us when we were new to the job.”

  “Well, the whole team are here tonight,” Erin says with a smile.

  “That’s because it’s Christmas and you’re paying,” Tony laughs. “And, besides, when was the last time we all got together like this?”

  Nodding thoughtfully, Erin says, “Time’s change. But I guess you’re right. We do need to get out more together as a team. I’ll make it one of my New Year’s resolutions.”

  Then holding up her shot glass, she adds, “That and drinking less tequila. God, why do I always let you talk me into it?”

  “My good looks and boyish charm,” Tony replies with a wink. “Another shot of the silver, ma’am?”

  “Not unless you want me joining laughing boy in the bathroom.” Erin grimaces. “No, I think I’ll switch to gin. What about you? You want another of those?”

  Knocking back the last of his pint, Tony shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll be pissing for England if I have another. I’ll have a double whisky, if that’s okay?”

  “On one condition.” Erin nods towards the counter. “Come and keep me company at the bar while I order.”

  �
��What and leave this bunch of reprobates unsupervised?” Tony teases intentionally loud enough for the team to hear him.

  They respond with a barrage of lighthearted abuse, and laughing again, Tony gets to his feet. “Yeah, it’s probably best if I come with you. I think this lot are ready to lynch me.”

  At the bar, Erin tops off her own glass with soda before offering the bottle to Tony, who deftly covers the top of his glass with his hand. “When have you ever known for me to taint a single malt with anything other than a splash of water?”

  Shaking her head, Erin says, “To my recollection, never.”

  Then raising her glass, she continues, “There is always a first time for everything, though. It’s been a great year. To the team, to us, and to future success.”

  Tony echoes the toast and then squints his eyes with mock suspicion. “Is this a seduction, or am I misreading the signals?”

  Shocked by the question, Erin almost chokes on her drink before spluttering, “No. Christ, no. What in the world gave you that impression?”

  Looking a little unsure of himself, but still hopeful, Tony leans in closer. “Because you got me away from everybody else and that comment about there being a first time for everything. That wasn’t your way of say—”

  “Um, no, Tony. That was my way of saying that there is a first time for everything. That’s all.”

  Embarrassed now and more than a little flustered, Tony takes a sip of his Scotch to steady himself. “Listen. I’m sorry, boss. I just thought with both of us being separated and… well, it being Christmas and all that. That, well… maybe you might want a bit of company.”

  Realizing that the hole he’s in is getting deeper by the second and that Erin has started to blush, Tony nervously stammers, “Oh God. Please… please just forget I said anything. It must have been the drink talking.”

  Praying for the ground to swallow him up, he turns to rejoin the team before Erin grabs a sleeve to pull him back. “Tony, it’s fine. And it’s not like you’re the first person in the world to ever get the wrong end of the stick.”

  Pointing to a pair of empty barstools, she says, “Come on. Sit your ass down and keep me company.”

  While the barman refills their glasses, Tony sheepishly takes a seat. “God, I feel like a right bloody wally.”

  Placing a sympathetic hand on his knee, Erin smirks. “And I don’t suppose reminding you why my husband left me would help make you feel any better?”

  Realization hits home and flushed with embarrassment again, Tony moans, “Jesus, what was I thinking? I am so sorry. Why is there never a hole around to swallow you up when you need one?”

  Unable to hold back, Erin cracks up laughing while Tony can only sit and wait in embarrassed silence. Calm again and doing her best to keep a straight face, Erin takes a breath and says, “I’m sorry, mate. That was cruel of me. Shall we call it quits and change the subject?”

  Relieved to be off the hook, Tony nods. “Yeah, I think that’s for the best. What’s the plan for tomorrow then, boss? Is this your first Christmas away from Mitchell?”

  “It’s actually the second,” Erin replies. “But I’m sure it will be no less awkward than the first one was. I’m taking the kids to my parents’ house for Christmas dinner. Mitch is planning to drop round sometime in the afternoon to give them their presents. We’ll both do our best to play happy families, of course, but it’s not easy.”

  Nodding sympathetically, Tony says, “Yeah, tell me about it. How are the kids coping?”

  “Doing okay, all things considered,” Erin replies. “Michael has just turned seventeen, so he’s far too busy with his own life to worry too much about what his parents are up to.”

  “And Cassie?” Tony asks.

  “Fourteen going on forty,” Erin chuckles. “Regardless of what’s happened, and her dad moving out, Mitch will always be the first love of her life. But she’s a smart girl and has got her head screwed on. No, thankfully, and despite their parents managing to fuck up a perfectly decent marriage, both kids seem to be coping well enough.”

  “That’s good,” Tony comments with a thoughtful nod.

  “What about you?” Erin asks. “Your breakup is still relatively fresh. Are you and Rhonda still talking?”

  Shaking his head, Tony says, “Not really. I’ve hardly heard a word from her since she walked out on me.”

  “I’m sorry, mate. What about marriage guidance counseling? Have you thought about that? It might help.”

