ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror

Frankie laughed his head off. “You’re shitting me? Course they will!”


“Not if you threaten to send someone round to finish the job. Just like the kid in the bathtub – nothing gets said to the police and everything stays cool.”

Everything will not be cool, thought Andrew as he looked across at his catatonic wife, bleeding from her butchered face beneath a bald head. This isn’t going to end with you just walking away, scot free. No way in hell.

Frankie took some time to think about things. Andrew took the same time to do some thinking of his own. If Frankie did leave, then the first thing Andrew would do was call the police. But if Frankie stayed, then he most certainly intended to commit murder. If that was the outcome then Andrew wasn’t going to go down without a fight. The agony of his tooth extraction had reawakened his senses to the point that they were on high alert. If Andrew was going to save his family it would be now while everyone was distracted.

“I’m sorry,” Frankie told his brother earnestly. “I can’t leave things now. My business isn’t done. Got to ride this thing to the end.”

I’ll end it for you right now, you son of a bitch.

Andrew leapt from the armchair and barrelled into the back of Frankie as hard as he could. The body tackle sent Frankie forward with enough force that he flipped clear over the room’s coffee table and landed awkwardly on a shoulder. Like angry bees, the twins were on him in an instant.

Andrew lunged aside as Dom attempted to tackle him. The teen missed and went tumbling into the TV stand headfirst. Without thinking, Andrew swung his leg and connected with the boy’s ribs, enjoying the crunching impact it made. Michelle attacked next. The wicked little harlot screeched at him like a medieval warmaiden. Andrew had no time to consider the ethics of hitting a girl and threw the hardest punch he could produce. Lips and teeth mushed beneath his colliding fist and Michelle flew backwards, already unconscious on her way down to the floor.

Next up was Jordan. He came at Andrew with his arms wide, embracing him in a crushing bearhug and ramming him into the nearest wall. Andrew lost his breath as his cracked ribs impacted against the hard plasterboard. Unable to free his arms, he did the only thing he could think of: he bit Jordan in the face as hard as he could. Andrew felt his teeth slice through the succulent flesh of the boy’s cheek and felt almost orgasmic as agonised screams – that for once were not his own – filled the living room. He bit down harder, not releasing his grip until a fatty chunk of flesh fell away in his mouth. Andrew spat the morsel onto the already ruined carpet and pushed the shuddering teen away.

Andrew felt as though he was outside of his body now, controlling his rage-infected limbs from far away as they rattled with murderous intent. After being captured and subdued like an animal, Andrew was finally free – and all he wanted now was to see the blood of his captors flowing as freely as his own.

But before Andrew had a chance to sow his vengeance and free his family, he found himself once again powerless. Frankie stood in front of the sofa, a knife around Bex’s throat. She was still bound and gagged but Andrew could tell by his daughter’s eyes that she was terrified.

“Just let her go, Frankie, and I’ll let you walk out of here alive.”

Frankie cackled. “You’ll let me walk out of here alive. It’s you that’s a dead man.”

Andrew shook his head. “Shoes on the other foot now. I’m going to rip you apart first opportunity I get. Best chance you’ve got is to run.”

Frankie stared at Andrew as if he were insane. “You for real? I’d kill you before you even got close to me. I’m Frankie-fuckin-Walker.”

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