No title

THIRD PERSON

"She's pregnant. The whore is pregnant," anger filled the female's voice.

"What? Are you completely sure?" A man in his late twenties asked, his fist banging on the desk in front of him.

"Yes, they announced it during a pack barbecue. The bitch was all smiles and so was Clive," her voice was like a banshee screeching.

"Father is not going to like this," the man mumbled and rubbed his forehead.

"You got that right," the girl said. Her make up was caked on her face making her look like a clown.

"We are going to have to change the plan completely. But this also may give us an advantage on both of them," his hands began to rub together in a menacing way.

His thoughts clouded with the desirable thoughts of pain he had to bring to the woman who ran away. Clara in a chair tied up while he burned her with silver or cutting her open one cut at a time.