Hunting Molly

By Sandie Baldry

Three killers hunting one girl, how hard could it be?

 

In the city's dark underbelly, Molly fought to survive each day as a vulnerable sex worker. But when she stumbles upon a chilling murder, her life takes a harrowing turn. Now, hunted relentlessly by three remorseless killers, Molly's resilience is put to the ultimate test. Meanwhile, Detective Karen Pearce finds herself investigating the case where her key witness is either dead or soon will be if she doesn't get to her first.

Determined to dismantle the ruthless drug gang, Karen knows Molly's cooperation is the only way to succeed. As the clock ticks, the race to find Molly takes a nerve-wracking twist, with both the relentless detective and the merciless assassins closing in. Yet, little did they know that Molly is no longer willing to be a helpless pawn in their twisted game. In a stunning turn of events, Molly refuses to run any longer and instead chooses to confront her fears head-on. Will Molly's tenacity be enough to outsmart her pursuers and expose the sinister underbelly of the city? Brace yourself for a heart-pounding rollercoaster ride as Molly transforms from prey to predator in a battle for her life.

 

They thought it would be easy to kill her – She had other ideas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandie Baldry
• Release date: Aug 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201438166

Book preview

dedication

To my beta readers and long-suffering family, a big thank you for putting up with me while I bury myself in the writing.

Hunting Molly

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 1

Late Thursday night

Molly hated having sex in the street. She appreciated that the man tried to be gentle. His hands held her up to his waist, anchoring her firmly to the wall. Her arms secured herself around his neck.

Panting and moaning to fake an orgasm, she turned her head away from the car headlights that peeled off the junction farther up as they headed toward the A14. The heat rose to her face. She never got used to being slammed against a brick wall for sex. She could cope with it inside a car; cramped but manageable, it provided a little privacy and shelter on wintry nights. Public toilets were preferable, except the local authority started closing them early.

Even after a year of working the streets, the tension in her chest never faded, and the creeping fear of being discovered was unrelenting despite the routine she had developed for new areas. Always check for CCTV, including nearby shops, for hidden cameras behind the shop displays.

Her punter was a regular. She called Joe since he didn't give a name; his local pub was three hundred meters away, The Lion. As his head moved towards her, his gasping breath reeked of beer. A man in his fifties married, as he wore a wedding ring. He never talked; he nodded in her direction and strode past her, then it was against a wall.  After, he always unfolded thirty-five pounds, never refusing like some until they'd come.

Molly glanced at her watch. It was 11 p.m., and Joe was taking longer than usual. She leaned forward, kissing his head, her lips working down to his ears to hurry him on. It was October; the temperature was dropping, and even if it meant pissing off Adam, her pimp, Molly wouldn’t be working until 2 a.m. She was cold, hungry and tired, her legs aching.

Her teeth bit Joe's ear, not enough to hurt, having found he liked it. And there it was. He threw his head back, staring at the dark sky with a moan of pleasure, his hot breath piercing the cool night air.

The man never made eye contact with her. He would let her down to the ground before adjusting his trousers and then strolled down the street with a wave of his hand to say goodbye.

Thirty-five pounds, Molly tucked it into her bra. It was all Adam would get, though he'd expect more even though he had taken what she had earlier. Adam ran with ten other girls, and fifty per cent of what they earned was his, which pissed her off since all he did was lurk around.

Molly straightened her red skirt and walked down the street, ducking into doorways to avoid the turnout from the pubs. She'd had enough for the night. The ache in her back was playing up, caused by too many hard walls and park benches. When returning to the HMO, Molly hoped the other girls would still be working or in the living room. Six of them lived in the house, with only one bathroom. It was a nightmare. And Adam had the cheek to charge them full rent.

She walked towards the charity shop, moving into the dark doorways, her eyes following the police vehicle's progress as it passed.

‘How’re tricks, Blondie?’ came a voice behind her. Molly didn’t jump. She knew Bill used the space sometimes as a doss, a rough sleeper. ‘Do you want to get under the covers with me, love? Keep warm?’

Bill pulled back his flattened sleeping bag.

‘Tempting,’ she said, waving a hand under her nose.

‘Oh, come on. Don’t smell that bad, and you look frozen.’

‘What the hell. Got a roll-up?’ Molly crept over and slid in beside him as he flipped back the sleeping bag to cover her. Molly felt safe with him. He never tried to touch her. Besides the smell, she liked him. There was no judgment about the other, an unspoken understanding between them. They were both in dark places, feeling their way around, trying to find the way out.

She laid her head on his shoulder, gazing out onto the high street where dimly lit shop windows showed off their wares, everything from expensive jewellery to designer clothes. The occasional figures walked from The Swan Inn or went towards the takeaways. In the distance, the church clock chimed; it was midnight.

