Great shout with the quiz Graves!
My shot at the answers below:
I'll guess they're 45 years of age:)
I think its fair to say its been a great year for kickasskandy and none of us can wait for more. However in the meantime here is a review that I found. I think it does justice to how good this site is although personally I disagree that peril or any other similar site is better than anything kickasskandy has to offer. Nevertheless it is a good read.
Great to see vixen back. The question is when are we going to see this badboy :D
Suddenly the whole warehouse was plunged into darkness. The massive overhead lighting beams cut out leaving the men scrabbling about in panic.
Carlos turned to the four businessmen, looking so out of place in this setting. He didn't think they'd pull a double cross - he didn't think they'd be that stupid - but that didn't mean he trusted them either. Carlos was nervous. It was taking too long to transfer the bundles of material into the trucks. The men were swarming all over the large, canvas-covered objects like ants on a mound; their activity filled the enormous warehouse with noise of their industry. But still it was taking too long to get the material on its way. Meanwhile, the huge suitcases filled with stacks of cash bundled in groups of $10,000 each sat at his feet, waiting. They had to be on their way, or else something was bound to go wrong. And if something went wrong, the person who had bankrolled this heist was going to be very, very angry.
"Careful with that!" Carlos yelled at the men handling one of the objects. "If anything happens to that, we're all dead!" They nodded, and gingerly placed it in the truck.
Carlos paused. Outside, the night was quiet; silent, even. But still… something... something wasn't right. He drew his 9mm pistol, and fingered the trigger nervously. No, something was about to go very, very wrong.
McKean, their main contact, raised a reassuring arm. Carlos couldn't help noticing that doing this also, conveniently, made the gun in his shoulder-holster that much easier to access should he wish to do so.
Carlos hissed, gestured to Sarino to stay and he headed into the warehouse to check it out personally.
Sarino was Carlos' chief lieutenant. A bull of a man, as tough and grizzled as any career criminal you could meet. Carlos had known him for years and there was no one in the world he trusted more.
Sarino was armed with a machine pistol, though right now it was slung carelessly over his shoulder. He supervised the payment while his boss investigated the warehouse. Inside, their men loaded the hardware onto three trucks.
McKean and his men were unflustered by the sudden panic in the air. They maintained a level of cool detachment that was admirable. The businessman counting the cash finished the first case and he gestured for Sarino to pass the other one.
Sarino lifted it, offering the case, the muscles in his arm twitching and writhing beneath his leathery flesh as he did so. It was an intimidating sight.
Wordlessly, McKean took the case and passed it to his colleague, who diligently began to check through it, counting the bundles.
Carlos walked into the warehouse, his body tense, as if expecting the whole of the US army to pounce on him at any moment. A man came running up, arms flapping in his customary agitated state.
"Probably just the electrics, that's all; it's all OK," he assured his boss, his words contradicting his demeanour.
Carlos let out a breath. "Fine," he muttered but he was unconvinced. He didn't reholster his gun, holding it like a natural extension of his hand. He gestured about him to the men and the merchandise. "Are we ready to roll?"
"The boys are just checking everything's tied down secure."
Carlos pointed a finger at the man, the gun still in his hand. He wasn't actually aiming the gun at his subordinate, but that hardly made it any less terrifying. "No!" he hollered at the man. "Check the gear yourself. I don't want anything going wrong. One corner too fast, one bump in the road, and we'll be nothing but a hole in the ground."
The man nodded, eager to please - eager to get away.
"OK," said Carlos. "I'll lead in the jeep. The trucks follow; remember, single file. You take the third and watch our rear."
The man nodded again and rushed off to obey. Anything to get away from Carlos. The man was lethal under such heavy tension. Everyone gets stressed under pressure, but Carlos had a habit of taking it out on other people.
He went and checked the trucks one by one, ensuring each missile was tied down securely before waving the driver out. On the third truck, he stayed in the back. It was large, the type of military vehicle with a canvas covering. He slapped the back of the cab for the driver to go.