  It is immediately obvious that Erin’s question has hit a raw nerve. Tony’s expression suddenly changes and he angrily snaps, “Really, boss. You think a couple of sessions of counseling are going to make her stop fa—”

  Realizing he has already said more than he would like, he abruptly cuts himself off. “Actually, can we change the subject, please? I’m not comfortable talking about this, and it’s not like you’ve ever even met my wife. You wouldn’t know her if she passed you in the street.”

  The reason for the breakup of his marriage is something Tony Bolton has never discussed with Erin or anyone else in the team to her knowledge. Whatever the reason, it’s clearly still an open and painful wound. Although intrigued to know more, she quickly apologizes for upsetting him.

  “You’re right. It’s nobody else’s business but yours. If you do ever want to speak, though, I’m here for you.”

  “Thanks,” Tony says quietly. “It’s just personal and not something I want everyone in the office knowing about.”

  There is an awkward moment of silence, during which, Erin wonders what would be reason enough for Tony to worry about what the team might think about his breakup. Without anything obvious coming to mind, she shifts the conversation in another direction entirely. “So, I guess you’ll be at Anfield on Boxing Day then?”

  “Damn right, I will.” Tony nods enthusiastically. “I haven’t missed the footie on Boxing Day for the last ten years. And I’ve no intention of starting now.”

  Then, in an uncomfortable and obvious reference to his recently estranged wife, he tuts to himself and says, “I’ve a spare ticket if you’re interested, boss?”

  “Oh, right. Who are Liverpool playing?” Erin asks.

  “Everton. A Merseyside Derby is always good value, but this should be a particularly good one.”

  “Who for?” Erin chuckles. “The Reds or the Blues?”

  Shaking his head and raising a finger, Tony jokingly warns, “Careful, ma’am. You know I’m a lifelong Reds fan. So, do you want the ticket, or not?”

  “It sounds like it could be fun.” Erin nods unconvincingly.

  Suddenly serious again, Tony shakes his head. “Cut the shit, boss. You’ve never been to a football match in your life. You’d be bored out of your skull.” Then he asks suspiciously, “Why are we actually here together, ma’am? I mean, we’ve established already that you didn’t get me alone at the bar to seduce me, and you certainly didn’t ask me to sit down just to keep you company. It’s not your style.”

  Shrugging innocently, Erin replies, “We’re just friends having a drink, aren’t we?”

  “No, we’re not,” Tony says. “Well, not really. We’ve known each other for almost five years, and in all that time, our interactions have never gone much beyond our working relationship and the occasional drink with colleagues after work. We could just as easily have got our drinks and gone straight back to the table.”

  Erin tries to speak, but sensing that he’s about to be fobbed off again, Tony stops her. “Boss, please. I’m too long in the tooth to not know when somebody is bullshitting me or has something, they need to get off their chest. So why don’t you just do us both a favor and spit it out.”

  This is the moment that Erin has been dreading all evening and suddenly her throat is unnaturally dry.

  She reaches for a glass of water, has a sip, and takes a deep breath before saying, “You’re right again. There is something I need to tell you. It’s about your—”

  “It’s okay.
I think I know what it’s about,” Tony interrupts. “It’s about my promotion application?”

  The statement is posed as a question, and Erin nods her confirmation. “Yes, it is. How did you know?”

  “Because the results were due out a few days ago. And I’m guessing that the reason you’ve delayed telling me how I did until after having a few drinks is that it’s not good news. Am I right?”

  Knowing that there is no benefit in trying to sugarcoat things, Erin gets straight to the point. “Listen, Tony, you scored well on your law and procedure exam. But after your face-to-face assessment, the promotion board felt that you could benefit from a couple more years of front-line experience as a detective sergeant.”

  Clearly upset, Tony struggles to contain his feelings. “That is utter bollocks, ma’am. I’m forty-two years old with more than twenty years’ experience as both a detective constable and a detective sergeant. And all of it on the bloody front line. What the hell do the pencil pushers on the promotions board know about real police work anyway?”

  Wisely allowing him to vent, Erin waits for him to finish before offering something she hopes might soften the blow. “If it’s any consolation, you were in the top fifteen percent of the candidates for promotion to detective inspector this year.”

  Dismissively shaking his head, Tony barks, “No, that’s no bloody consolation at all. You’ve said it already. I need at least another two years before the board will even consider me again. The way I’m going, I’ll be ready for my pension before I get another crack at promotion.”

  Doing her best to console him, Erin softly says, “I know how much you had your heart set on being a DI. And believe me, I know how you feel.”

  Disgusted, Tony screws up his face. “Bullshit! You don’t know how I feel. You’re three years younger than I am and you’ve been a detective chief inspector leading your own team for four years already. So, do not bloody tell me that you know how I feel.”

  Worried that he might really lose his temper, Tony downs the rest of his drink, and angrily gets up to rejoin the rest of the team. Before he leaves, he turns back and asks, “Did you even fight for me, ma’am? I mean, did you fully support my application?”