Winter was in the air, and Molly studied the clouds moving across the dark sky. She asked Bill, ‘Are you going to get into the shelter before it gets too cold?’

‘Nope, not my scene.’

‘You’re such an old hippy.’ She laughed, taking the roll-up he passed to her, watching the smoke leave her lips curling in the cold air. Adam would slap her if he saw her on two counts.

‘You don’t fuck anyone who can’t pay,’ he had demanded. He would never believe Bill didn't get some.

‘And you don't smoke while working. No one wants to fuck a whore with bad breath.’

Molly rested for a few minutes, then passed the roll-up back to Bill; it was time to go.

‘Are you saving a bit of cash?’ he asked.

‘Some.’

‘Not letting that arsehole rob you?’

‘Nope. All in a building society,’ Molly answered with pride. Molly had saved two hundred pounds. Her target was a thousand, and then she would blow town. Go to Kent, search for her birth mother and get a job where she doesn’t have to use a gallon of mouthwash and cringe every time Adam raised his hand.

She rose. ‘I’m done for the night.’ She yawned. It was early to finish, but she had had enough for the night, and it was quiet anyway.

‘See you tomorrow, Blondie.’

Molly nodded, pulling her jacket around her thin body, her heels clicking on the pavement as she made her way to the HMO.

She walked toward Weston Road, avoiding the shortcut where the drug dealers lurked. Adam would sometimes be there, and if he saw her, he’d offer her services to the dealers for something to keep him high. He had visited her earlier, relieving her of all her money, so much for fifty per cent. He failed to tell her she had rent to pay for her room and street position. Molly was lucky if she got enough to live on. The money she squirrelled away was thanks to Sheila and the other girls’ advice.

‘Get yourself a building society account girl and a card and hide it. Take a little cash to the cashpoint each night.’ The other girls were nodding in agreement. ‘He’ll search you but will look for cash.’

Linda had butted in, ‘If he finds the card, as with Piper, he’ll kick the shit out of you until you give him the pin. That will be the last you’ll see of the money.’ Linda brushed back her dark hair with a flick of her hands, letting her head drop on the sofa, her blue eyes fixed on Molly.

Sheila swiped up her bag and opened it, inviting Molly to peer in. Molly pulled back in disgust. A wrapped, used sanitary towel was staring her in the face. 

‘There you go, girl. Now think about how men feel about anything related to a woman’s period, including dickhead. So,’ she said, tossing the bag back on the sofa.

Linda shunted up, pulling a face.

Sheila continued. ‘Get some pig or meat blood, then slop it over a sanitary towel. Then, hide the card in plastic and roll it inside the towel. Give it another see-through wrapping, so he'll freak out if he picks it up.’ Sheila took a moment, a smile on her lips as if enjoying the memory. ‘Works a treat.’ She had laughed, a loud ruckus sound that bounced off the walls in the room.

Molly hid her card in a scrunchie used for her hair, sewn under a silk flower. She had lost it once, backtracking to where she’d been before, and found it tucked in a railing outside the local park. Slitting it open and sewing it back was a pain, but it was worth it.

Molly turned into Weston Road, where tall Victorian townhouses lined both sides of the street—in their day, imposing homes for the well-off. Now mostly converted to flats or rooming houses. Stone steps from the pavement led to the front door, while unwelcoming steps sunk into the dark basements. No parking bays existed, so cars were forced to park on either side of the road.

Molly was nearly home; the dim light of the open all-hour shop, now closed, was opposite the HMO where she had a room. A figure paced back and forth by the shop’s entrance, and Molly’s chest filled with dread. The air sucked from her lungs. She would have recognized that thin, crooked shape anywhere.

It was the pimp Adam waiting to ambush her, and she could not get back into the house without being seen. Adam wasn’t patient; he slept all day, coming alive at night like an owl to hunt prey. One of the other girls would have told him she wasn’t in yet.

He would demand what money she had on her and a blow job just because he could. She wasn’t in the mood, not that she ever was. The muscles in her back ached. Her legs were heavy, and all she wanted was to step into a warm shower and feel the water running over her neck and down her body before climbing into her bed. She didn't want to spend the next few minutes on her knees in the cold with his hands pulling at her hair while swearing.

Molly resigned herself. Comply or sleep on the streets. She crept down two of the stone steps leading to the Victorian house’s basement, getting into a position where she could peer through the railings to the shop. She braced herself to get into the mindset where she would pretend to be someone else. And who knew, she might get lucky; he might fuck off, fed up with waiting for her. She doubted it.

He smoked what Molly assumed to be weed. He had the build of a man who smoked too much, preferring alcohol to food.

If she could work up the nerve, she would stand her ground. At five foot nine, until she met Adam, she thought no one alive could intimidate her. Wrong. Adam might look like a gust of wind could blow him away, but he was spiteful if you crossed him.

She guessed he liked a blow job