Far above all these happenings, a shadow watched. A shadow hidden within a
crevice, concealed by the slope of the roof. A woman, propping herself against the support struts. She was dressed in black - a shiny PVC style catsuit that was so tight and so precisely tailored to her physique that a medical student could have used her as an anatomy model. Her boots and gloves were red.
She smiled, her wait was nearly over. "Guess that's my cue," she said, her voice so low that only one man was able to hear her. A man sat over a mile away.
The voice in her ear replied, "remember, you give the word and we'll be on scene in moments. If it's a choice between having to take them down before they can lead us to the buyer or lose them altogether, then we'd rather take them down." And then, as an afterthought. "We wouldn't want to lose you either."
Scarlett smiled, her ruby lips turning up in a wry grin. "Honey, you never had me," she cooed into the mike.
"I'm serious, those missiles may well be decommissioned, but that's still several hundred thousand dollars of military hardware. We'd like them back."
"Don't worry, I'll wait until they stop. Just make sure we're completely clear before you make your move on the sellers, we don't want anything tipping these guys off."
"Trust me," the man's voice told her, "after all, I do this for a living."
"So do I, Babe," Scarlett whispered, pulling the radio from her ear and stowing it in her belt pouch. "So do I."
Now, she thought malevolently, what do you get if you take a dozen men and add one woman? This was going to be fun. Messy, but fun.
Scarlett moved down the support post to the warehouse floor like a cat descending a tree. Her strong limbs lowered her body in a fluid continuous movement, utterly assured and controlled.
Staying within the shadows, she caught up to the last truck as it pulled out of the warehouse's huge door and she slid beneath the high canvas arch covering the main body of the truck.
The man inside only caught a barest flash of movement, an overtly feminine silhouette, and then a hand was covering his mouth. Too quick for him to sound any alert; too strong for him to hope of breaking free.
The shadow moved forward, throwing him down to the floor of the truck. He landed backward, hard and heavy and the woman crouched over him, her hand a sealed facemask plastered over his nose and mouth.
She was unlike any woman he had ever seen before in his life. Six foot tall, long, lean limbs, tremendous breasts, luscious lips and beautiful blonde hair. A grin that managed to combine elfin joy with sadistic malice. The coolest blue eyes he'd ever seen.
The length of her arm separated them. It was clad in a bizarre, fetishtic kind of plastic material, coating her skin like bodypaint. The costume emphasized every sinew, every swell and twitch of her awesome musculature. She lent in close to him, necessarily bending her arm as she moved her face right into his.
Scarlett smiled at the man, evidently relishing the look of fear and shock that came across his face. She settled herself comfortably over his helpless form, pinning his body down with her own, holding him with her splayed thighs.
Grabbing one of his flailing hands with her free hand, she placed it neatly beneath her knee and pinned it there effortlessly. His other arm, she grabbed around the wrist and held down above his head.
Throughout this his mouth and nose were kept sealed shut with her other hand. His air was running out and his panic rising, face darkening. But there was nothing he could do. He was squirming wildly in her grasp but had no chance of overpowering her - she was infinitely stronger than him. His life rested entirely upon her mercy. Given the sadistic joy she appeared to be taking in this assault, that left him little hope.
His legs kicked but he had no chance of bucking her off; they just flailed uselessly. If he was trying to attract the attention of the men in the cab of the truck then it was to no avail, the kicks were drowned by the engine and by the rough bucking of the truck along the dirt road.
Scarlett made a shushing sound, cooing softly as though offering her victim comfort in his final moments. His eyes lost their focus, bulging wildly, losing sanity. His face turned from dull red to dark purple. His struggles lost their fervour. He weakened. He died.
Scarlett held him a few minutes longer, taking no chances. When she finally released him and stood there was the faintest quiver in her limbs – the tiniest shake to her hands. It was nothing to do with exertion, the physical effort to overpower and suffocate a man with her bare hands (so to speak) was nothing to her. And even the joy taken in the intimacy of the act was merely a precursor to what was to come. The shudder was one of anticipation. There were a dozen men in this convey and none of them were to be taken into custody.
