Born in a Burial Gown

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Born in a Burial Gown Page 33

by Mike Craven


  The shank in the man’s hand looked crude but deadly. Cross had used a variety of weapons in his life but he’d never considered how a toothbrush could be fashioned into something so sinister-looking.

  He tried to reach the red panic button but the man was on him before he was halfway.

  The man said nothing. He held the sharpened toothbrush so Cross could see it clearly.

  ‘What do you want?’ he rasped through his ruined vocal chords. His voice was barely above a whisper.

  The man still didn’t say anything.

  Cross saw rather than felt the first blow. He thought he might have just been punched until he felt a warmness that could only be blood. The pain of the wound wasn’t able to compete with his burning face. Half a dozen quick stabs followed. All in the same place. Not deep but deep enough.

  He tried to say something, anything but the words wouldn’t form. He stared at the man with his one working eye. The man looked down without expression. He showed Cross the toothbrush shank up close. Cross shrank back as it was held up to his eye. It was razor sharp and bloodied. Beyond fear, he watched as the man pushed the shank towards his throat. He pressed it against him, just hard enough to break the skin.

  ‘I’m going to kill you now, Mr Cross,’ the man said.

  He gently but firmly pushed the sharpened toothbrush into Cross’s neck. He could feel it going through skin and flesh before finally meeting resistance in the thin muscular wall of the great jugular vein. The man grunted with effort as he plunged the shank in. Cross felt warm liquid around the wound. His shirt was drenched in seconds. He felt weak and lightheaded.

  He lost control of his bowels and his bladder.

  The jugular takes blood back to the heart rather than being powered from it, so there was no arterial spray, rather the steady flow of death. The man removed the shank and watched him.

  Cross had cut enough throats during his career as a contract killer to know his wound was fatal. Of all the places he thought he might die, on the filthy floor of an English prison cell drenched in his own piss hadn’t even come close.

  As his heart struggled to find enough blood to keep him alive, he went into the first stages of cardiac arrest. Before Dalton Cross slipped into the unconsciousness that would precede his death, the man leaned over and whispered something into his ear.

  ‘Nathaniel Diamond says hello.’

  Available now in paperback and eBook

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

 

 

 


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