Simon Kernick - Severed

'So you set the fire.'

She nods. 'It was a stupid move.'

'Not the best,' I admit, 'but at least it worked.'

'I knew the building was alarmed so I used some petrol to start a small fire in a room at the back that's used by the security. The problem was it spread a lot faster than I was expecting. I think everyone got out OK, because the alarms went off straight away. I dialled the police and the emergency services, but I thought that Radovan and Alexander might leave you to burn, so I came up to see if I could set you free.'

'You did that just for me?'

'I knew we'd be able to get out onto the roof from where they were holding you, but I didn't expect Radovan and Alexander still to be there.'

'You still risked your neck,' I say. 'You know, I'm touched. Thank you.'

As I speak, I look at her and notice once again how pretty she is. I tell myself to be careful. Her story seems plausible enough, but if there's one thing I've learned today, it's that people aren't always what they seem.

'It still doesn't explain why Marco attacked you at the flat, though,' I add.

'I think someone from the brothel must have seen me go back in there. Maybe someone even saw me start the fire. I don't know for sure. But after I got out of there, I came back here and changed and showered. I wasn't sure what to do about Marco. He'd attacked me already so I knew it was dangerous to stay with him, but he was my only hope of finding Petra, which is why I still went to his place to wait for him, like he'd told me to.

'When he turned up, not long before you arrived, he was acting friendly, but as soon as I went into the bedroom to get something, he hit me over the back of the head and jumped on top of me like a man possessed, calling me a traitor once again and demanding to know who I worked for. I knew that this time he really meant me harm, so I tried to fight him off. Then you arrived.'

She smiles, showing perfect white teeth. I smile back.

'This guy, Eddie Cosick. I need to speak to him.'

'I know how to find him,' she says, 'but I want you to do something for me as well. Will you help me find my sister?'

'And how do you think I'm going to be able to do that?'

'Now that I have lost any chance of finding Petra through Marco, you're my best hope. I can see you know how to defend yourself. I want you to get to Cosick. But I don't want you to kill him.'

'I'm not planning to,' I tell her, thinking that on the two occasions she's seen me I've made a real pig's ear of defending myself. 'I just want some answers.'

'Cosick has lots of women working as his slaves, but I doubt if any of them look like Petra. I want you to show him her photograph, and find out where she is. Then I want you to call and tell me, and while you wait with him, I'll go and get her.'

Somehow, I don't think it'll be as easy as that.

'And what do you propose we do about his security?'

'His security will be less now. He had only a few men he trusted to guard him. One was Radovan, another was Pero, and they're both dead. He still has others, of course, but they will be spread more thinly. It'll be a risk, but a man like you will be able to manage it.'

As she says this, she slowly uncrosses her long legs and leans forward, her gaze drawing me in. I know it's a deliberate move on her part, a combination of flattery and sexual allure to get me to do what she wants. I sit back and think about what she's saying. Is she just being naive and clutching at straws, or does she have some other agenda?

'Do you want some more wine?' she asks, standing up.

My glass is empty. Hers is still half full.

She's smiling at me now, and there's confidence in her expression. And something else, too. It's a promise of more to come than simply wine, and even in my state, I know I'm not imagining it. The warning bells in my head suddenly get a lot louder. I'm reminded of something my mother once told me after my father sold his lucrative printing business and ran away with his secretary. 'Women have power,' she said. 'They can make men do anything. Their secret is they always let the man think he's in charge. He never is, and he never will be.' Not exactly original, but wise words all the same, and I feel I really ought to be taking note of them.

But none of this stops me from returning her smile again and telling her that, sure, I'd love a top-up.

My head aches, and even now the adrenalin continues to pump through me. It's been a brutal day, a series of violent snapshots, each following the other so quickly that they almost blend into one: the shock of waking up this morning beside the woman I loved (still love), and seeing what they'd done to her body; the bloodbath at Ferrie's place, and the subsequent chase; finding Snowy with his throat cut and his blood all over the car I'd sold to him only a few months before; the terrible pleasure that coursed through me when I held down Radovan's mask-clad face on the hotplate in the brothel. And now, after all that, I find myself drinking wine in a rundown shithole of a house with a beautiful woman who may or may not be lying to me about who she really is, knowing that very soon I could be making love to her.

And it's still not even dark.

When Alannah comes back into the room with the wine, I get to my feet and take the glass from her proffered hand, my fingers gently touching hers. Neither of us moves. We stare at each other in utter silence. Her pale lips part a little, and I can see the tips of her gleaming white teeth. I can hear her breathing. It's soft, but just a little bit faster than it was before. The marks on her neck are dark and uneven. I touch the skin lightly and she lets slip a tiny gasp.

'Does it hurt?' I ask her.

'No,' she whispers throatily.

The wine's making me light-headed, and my troubles seem to evaporate. The whole world has been reduced to this one room and the woman with the long blonde hair and golden skin who stands in front of me. For these few liberating moments, nothing else matters.

I take a single gulp of the wine, put it down on the table, and touch my lips to hers. Her hand reaches behind my neck and pulls me into a tight embrace. We kiss hard, passionately, our bodies intertwined. She tastes of cinnamon. I cup one small, round breast and knead it lightly, pushing myself up against her, my breath coming in ragged, urgent gasps. She moans, and uses her other hand to pull my shirt loose from my jeans, her fingers running across my stomach and chest.

'Let's go to bed,' she whispers.

I don't resist as she leads me up the stairs and into a tiny bedroom with bare walls and un-polished floorboards. She unbuttons my shirt and rips it off, her mouth locked on mine, before pulling away and pausing simply to gaze at me. Her lips are parted and drawn back in a voluptuous smile, and tresses of blonde hair have fallen loose across her face. It's a look of undisguised lust, and every part of my body responds to it. I want this woman desperately.

I grind my pelvis against hers, my hands gripping her hips. The feeling is so intense it's as if it's taken on a life of its own, become almost unstoppable.

And yet something does stop me.

Leah.

A flashback from this morning invades my consciousness: of her, cold and lifeless on the bed, butchered like an animal. I can hear her cries on the DVD as, terrified and helpless, she awaits her bloody fate. And then, suddenly, I picture her as I knew her in happier times – laughing, vibrant and alive. The woman I was falling in love with. And I know I can't do this. Not today. Maybe not for a long time. And certainly not while the bastard who ordered her murder is still at large.

I let go of Alannah.

'I want you, Tyler,' she says huskily, taking my right hand by the wrist and guiding it towards her midriff.