This was strictly an under the radar mission, totally unauthorised. It was the buyers that they were after. Every man in this gang was hers. And she intended to have them all.
The trucks drove through a wooded area, trees heavy on either side. When
Scarlett peered out she could make out nothing of significance. The road was barely more than a dirt track. She leapt up to the support bar, holding up the truck's canvas cover. Grasping the bar tight she chinned her weight cautiously, pulling her body up high enough to peer over the top of the bucking vehicle. Nothing of interest ahead either. All she could see was two more trucks and a jeep ahead of them, and beyond that, only more road and a lot more trees.
Back to the waiting game. She sighed and sat. She looked over at the dead gang member. Maybe I was too hasty in killing you so quickly, she pondered. Honestly, sometimes I'm too cautious for my own good.
So Scarlett waited.
The tone of motion changed eventually, they had entered some sort of confined structure. She peeked outside and confirmed the road now ran through a concrete tunnel. Dim lights illuminated a single lane. This wasn't a part of a normal road.
The deceleration suggested they were coming to their destination. The space opened out as the truck slowed further still, crawling the last few feet. Scarlett hid back in the truck as it finally came to a juddering halt. She'd make her presence known to all soon enough. First things first however, there were two men in this truck.
The two men sat in the front of the truck turned in surprise at the sudden intrusion, but Scarlett didn't give them time to react. She reached quickly through the opening, grabbing both men, one in each arm, and yanking them viciously back through the gap.
The opening was not big enough for two men to fit through - it was barely large enough for one - but Scarlett dragged them into the space regardless. There was a crunching sound, both men yelling out in shock and pain as they were jammed up within the tight metal square.
They were stuck chest deep in the opening, head and shoulders dragged through into the back of the truck, the rest of their bodies pinned and useless, hanging down in the cab. Sharp pain, spines put in awkward positions, feet not quite reaching the seat, arms pinned helplessly to their sides. Two bodies mangled painfully against each other, trapped and terrified.
Scarlett laughed, delighted by their predicament. She closed on the two men, stroking their heads and faces lovingly. The men merely looked up at the buxom woman in horror - could she really be the one who had so suddenly and so excessively hurt them? Evidently so. And she wasn't done yet.
She moved closer. The hatch was level to her chest and she held the two heads to her bosom, one face for each mighty breast. They were trapped with their backs down so this action forced their heads upside down. She slowly slid her powerful arms around the back of their necks, pinning them hard to her chest. She braced herself then jerked her whole body up and back, pulling both their heads hard up into her breasts.
The sounds of their necks snapping was perfectly synchronised, a sweet stereo crack that resounded through her arms and her chest. Both men shuddered their last, their bodies submitting to her superior strength, dying cradled in her arms. She dropped them without regard; their purpose was served now, she was done with them.
Scarlett finally left the truck. It was parked in a huge open area, a disused underground parking level; the trucks and jeep the only traffic present. There were spaces for cars neatly sectioned out in white paint. Concrete struts held the low ceiling aloft, fixed at regular intervals. The trucks appeared too big for the space, the roofs nearly scraping the ceiling.
The other two trucks were parked nearby, but more importantly, four more men were heading towards her. Their attention had been drawn by the bizarre happenings of the two men she'd just been playing with, whose feet could now be seen against the dashboard and windscreen of the truck. Now the men were staring only at her.
Scarlett smiled. "You boys ready to play?" she asked them lasciviously. "I've got some fun games to show you. Last man standing wins a teddybear."
This undeniable beauty of the women stopped the men dead in their tracks. Suddenly interrogating this woman didn't quite seem like such a smart move. They looked at each other for ideas, suddenly confused and uncertain of themselves.
Scarlett rolled her eyes, contemptuous at the inaction of men. "Christ, I'm obviously an infiltrator of some sort; I've obviously already killed some of your fellow henchmen. What do you think you're supposed to do?"
