He brought his fingers to the stinging flesh of his scratched cheek and the tips came away blood red, the result of his attempt to slip his hand into the waistband of her sweatpants.
He put his fingers in his mouth, licking away the vital bodily fluid, and smiled sickly.
"Feisty bitch, ain't ya?" he said.
"I'm more than that," she said, burying the knife in his stomach.
She had thought she could escape, buy herself a moment's peace, in the darkness of a corner booth of Gary's Bar.
No such luck.
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