Lars Kepler - Hunter

‘It depends, but I do sometimes enjoy it if the man’s gentle,’ she lies.

Naturally Sofia promises full discretion in her ad, but she still has one safety measure as a precaution. She keeps a diary at home, where she makes a note of the names and addresses of people she’s arranged to meet, so that someone will be able to find her if she ever goes missing.

Besides, Tamara saw Wille once, just before she stopped working as an escort, got married and moved to Gothenburg. Sofia knows that Tamara would have posted a warning on the sex-workers’ forum if he’d behaved inappropriately.

‘As long as you don’t find me revolting and repulsive,’ the man says, taking a step closer to her. ‘I mean, you’re so beautiful, and I’m … well, I know what I look like. I was OK when I was your age, but …’

‘You look good now,’ she assures him.

Sofia thinks of all the times she’s heard people say that escorts have to be like psychologists, but most of the men she sees never say anything personal.

‘Shall we go up to the bedroom?’ Wille asks lightly.

Sofia follows him up the broad wooden staircase thinking about how badly she needs to pee. The soft carpet is held in place on each step by thin brass rods. The light from the large chandelier reflects off the varnished banister.

Sofia’s initial plan had been to concentrate on exclusive clients, the ones who were prepared to pay more for an entire night, ones who wanted company at a party or on a trip.

In the three years she’s been working as an escort she’s had maybe a couple of dozen jobs like that, but most of her clients just want a blow-job after work before they go home to their families.

The master bedroom is well-lit, dominated by an imposing double bed with beautiful grey silk sheets.

On the wife’s side there’s a Lena Andersson novel and a jar of fancy hand cream, and on Wille’s side there’s an iPad with finger-marks on the dark glass.

He shows her the black leather straps he’s already tied around the bedposts. She notes that they’re not new, the creases are slightly cracked and the colour has begun to flake off.

The room suddenly shudders and spins around a couple of times. She looks at the man, but he seems unconcerned.

He has white marks at the corners of his mouth, from toothpaste.

The staircase creaks and he glances towards the hallway before looking back at her.

‘I have to be able to trust you to release me when I say so,’ he says as he unbuttons his shirt. ‘I have to be sure that you won’t try to rob me or just run off now that you have your money.’

‘Of course,’ she replies.

His chest is covered with fair hair, and he’s making an effort to suck in his stomach while she looks at him.

Sofia thinks that she can ask to go to the bathroom once he’s tied up. There’s an en-suite. The door is open and she can see the shower and a patch of gold mosaic wall in the mirror.

‘I want you to tie me up, and take your time with it – I don’t like violence or force,’ he says.

Sofia nods and takes her shoes off. She feels dizzy again as she straightens up. She looks him in the eye before lifting her dress up to her navel. It crackles with static. She slips her thumbs beneath the top of her tights and starts to pull them down. The feeling of constriction eases as the thin fabric puddles around her calves.

‘Perhaps you’d rather be tied up instead?’ he asks, smiling at his suggestion.

‘No, thanks,’ she replies as she starts to unbutton her dress.

‘It’s actually pretty comfortable,’ he jokes, tugging gently at one of the straps.

‘I don’t do that sort of thing,’ she explains breezily.

‘I’ve never tried it the other way around … I’d be prepared to double your fee if you did it,’ he says with a laugh, as if the thought surprises and delights him.

What he’s now offering is more money than she earns in two months, but having to lie there tied up is much too dangerous.

‘What do you say?’ he smiles.

‘No,’ she replies.

‘OK,’ he says quickly, and lets go of the strap.

The buckle makes a tinkling sound as it hits the bedpost.

‘Do you want me to take all of my clothes off?’

‘Wait a while,’ he replies, giving her an oddly searching look.

‘Is it OK if I use the bathroom?’

‘Soon,’ he says. He sounds like he’s trying to control his breathing.

Sofia’s lips feel strangely cool. When she raises one hand to her mouth she sees his face break into a wide smile.

He walks over to her, takes hold of her chin tightly, and then spits straight in her face.

‘What are you doing?’ she asks, as a rush of giddiness sweeps through her head.

Her legs suddenly give out and she lands so heavily on the floor that she bites her tongue. She sinks onto her side as her mouth fills with blood, and she sees him standing over her, unbuttoning his corduroy trousers.

Sofia doesn’t have the strength to crawl away. She rests her cheek on the floor and sees a dead fly in the dust under the bed. Her heart is beating so hard that she can hear it thudding in her ears. She realises that she must have been drugged.

‘Don’t. Don’t do it,’ she gasps, before closing her eyes.

Before Sofia loses consciousness it occurs to her that he might be about to murder her, and that this might be the last thing she ever experiences.

Sofia wakes up coughing. She suddenly remembers where she is. She is tied to Wille’s bed. She’s on her back, held in place by the leather straps. He’s tied her so tightly that the muscles in her legs and arms are straining. Her wrists are burning and her fingers are ice-cold.

Her mouth is bone-dry, her tongue feels swollen and sore.

Her thighs have been spread, pushing her dress up around her waist.

This can’t be happening, she thinks.

He must have drugged one of the champagne glasses while it was still in the cabinet.

Sofia hears a business-like conversation from the next room. Someone used to being in charge is talking.

She tries to lift her head up to look out of the window, to see if it’s night or morning, but she can’t. It hurts her arms too much.

It has just occurred to her that she has no idea how long she’s been lying there when he comes into the room.

Fear fills Sofia’s heart. She feels her throat constrict and her pulse race.

What definitely mustn’t happen has happened.

She tries to calm herself, thinks that she needs to get a conversation going. She has to make him realise that he’s picked the wrong girl, but that she won’t say anything if he lets her go right away.

Sofia promises herself that she’s going to quit being an escort, she’s been doing it for too long, and she wastes the money on things she doesn’t need.

The man is looking at her with the same hunger as before. She tries to adopt a relaxed expression. She knew right from the start there was something wrong here. But instead of turning around and walking away she ignored her gut instinct. She’s made a catastrophic mistake.

‘I said no to this,’ she says in a composed voice.

‘Yes,’ he replies with a slow smile, and lets his eyes roam all over her body.

‘I know girls who think this is OK. I can put you in touch with them if you’d like.’

He doesn’t answer, just breathes heavily through his nose and steps to the end of the bed, between her legs. She feels sweat break out all over her body, and tries to prepare herself for what’s to come.

‘This is assault, you do realise that, don’t you?’

He doesn’t respond, just pushes his glasses up his nose and looks at her with great interest.