The closest man to her pulled out his gun.
"Atta-boy," Scarlett enthused. Then she leapt on him.
Quick as a snap her arms and legs sprung around his body, his hand pinned to his chest. The momentum of her leap threw him backwards, stumbling off balance, falling down backwards. Scarlett held on to his body as he fell, her legs landing square, keeping him neatly trapped between them as she stood.
The man flailed between her thighs. She reached down and grabbed him by the
small of his back, lifting him further up.
She tightened her grip again, making him buck and quake like a beached fish. He seemed to have forgotten about the gun in his hand. Scarlett plucked the weapon from his grip, his arms beating stupidly and uselessly against her strong thighs. Then she squeezed in earnest.
The other three men watched - too shocked and afraid by what they were witnessing to either fight or run. Too shocked and afraid to move.
It took only a few seconds, but those seconds were long and brutal. The slow crunch seemed to echo around the room, the man's scream came out in slow motion, as if it took his body that long to realise what she was doing to it. And then as the bones began to cave in, her legs relentlessly closing, his scream let rip. It was a cry of utter agony, a blood curdling shriek of pain and desperation. Scarlett grimaced and flexed hard, cutting the scream off, ending the man's torture for good.
The remaining three men looked at their fallen comrade in terror. If she could do that to him, she could do it to any of them. And looking at the insane expression on her face - a cross between savage wonder and utter exhilaration they knew that she almost certainly would.
Two men reached for their guns, the third turned to run. The woman might have been distracted by what appeared to be orgasmic joy derived from so mercilessly pulverising their fellow, but she was back in the game the instant the men reacted.
She was holding the gun, but would never reduce herself to actually rely upon such a thing. Instead, she threw it, skilfully slicing it through the air to slam the fleeing man on the back of the skull, sending him barrelling to the floor.
And then she was on the two remaining. Both had pulled handguns, but by the
time the weapons were raised she'd thrown herself forward with near impossible speed.
The men found their arms held tightly enough to cut off all blood and sensation, their guns were suddenly pointing at each other. Scarlett stood between them - two inches further forwards and her protruding chest would be in the line of sight.
She smiled an evil little smile. And then began squeezing once again. Both men began to scream in unison. Her grip was a tourniquet, preventing further bleeding. The victim half fainted, collapsing to his knees
The other man still screamed, panicked even further by this example of what
his own delicate wrist was about to do. He clawed at the woman's grip with his free hand, trying to pull free. He too seemed to forget he was armed... until the gun suddenly went off.
It hit his fellow, blasting a bullet into the cheekbone and blowing the side of his face off.
He stood and stared stupidly at what he'd just done - Then the full fury of his fear and panic returned – a pain fuelled determination to escape this horrific torture. He grasped the gun with his free hand, tugging it out of his own broken grip the imprisoned hand now well beyond any semblance of functionality.
Scarlett released the shot man, letting him collapse on the floor. She turned to the man who was now trying to focus through the insane pain enough to point the gun at his assailant.
"Oh, Honey," she said, voice dripping with mock compassion, "You need a hug."
And she pulled him towards her. She didn't even bother to disarm him, confident in her capacity to destroy the man before he could possibly pose any threat to her, armed or not.
She released his wrist at last, instead wrapping her arms tightly about him, pulling his torso up tight against her own, her arms deep and snug up against his armpits. It was not possible for two bodies to get any closer. Her chest so tight upon his that the underwire of her bra would leave an impression on his flesh, even through their clothes. If she had been wearing a bra.
She made a cooing noise as she squeezed, a soft moan that could have been pleasure. It was the only sound until the first crack - a sharp splinter of a sound that marked the beginning of the man's final defeat.
She whispered breathlessly into his ear, "I should probably confess that this isn't strictly necessary. I could just kill you instantly and relatively painlessly if I wanted to. There is no reason in the world to make you suffer like this. I admit it - I do it because I love it."
