But he knew Kate would not understand his need. The need to destroy the man who had ravaged the only decent thing he’d had. It would cleanse him. He knew he could lie to himself, say he was ridding the world of a piece of shite. That’s what Willy had termed it. But deep inside he knew that that was only a small part of it. Revenge was what he wanted. Revenge, and the feeling of blood on his hands.

Kate watched the emotions cross his face and her heart went out to him.

Then, suddenly, they were on the floor.

Her clothes were being pulled off her and he was inside her, thrusting away as if his life depended on it.

She had never known a loving so brutal and so beautiful. They came together in a shuddering climax and then lay there, holding one another tightly.

Patrick stared at her dark eyes and wished he did not have to do what he was going to do. Because if this exquisite creature ever found out, he would once more lose everything he had.

But even Kate’s love wasn’t enough. Revenge had a bitter taste already, but there was no going back.

George was humming softly to himself. Cynthia was quiet and pliable. He arranged her limbs once more to his satisfaction. She had muscular thighs. All the horse riding, he guessed. She had passed out with fright, and that had annoyed him. Because tonight he wanted, needed, a woman to beg.

His mother should beg really. Beg him to forgive her. But she wouldn’t.

He felt the rage coming again, then he heard the noise. It was a child’s crying.

James was awake.

Cynthia stirred beneath him. The crying of her child was penetrating somewhere in her unconscious. She opened her eyes and, remembering what had happened, looked at George, terrified.

The crying was getting louder. The little hiccoughing sobs were like knife blades in her heart.

How long had she been out? Had the man hurt James? She tried to push herself up.

George tutted to himself. He felt the woman’s hands on his chest and the force as she tried to push him from her. An animal strength seemed to fill her body. Her child needed her. Her child was in danger.

They were all the same.

Cynthia brought up her knee. Panic over her child galvanised her into action. She caught George in the groin and he groaned, a white hot pain shooting into his testes. Lashing out with the knife, he swiped it cleanly across her throat, slicing the skin and veins as neatly as a surgeon.

Cynthia put her hands to her neck in shock. Bringing them away covered in blood. She opened her mouth but only a strangled gurgle escaped.

George watched her head snap back as she shuddered to her last sleep, the gaping wound spurting blood.