It's graphic, violent, brutal, and unapologetic, and with a constantly changing POV.
WARNING: Graphic content. It's not gratuitous. The graphic content is the story.
Hey, I warned you...
From Write Runner's Bad Girl Blogfest: click
"Stand back, sweetie," she warned. When she was clear, Iris opened the trunk with her left hand while her right hand held the raised hatchet.
Iris was thrown back by the force as the trunk flew open. Malcolm bolted out like a rabid dog, hitting his head on the top as he tripped over the bottom of lip of the trunk. He landed on his hands and knees and scrambled apelike towards Iris.
"Run!" Iris screamed to her daughter. She hit the ground and nearly dropped the hatchet, but her death grip held firm against the surprise attack. Her head whipped into the dirt with enough force to stun her but not take her consciousness. A small tuft of dust formed around her head, and he was on top of her before it cleared.
"You fucking bitch!! You mother fucking frigid ass bitch!! I'm gonna kill you, you fucking bitch!!" Two large hands quickly held her down, one wrapped tightly against her soft throat, the other holding her hatchet hand to the ground with iron force. His right knee was jabbed painfully into her stomach until it pinned her spine against the dirt. She clawed at him with her left hand, but he elbowed it away casually. While his rage had ripened in the trunk, hers had been spent digging a hole in the dirt. Her strength was piled up in a mound not ten feet away, but his was on top of her and at his command.
Spit foamed at the edges of his mouth as he cursed her through his teeth. "Die you fucking bitch." He picked her head up by her throat, then rammed it down again to emphasize each of his words. "Die... you... fuck.. ing... bitch!!! Die... you... fuck… ing... bitch!!!"
Her eyes felt tight in her head as she struggled for breath. Thoughts scattered into the darkness until all she could see was his hateful face bouncing up and down as he pounded her into the ground. Her legs were gone, and her left arm was probably broken. She had nothing left but the ringing curses in her ears.
"Die... you... "
Then Iris heard a metallic whack as Tracy hit her father with the shovel. He lurched forward as she wound up for another swing, then brought it down squarely against his head. The flat part glanced off his skull, taking with it a small swath of his scalp and sending it flying into the darkness. More pissed than hurt, he slammed Iris down and rolled his daughter to the ground.
She screamed as his fist broke her innocent jaw. "God dammit!! You fucking want some of this too, you fucking little bitch!! Just like your frigid ass momma!!"
“Daddy, no!!” she managed to scream incoherently through her mangled mouth. “I sowwy!! I sowwy!!”
He grabbed both her small arms in one hand, then straddled her and spread her legs with the other. Barely able to breath through her mouth and nose full of blood, she was still able to feel that he was rock hard from all this excitement. He had probably been like that since he heard the trunk unlatch, she thought. Another cuff against her skull cleared any other thoughts she might have had.
"Shut your fucking mouth! Oh, you're gonna get it good this time, you little bitch!! You're better than your fucking frigid ass whore of a momma ever was. You're fucking tight, you know that??! Your momma's as loose as a fucking glass of water, but not you. I couldn't get this tight if I fucked your momma up the ass."
He mumbled most of the last part as his concentration switched from enragement to engorgement. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Momma was out, so he probably had some time with little baby, here. He continued the glance around. Damn, this was perfect. Middle of nowhere and two whores to fuck. He'd be here all day tomorrow, too, wearing them out before he dumped them into the hole they had so thoughtfully dug for him. Maybe even tomorrow night. He thought he had smelled food, so he could survive out here for a couple of days. This would be a nice little vacation, he thought.
He smiled at the thought of getting laid eight or ten times in the next twenty-four hours. That was more than that fucking bitch had given him for the past five years. No wonder he was driven to seek other satisfaction. If you ain't catching fish, better find another pond, he figured. And why not fish right at home.
He undid his belt and chuckled to himself. The stupid bitch forgot to take off his pants. She knew he always carried a pocket knife, but must have forgotten this time, thank God. They had fucked around long enough for what must have been a dozen sleeping pills to wear off him, and he had managed to get to his knife and cut the rope and tarp they had wrapped around him.
Then a thought crossed his mind. Were they going to bury him alive? Holy fuck, they were! He whacked Tracy again. "You little bitch!" His fist glanced wetly off her bloody face. "You're gonna fucking get it good, you little bitch. We'll see who gets buried alive, you whore."
He turned to repeat his threat to his newly deceased ex-wife. What he saw was a thin metal blade, roughly a finger's width, swinging madly from the end of a ghostly white arm. The light from the car winked off the shiny silver hatchet as it struck his right eye and the top of his brow.
With a scream he rolled off his daughter, pulling the hatchet out of Iris' hand as he did so. It was not buried very deep, but had painfully blinded his right eye. Iris found her legs and the shovel Tracy had dropped, then swung it club-like around, baring the edge of the blade to the side of the son of a bitch's skull. It sliced the side of his head and lopped off part of his left ear.