And she squeezed, squashing his body into pulp, compressing his bones and organs into a broken mash. And when she was done and she finally released the crushed mess that was left, she was gasping, breath hot, body juddering with a sharp, sweet quaking.
Scarlett regained her composure. She regarded the shot man first. He was flitting from side to side, spilling blood, lumps of something viscous hanging loose from the wound. She crouched, squatting over the man, holding his head steady with a strong grip on his chin.
Drawing back her arm, she prepared the punch, aiming slowly. Then she drove her fist down, powering into the man with all the considerable might she could muster. The result was devastating as his blood splattered
She turned to the man she had felled with the gun. He was bleeding quite seriously from the back of the head where the weapon had struck him and bounced off. But he had regained consciousness while she was dealing with the other two. He'd tried to crawl away, but had not managed to get very far.
Scarlett strolled over to where he was slowly dragging himself across the ground. She halted his progress with a simple foot placed firmly on the back of his spine, halfway down from his shoulder-blades.
"And just where do you think you're going?" she asked the man, her voice stern in a flirtatious kind of way.
The man, dazed and possibly delirious, continued to crawl - or at least try to. Arms grabbing the ground in front of him and scraping painfully back as he failed to make enough purchase to pull his pinned body forward. He didn't even seem aware that he was being held in place by Scarlett's foot planted on his back.
Enough with playing; Scarlett reached down to grab hold of the man's arms, gripping him by the wrists and hauling his arms out to the side and then backwards behind him. She twisted them to get the shoulders into position.
With a sudden tug, wrenching the man with all her strength, she pulled back on his arms, bracing his body with her foot against his spine. His body snapped like a roast chicken breast broken by a gluttonous diner. He was dead even before the dropped arms flopped heavily to either side.
Scarlett took one last look around the space and then headed off to find the rest of the gang. She didn't have to look very far. Through the door was a corridor. As soon as she began striding purposefully down it she ran into a man, another of the gang, running back to the underground parking lot, evidentially to investigate what was happening.
As she turned the first corner he practically ran right into her, before either one quite realised what was happening. A tight hold on his groin made him grimace and drop down to his knees.
Scarlett wasted no time with him, tilting him to face upwards as she lowered her arms, keeping the weight back and bowing her head to position him comfortably across her mighty shoulders. Bracing him with one arm snaked across his collarbone and the other holding his hips, she stretched, flexing her back and shoulders while simultaneously bending his spine.
The crack reverberated down her arms and back. He went limp. The jolt of his body breaking shuddered right through her.
With a sigh, Scarlett released her grip and straightened her back, letting the broken form flump off of her shoulders and onto the ground in a heavy, untidy heap.
That was number eight. There were a dozen men to get through. Two thirds of the way there. She'd barely even broken a sweat. Honestly, what was wrong with the criminal world these days? She would have gotten a more strenuous workout as a babysitter.
The click of a gun being cocked shook her from her complacency. She looked down the corridor to see a man standing in the shadows. He was holding the slide of a semi-automatic pistol, which he now released, letting it snap back.
It was to get her attention and it worked. He aimed the gun straight at her and she froze - body tense, muscles wired and aching to leap into action. Scarlett remained cool however, not moving an inch. She stood, arms by her sides, a little away from her body, her fingers splayed. Her shoulders were curved forwards, like an animal ready to pounce; legs tight and tense like a spring coiled and held at breaking point.
The man was too far for her to cover the distance between them before he could fire, but she would rush him anyway. She had speed, beauty and had adrenalin in her favour.
"How fast can you pull that trigger?" she asked him.
"Er-er-erm Fast enough," he replied , trying to take in the buxoms amazing figure.
"How many bullets do you think you can pump into me before I reach you? How many bullets do you think it would take to stop me?"
He stared her body. Dressed in that outfit.
The man adjusted his aim
"You'd miss," she assured him.
