Hunted

By sandra baldry

In this gripping tale, immerse yourself in the lives of three extraordinary women who are inevitably tangled in a web of danger and turmoil and forced to confront deadly threats that lurk in the shadows of their existence. Facing imminent death, they choose defiance, channelling their inner strength to battle against their pursuers.

With every heart-stopping twist and turn, be captivated by their resilience and unyielding determination. Prepare to be spellbound as the relentless fight for survival transforms these women's lives, culminating in a breathtaking showdown that will leave you breathless. Enter their world, where survival is not just a choice but a testament to the tenacity of the human spirit.

 

Hunting Molly

Molly, a sex worker, witnesses a murder by a ruthless drug gang and is running for her life. They didn't count on her turning around to fight back.

 

Lucy & Eve

Lucy & Eve are mother and daughter. After a fire destroys her home, Lucy is looking for shelter at her alcoholic mother's home, who has a dark secret that sees both women fighting for their lives.

 

Kim & the Hitman

Kim has lost her voice, but that doesn't stop her when she overhears a killer's plans for a hit. And when no one believes the girl who craves attention, she has no choice but to mount a rescue herself. The best-laid plans of …..

• Language: English
• Publisher: sandra baldry
• Release date: Mar 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224052516

Book preview

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 partly because of the power it gave him to demand it. And she had little choice. The only time she refused, she ended up sitting in the A&E, having six stitches in her head where he’d punched her. The ring on his finger had sliced through her skin, and the nurse who stitched her eyed Adams suspiciously.

‘You know we must report suspected abuse?’ Her eyes flickered over to Adam. He was pacing back and forth, his hands twitching, glancing at the hospital clock on the wall.

‘I’m eighteen, and a punter did this,’ answered Molly loud enough for Adam to hear.

Molly put a finger to her face, running over the scar etched into the skin. She wouldn’t make the same mistake. She needed to be cleverer; Molly knew where he lurked. Avoid those areas. He never came to the house for satisfaction. The other girls didn’t put up with that crap, not when they were together and had each other’s backs.

It was always an ambush in a doorway because she was easy prey, being the youngest.

The sound of a speeding car rounded a corner, catching Molly’s figure in its headlights as it passed. It screeched to a stop by the closed shop. Molly had learned to know danger when she saw it. And she saw it then as the car stopped alongside Adam, taking him by surprise. Her heart rate spiked, and she instinctively dropped back behind the railings and into the darkness the basement provided.

Two men jumped from the car, catching Adam by surprise. He froze where he stood, unsure of what was happening. He stepped forward to meet them, holding his hands out either in confusion or welcome; Molly couldn’t tell.

Several seconds later, it was clear as fists landed around his head, blow after blow. Adam attempted to shield himself, covering his head with his arms. The taller of the two men, Molly recognized, as the dim light caught his face—Briggs, a man built like a weightlifter with a bulldog’s face. She had seen him hanging around the club doors and warned by the other girls that he considered them free fruit to be plucked when he wanted. He enjoyed rough sex, and you didn’t mess with him.

He kicked Adam’s legs from beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground while continuing to kick while Adam folded into a fetal position. His moans sailed through the still night, sending a shudder of fear through Molly.

A third man, in no hurry, climbed out of the car. Molly had seen him around, too. It was Hunter, part of a gang from Colchester. Taking his coat off, he tossed it over the vehicle’s seat. Then he sauntered over to where Adam lay curled on the pavement, squatting down to talk to him as the kicking ceased, the words lost in the distance. Adam peered up at the man through his arms, his sobs peeling in the night air.

Molly pressed a hand over her mouth, crushing the cries in her throat as Hunter seized Adam’s head with both hands before pounding it against the pavement in an icy rage.

Molly fell back, her body shook, tears trickling down her face as she fought the urge to take flight. She knew better; don’t move, don’t make a sound.

Though she wanted to close her eyes and not see what was happening, they remained open, peering through the railings. The glow from the closed shop acted like a stage light shining on the performance beneath them.

Breaking through the swearing of the men, a familiar voice. It was Sheila, having opened the door of the HMO. She had stepped out into the night air in nothing but her dressing gown and slippers. ‘What the fuck are you doing out here? What’s all the noise about?’

