Sangre De Toro (Old Draft - Now Published!)

Chapter 44 - Sand and Blood

CW: Attempted (don't worry) sexual assault scene

'...everything is wonderful, yes. Just wonderful,' Henry simpered to the hotel owner and his son. Their shoes clunked on a metal platform. The group stood metres, possibly centimetres away from Rita; the first time she'd heard Henry's voice since he kidnapped her. Her cell was the length and width of a bull slightly bigger than Pepelito. The ceiling was  too high for her to reach, even when she jumped. The tiny holes at the top let in no light.

Rita had tried to follow Pepelito after the plane doors banged shut, when he'd run into the darkness; fright and shock had caused her to drop the pole. Unable to see where she was going, she had stumbled down the lightless corridors after the bulls and blundered through a labyrinth of narrow passages. Several doors had slammed behind her; she'd taken a wrong turn into the tiny compartment. She'd screamed at first, banged on the door to be let out, before the thought of Henry getting himself off to her screams repulsed her so much she'd stopped.

Nobody seemed to have heard anyway.

'It's my great pleasure, Henry. As long-standing, wholehearted supporters of yours, we will most certainly assist you in whatever you require. Won't we, Edwin?'

'I do have a slight quibble about the sand, given my bulls are from authentic Spanish encastes, and their gait will be of some import,' Henry said. Rita punched her mouth with her fist to stop herself laughing. This sadistic serial killer, who presumably planned to kill her, was complaining about sand?

'The sand?' the hotel owner said.

'Yes, Jolyon. Why have you filled the arena with builder's sand from an industrial estate, rather than authentic Spanish albero? Will it not be rather dense? I'm risking my life with two raging bulls.' Henry's voice was ice cold. Rita could not believe what she was hearing.

They have all lost it, she thought. Not just him.

'As am I, Henry. One of mine is even authentically Spanish. It is my 25th birthday, after all. I see no problem with the sand, it's from a British source, better than some EU import. Carlos Lopez, who will face Bulls 2 and 4, has informed me he prefers it to the traditional variety,' Jolyon's son Edwin said in a haughty, aggrieved tone.

Rita held her breath incredulously.

Bulls 2 and 4?

'I see,' Henry said with a slight sneer. Rita wanted to laugh at his folly and scream in horror. Like Castella, he'd put himself above the law – where he probably still remained – with wealth, power and connections.

'I am sure it shall be suitably different. Perhaps, when taurine activities are once again legal in our land, this uniquely British sand will be part of our own tradition.' Henry's voice was mocking and sardonic.

'Rest assured, Henry, there is nothing to worry about, old sport,' Jolyon said. Maybe he didn't know she was there? If Henry pissed these people off enough, would they grass him up themselves?

'I'm sure not. Forgive me.'

They were obviously part of some illegal British bullfighting network, so they'd probably keep their mouths shut, but Henry's case was all over the news. Maybe one would be tempted to claim the reward; these men treated each other as terribly as they did the poor animals. And planes were noisy. Someone would have heard it landing.

Surely?

Rita tensed up. From the way their steps vibrated, she knew they were directly above her. Early that morning – she assumed it was morning – she'd heard a bull whimpering in distress as a group of men laughed, a terrible sound made worse by the silence of the place. Please, don't let that be Pepelito, she'd thought. She had tried to force her fingers under the door, but she'd only scraped her hands underneath the metal and cut her finger.