A third voice joined their exchange. "What about me?" a man asked. His voice came from directly behind her. "You think I'd miss too? Do you want to try that theory out in practice?"
Scarlett sighed and smiled. She had to admit, they'd set her up perfectly. She raised her arms, keeping her elbows bent and out to the sides.
"OK, looks like you've got me boys," she conceded as she lifted her arms slowly, making a show of the surrender. Her voice was still playful and coquettish though, not showing the slightest bit of fear or apprehension at the situation she now found herself in.
Despite her careless demeanour, Scarlett's senses were as sharp and active as ever. Her ears pinpointing the man behind her, his height and precise position.
They knew about distraction did they? Well so did she. As she raised her arms, she made sure to take a deep breath so as to maximise the impact of her huge breasts. She knew her body tended to shock people, especially hardened criminals like these.
The men were watching this woman carefully. They didn't trust her for a moment, knowing how dangerous she was. The man in front of her had had a chance to take in her stunning beauty - so obvious and blatant in that scandalous and shameless garment. The other gang member however, had been concentrating more on moving up silently behind her, and it was only now that he realised just to what degree she had developed her body.
He was stunned by it. Standing behind her now, he could see the dazzling facial features. Her buttocks, so glorious and round, the massive thighs, the glorious calves. It was all he could do to stop himself from drooling.
The gang member was so stunned by the sight, as was her intent, that he didn't even notice her sudden motion backwards, the opening of one arm as she lowered her body and got her shoulder under his chin, and then pulled the trap tight, arm closing around his neck. Wasting no time, Scarlett dropped again, rolling her weight forward grounding her man. She then got to work with a series of punches and knees to the face.
Shaken and battered and pinned to the ground, the man saw Scarlett lift the corpse off of him and toss it carelessly aside. She was sitting astride him, legs pinning him to the ground. His gun was gone, either dropped or she'd taken it from him. In the madness and speed of it all, he didn't know. If she did have it, she'd tossed it aside also, apparently not considering it necessary. It certainly hadn't helped him any.
The woman was grinning, pleased with herself. And she certainly had reason to be. He'd never seen anyone like her before in his life. She deserved to win, he realised. Anyone that dangerous, that unstoppable, deserved to always win, no matter the game. And it was a game, wasn't it? It was all just a stupid game.
He didn't protest or struggle as the scarlet woman took a hold of his body, her legs closing about him. She rolled over, pulling him along with her, dragging him on top of her. He lay a moment, taking some small comfort in the pleasure of her sweet body beneath him, propped up on her breasts.
She raised her legs, lifting, keeping him gripped in place between her thick thighs. The vice that held either side of his waist tightened up, muscles flexing, her calves hardening as she closed the grip. Even now he did not struggle. Already trapped - already defeated. Being in total control of a mans life gave her endless satisfaction and was brilliant for her ego.
Scarlett squeezed, crushing him quickly, breaking his body in moments. His agonised cry drowned the echoing crunch of bones being pulverised by muscles. He went slack and the two halves of his body slumped down like a see-saw broken in the middle.
She was almost done.
The corridor led on, she followed it. Sarino was waiting for her.
Scarlett kicked open the door, twisting her whole body into the blow, splintering the heavy wooden slab, sending it flying off of its hinges to crash against the wall. She saw him standing there, dressed in camouflage gear, heavy duty machine pistol already trained on her.
"You killed my men," he shrieked, his voice shrill, a resonant counterpoint to the roaring gun.
Scarlett had leapt towards him the moment she saw him - the moment he unleashed with the weapon. When she reached him, her arms clutched at him. He felt the gun being rudely shoved aside, held at bay. The momentum of her strike threw him backwards, the two of them flying through the air, crashing into the far wall of the room, Scarlett clutching him, pinning him.
She was only as tall as he, and yet her busty body seemed to totally dominate him,
Her hands pressed his arms against the wall, flat back, as though held up in surrender - the heavy duty auto still clutched uselessly in his grip. Her breasts were crushed up against him. They pinned his chest to the wall, squashing him without hope of escape. In fact, he could barely take a breath let alone escape, the pressure on his chest was so savage. And her hips crushed up against him, jamming him against the wall so hard that he was supported upright more by the force she exerted upon him than by his own feet.