Molly silently screamed in her head for her to go back inside. Get back and lock the door. Peering over Sheila’s shoulder, Linda had drawn up behind her, hugging herself in the cold. Molly, desperate to warn them, bit back on her lip. It was too late when they realised it was Hunter and his two lackeys. Briggs drew a revolver from the back of his pants. Molly’s heart stopped as he aimed, and her breath caught in her throat. The first shot found its target between Sheila’s eyes. Her body tumbled down the stone steps. Linda screamed and turned to flee back through the door. Two bullets sunk into her back, and she crumbled. Her hand stretched out to crawl away. A moment later, she was still.  

Hunter’s eyes shifted from the bloody scene to the smaller man. The man pinned under Hunter’s gaze looked confused by what had happened. Hunter barked something at him that Molly couldn’t catch. Her hand had clapped over her mouth as her body shook.

The man jumped into action, retrieving a weapon from an ankle sleeve on his leg and passing it to Hunter’s waiting hand.

Hunter aimed at Adam’s head and pulled the trigger. Molly swallowed a scream as a light flickered above her, followed by more lights along the street.

The two men jumped into the vehicle while Hunter lingered at the car door as if he had sensed he was being watched.

Molly’s fingers tightened their grip around the cold metal railings as Hunter surveyed the area. His gaze burned through the darkness, pierced by the lights coming on down the street. Molly was too slow to creep out of sight, and she was sure he had seen her. If he had, there was nowhere to go. She had no way out. They had killed her friends because they would have witnessed them killing Adam, and she would be next if they found her.

The moment passed. The car door slammed as sirens cut through the air.

Molly snatched the tears from her face as she hurried away, darting in and out of the shadows, her mind reeling. Her chest throbbed as she battled to catch her breath, yet she needed to keep moving. To get as far away as she could, taking cover in doorways as ambulances and police cars flashed past her.

It was common knowledge there was a war between drug dealers, but nothing prepared her for this. Molly hurried along the high street, checking over her shoulder, dodging into the shadows as cars passed, waiting until the lights disappeared before moving again. Passing the rough sleeper, Bill, wrapped up for the night, she swallowed back the bile in her throat, sniffing back the fluid running from her nose. What to do? If Hunter had seen her, he wouldn’t stop until she was dead.

Chapter 2

DETECTIVE INSPECTOR Karen Pearce surveyed the carnage at number 152 Weston Road. Jacob, the forensic pathologist, greeted her with a shake of his head.

‘A slaughter.’

‘How many?’ Karen asked Jacob, a long-time forensic pathologist due to retire in a year. It took a lot to horrify Jacob. No gallows humour that morning, no pleasant smile on her arrival, and those grey eyes filled with sadness. 

Three girls stood on the path further up, wrapped in blankets and crying. They were the lucky ones since they had remained in their beds.

‘Three bodies out here. At first sight, death by gunshot.’ Jacob forced a smile. ‘Catch up later when I have more to offer.’ He climbed the steps to a girl’s body by the door, where a team member was taking a body temperature.

Karen stood back; her foot found the road from the pavement as she glanced around the area, picking up on the movement of curtains by the curious homeowners. Were they homeowners? She pondered for a moment. No, primarily rooming houses or apartments. They had their work cut out or, rather, uniforms, with the house-by-house and room-by-room interviews.

She craved a smoke but had given up the nasty habit in her condition. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a mint instead, peeling off the covering as she glanced at the bloody footprints that had tracked through the scene, created by the survivors, now dressed in white suits, hugging each other.

Karen stood back, pulling the mask away from her nose to allow the cool air to reach her lungs and popping the mint into her mouth.

The number of blue flashing lights of the police vehicles was a testament to the seriousness of the crime. And Karen hoped that CCTV footage from the area would prove helpful; she could only hope.

Sergeant Martin Andrews came up to her.

‘A nasty one,’ he said, pulling down his mask to breathe in the cool air—his invasive gaze on Karen’s face. ‘Are you okay, boss? He yawned, giving the impression that someone had just dragged him out of bed, that someone his mother probably had.

‘Yeah, needed some air.’ She wouldn’t admit to feeling sick, putting it down to being four months pregnant. Only she and her husband, Mark, knew. That was the way Karen would keep it for now. The last thing she wanted was people tiptoeing around her.

‘There should have been six girls there, judging from the names on the containers in the fridge. Two are dead, and three escaped, leaving one girl missing.’

Karen stared at him. ‘You’ve been inside?’

‘Yep, boss, through the back way, but all dressed up as you can see.’

