“My name’s Beattie and this is my friend Robyn,” I lied, to the yesterday man in the crumpled suit.
My fingers stroked his crotch, as his car skated the wet streets like a speedboat. Parked by the river, I bent to suck his cock almost gagging on the thick veined shaft. Then, as I spat his final load into a puddle, my girlfriend leaned forward to draw her blade across his throat.
Pockets stuffed with green, we linked arms and headed back towards the high street. An old man selling newspapers smiled at us.
PREDATORS PROWL STREETS, ran his headline.