"That's not possible!" he whined.
Scarlett’s sumptuous lips began to smile sweetly. "Nor is this," she told him, and she moved her arm.
She shifted the gun, still in his hand, so that it sat in the crook of her elbow. And then she tightened the grip, lifting her forearm as she squeezed.
She opened her arm and the twisted, mangled and severely flattened gun dropped away.
She then grabbed the mans head and gave him a slow wet kiss totally calm and in control of the situation.
In truth however, Scarlett no longer had the luxury of such pleasures – no longer had the time for fun and games.
He began choking, grabbing at the vice of her fingers to try and make her release him as she grabbed his throat. It was a futile effort but he tried anyway, all to no avail. Scarlett simply squeezed his throat tighter and tighter.
Sarino's face was turning blue. Odd gagging noises came struggling out of his throat and Scarlett just squeezed all the harder.
Arms and legs flailing, Sarino's eyes began to bulge out of the sockets no longer seeing anything save perhaps the death that was now inevitable.
One final burst of strength and his neck snapped with a loud and savage crack. Scarlett tossed the man aside, glad to be done with him.
Carlos was inside the office. He'd seen some of the carnage on the security cameras. He'd seen her dispose of the men he'd sent. But he was confident that Sarino would deal with the problem once and for all. He was not expecting the door of the office to be kicked down by the most incredibly beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on.
Carlos just stared in horror at the insane sight before him as the door broke from its hinges.
Carlos simply turned and fled. But there was no hope to outrun her – and nowhere to run to anyway, the office had but one door, and that was now lying in two pieces. But to turn and run was the only possible response to the sight of the wonderful Scarlett. Her boots made sweet sounds on the tiled floors.
She caught him within a yard of his fleeing, screaming in inarticulate fury, and she dismissed him onto the floor.
Carlos fell face first onto the ground, Scarlett landed on top on him, as he felt her hands take a tight grip on either side of his head. She fiercly got it and put it in between her strong thighs as if it where a toy. She tightened them together until swivelled her hips quickly snapping the man ambimical cord and she released the it as the body went limp.
There was another man in the room. He was huddled in the corner, clutching his knees to his chest, an expression of uncomprehending horror on his face.
Scarlett slowly closed on him her boots making the sweetest of sounds and he began to scream, opening his soul and letting the primal dread and loathing flow free. She smiled at him, wondering if it were possible for a man to die of fear.
He tried to bury himself in the corner, shoving his body as deeply into the cranny as he could. When she reached down for him, she thought he might actually faint, such was his dread. It was amusing to her and also enjoyable.
Instead of clutching at the man and dispatching him, she merely pulled his phone from his top pocket.
"You mind if I borrow this?" she asked, her voice as sweet as anything, as though she were genuinely asking his permission. He gently nodded. "Thanks babe."
She rang a number.
"Yeah, it's me... Huh? Yeah, it got wasted... No, I'm done... OK, sure... Twelve... Only one so far."
She looked down at the man. "Might be a good idea... I didn't... no, really...Dunno, just shock I think..."
Her voice became a little sheepish. "And for me... Nothing”.
She hung up the phone and tossed it carelessly back at the man still sitting frozen, petrified in the corner.
"By the way, babe," she told the man. "I just think that you should know, anyone that they don't want to process gets given to me. I'm kind of like a waste-disposal system. I help cut down on paperwork. I tidy up the loose ends. And that includes anyone they can't use in their investigation. So if I were in your shoes, I think I'd choose to assist them in any way I could. If you don't, I might get to play with you after all. Just bear that in mind when they're offering you a deal."
The man nodded, his body now beginning to tremble uncontrollably. He too could hear the crash and bang of an infiltration. He prayed silently that they would hurry up.