Karen sighed. Martin was impatient, and she could sympathize with that. She nodded to the girls, now being led into a police vehicle. ‘Do we have the name of the missing girl?’

‘Molly Jones.’

So, where was she? Had she seen the crime scene and fled, or had she been a witness and escaped? Then Karen supposed she might still be working and unaware of what had happened. Something to sort out later, but now she braced herself to catch up on the forensics. Though doubtless, Jacob would complain that he couldn't confirm anything until he had followed all the procedures.

The third killing in a month and gang-related, this one was the nastier. The stakes were increasing, and Karen and her team had to up their game.

MOLLY WALKED, SOMETIMES ran, and eventually slowed as her shoes wobbled beneath her. As cars drove by, she folded into darkened doorways, covering her mouth in fear her hot breath might give her away. It was getting harder to ignore the pain in her feet. Three-inch heels, not designed for a hike, and if she checked, she was certain her heels would be bleeding.

Molly continued to walk away from the town, with no idea where. She paused only to catch her breath or when the occasional police vehicle passed her—not tempted to flag them down. She already knew from Adam and the girls; many were on the take. She couldn’t trust them; three of her regulars were police officers—freebees to avoid being arrested for soliciting.

The town’s lights were behind her as she crossed a housing estate. The occasional dog barked, and security lights lit her up, like eyes watching her, waiting until she passed before going back to sleep.

Molly found herself on a country road heading towards the village of Waddington as the clouds moved across the sky, covering the moon. The occasional vehicle headlights approaching pierced the darkness, filling her with panic.

Ahead of her was the welcome relief of a bus shelter. And just in time, drops of rain hit her face. It would pour down, and Molly found it harder to ignore the pain in her feet. She collapsed onto the hard plastic bench of the shelter, kicked off her shoes, and touched her heels with her fingers to confirm that the skin was broken and wet with blood.

As she looked out across the fields opposite, she couldn’t think. Her heart thumped in her chest, and she didn’t know what she would do.

Molly let her head drop to her knees, releasing the fear lodged in her chest with a cry of frustration, as much as fear and anger. The worst of it was she had no one she could go to beg for help. Molly angrily sniffed the tears back. She was alone, and no one was getting her out of this except her.

Molly was accustomed to being pursued, even if only by intoxicated individuals who considered her an easy target. And, of course, her pimp, Adam, was never there then. Molly had thought her way out of it. No one knew the town like she did—every hiding place and dark corner. This was different; the men after her weren’t drunks after a free shag. They carried weapons and were dangerous killers. And they had robbed her of her only safe place, the HMO, now a crime scene.

Her heart ached for her friends, but they were dead; Molly was alive, and if, as she suspected, Hunter had seen her, there was no doubt they would hunt her down. She couldn't stay in the town, dare not. She could trust no one. Once they spread the word about her, someone would give her up for the price of a fix. Her only chance was to leave the area.

The road she was on led to Bury, hardly any better, but from there, she would jump on a train to take her as far away as the money she had on her would take her.

Her eyes flickered to the sky, the stars hidden by the dark clouds. The sound of rain beating on the shelter roof was welcome, preferable to the silence. A glance at her mobile told her it was close to 2 a.m.

‘Think,’ she whispered, drying her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. Molly had the cash from the last punter tucked in her bra and her cash card. Her hand went to her hair, her fingers searching for the scrunchie. It was there.

A glance at her clothes, the short red skirt barely covering her arse and the cream top hugging her breasts was inappropriate for the cool October weather; the only clothing keeping her from freezing was the yellow jacket, a hand-me-down from Sheila. Molly looked like the sex worker she was. And she needed to blend in. With her limited resources, her only option was to get clothes from a charity shop.

Her heart slowed as her breath warmed, her hands cupped against her mouth. Checking the battery life of her phone, it read twenty-four percent. That wouldn't last long, and she could not return to the house to pick up her charger. She would need another one, and Molly sighed. Even more money she didn't have.

Who was she kidding, anyway? There was no one she could call. Staring at her phone screen, the only thing it was good for now was keeping up with the news. It occurred to her with a sudden spike of fear Adam had her phone number, as did the other girls. Reluctantly, Molly took the SIM card out and laid it on the bench before smashing it with the heel of her shoe in the hope it wasn't too late. Then she slipped the phone back into her bag before securing it around her neck and over her shoulder. Another expense would be a new SIM card.

The vision of the men on their killing spree