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Stuck between two female fitness trainers.

It was as if he had been emptied of words and the well would take some time to fill again.


Leopold had been right, he thought. One tires of killing. One yearns for love.

The door opened a crack, spilling yellow light onto the steps and the broken metal banister and then widened, her silhouette outlined in the light of the naked bulb that hung from the ceiling of the foyer. She closed the door softly behind her and then paused for a moment at the top of the steps, as though to draw a deep breath before abandoning the safety of her hand anchored on the banister.

She was clad in a plain white shirt and blue jeans, her hair gathered into an unruly knot on the top of her head. She was wearing sensible flat-heeled shoes and no make up. She tucked her large handbag under her arms and set off at a brisk pace, her eyes downcast.

They emerged from the mouth of a blind alley, too quickly for her to react. There were four of them and at first blush, they were difficult to tell apart. They all wore black bandannas, dragon tattoos, tight t-shirts over bulging torsos and ... identical smirks. One of them had a long white scar running along the inside of his left arm and wore an air of authority. Being sliced open in a knife fight did wonders for your reputation in these parts. He was twirling a knife lazily in his right hand as he slowly circled around her, almost tasting on his tongue the completeness of his power over her trembling body. She stood rooted to the ground, uncertain whether to flee or to stay completely still, pretending to be invisible, hoping that they would go away.

It was however clear that they were not going anywhere. They had watched this tasty little morsel for weeks, tracing the same familiar route between home and work. They had waited patiently for such a moment -- the cover of darkness and an empty street. They intended to take their time with her. The Scar licked his lips with a hunger that he could barely contain. He was aroused, as much by the thought of their taking her by turns, using her luscious body, as by the thought of finally, after they were done with her, slitting her soft white throat and letting her blood leach onto the pavement.

The blind alley would do nicely, he thought. They would stuff a rag in her mouth to drown her screams. Not that it was necessary. She could scream all she wanted. He knew that in this neighborhood, her screams would shatter against an impervious wall of fear and indifference. He didn't expect to be interrupted. It was only that he wanted to be able to pretend, as they ravaged her body, that she was enjoying it. Screams would make that awkward. The circle tightened as they drew closer to her, their limbs twitching now with anticipation at the bloody feast to follow.

They didn't know where he came from -- this tall stranger who now held her body in his arms, shielding her. He almost seemed part of the night, like darkness congealed. Their first instinct was to rush him, to rip to pieces this thing that had come between them and their prey.

But something made them pause. There was no fear in his eyes. His gaze licked the naked blades in their hands with something resembling greed. He was still, as if he did not wish to dissuade them from violence by sudden movement. But his stillness did not deceive them. They knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this stranger would fight. But what was spreading icy fingers of fear across their hearts was the niggling suspicion that he might welcome it. He waited quietly as arrogance battled caution in their eyes. He was willing the arrogance to win, hoping once again for the sweet murderous music of blades in song. It had been a long time.

His nostrils flared at the promise of blood and their shoulders finally slumped, terror that they barely understood pooling like lead in the pits of their stomachs weighing them down. The Scar spoke to his underlings through lips that were suddenly dry and parched, affecting a bravado he no longer felt.

"We will get h

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