A State Of Sin Amsterdam Occult Series Book Two by Mark Hobson (golden son ebook .TXT) 📕

lips, followed by a peculiar wheezing. Christ, he thought in a sudden panic, the whole house will hear her.

Quickly slipping his hand inside his jacket he grabbed hold of one of the syringes and popped the cap off with his thumb. Leaning forward, he tugged at the neckline of her evening dress and yanked it down, and then jabbed the needle hard into the soft flesh at the back of her neck, pushing in the plunger to inject her with the full 2mg of sedative.

Breathing heavily, the driver stood back and watched as the drug immediately started to take effect, first causing an involuntary squirming, and then the brief and violent kicking of the legs as her body tried to fight the strong anaesthetic coursing through her system, with one of her legs catching the table and sending a vase of flowers crashing to the floor. Then a slowing down of her movements and a quiet mumbling, before she was fully unconscious.

The racket caused by the shattering vase could not have failed to alert everybody within earshot, and sure enough a male voice, coming from the living room next door, called out earnestly, “Honey, is everything alright?”

The driver turned just as the sliding wooden door was pulled aside, to reveal a short but squat man with a grey beard standing there and taking in the scene, no doubt wondering who this stranger in the baseball hat was. Then the gentleman glanced across to see his wife lying on the floor, before his eyes flicked back to the driver, mouth hanging open in alarm.

“Who are you?” he managed to splutter ridiculously, before the driver flung himself forward with another syringe clasped in his hand. Swinging his arm down he stabbed the needle straight through the man’s white shirt and into his chest, bringing a cry of alarm.

The driver watched as his victim stumbled backwards into the living room with the syringe still sticking out of his chest. He crashed into a wooden cabinet but remained upright, and then slithered along a wall, heading towards the arched entrance to the dining room. Yelling loudly in terror, he turned and stumbled away on his short legs, and the driver followed, expecting the sedative to start working. Yet to his alarm nothing seemed to be happening, the man was not losing his strength, and a few seconds later he slipped through the far doorway.

Snarling in anger, the driver chased after him, pulling out the third syringe.

Rushing through the door, he found himself in the dining room. The other man was incredibly still on his feet, and now moving quickly across the floor and making for the telephone on the wall, sending chairs crashing.

There must have been something wrong with the second dose of Midazolam, a faulty batch perhaps, either that or the doctor had an iron constitution. Whichever was the case, he had to stop him before he reached the telephone, and so once again he charged after the portly little man.

He barely made it in time. Bakker was just reaching out for the cordless phone when the driver grabbed a hold of his shoulder and yanked him back, and the two of them fell to the floor with a thud. The full weight of Bakker pressed down into him, knocking the wind from his lungs, but somehow he was able to slip his own arm around the other man’s body and stabbed down into his fat stomach, jabbing the needle into him over and over and squeezing every last drop of sedative out of the syringe.

With a violent twitch and a spasm, the drug at last hit him. The driver could hear him gasping loudly, his body arching and turning this way and that, crushing down onto him even further, before eventually he felt him sag. All of the strength seemed to go out of the man, and finally all movement ceased.

The driver pushed the body away and squirmed out from beneath it, and scrambled to his feet, struggling to get his breath back. Standing there, he looked down at the unconscious man.

It had taken 4mgs to subdue him - way too high a dose, and which would more than likely trigger a heart attack. Not that it mattered too much, not ultimately. But what it did mean was that he’d used up all three syringes, and there was still the daughter to deal with.

Everything was still alright, he told himself. His carefully worked out plan had gone out of the window, but he still had the Taser. All he had to do was find the girl.

She must still be in the house, he concluded. Probably upstairs in her room, hiding or hopefully blissfully unaware of the commotion downstairs. Well then - time to get down to business and finish this.

Sure enough, he found her cowering in her bedroom, curled up into a foetal position and wedged into the far corner, with her eyes squeezed shut in terror. She had a tight hold onto an iPhone, and no doubt she had dialled 112 to plead for help. No matter. It was inevitable that someone would eventually call the emergency services, all this meant was that he had to move that little bit faster.

Quickly he hit the girl with a short burst from the Taser, worried that too big a jolt might seriously harm the twelve year old. Then, whilst she was convulsing on the carpeted floor, he blindfolded her with a black scarf he pulled from his pocket and then hurriedly tied her hands and feet with the cords from a pair of dressing gowns, before shoving one of her own socks into her mouth to gag her and stifle the screaming. Then, hefting her onto his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, he carried her down the two flights of stairs, stepped over the unconscious body of the lady, and went straight out of the open front door.

Unlocking the back of his van, the driver carefully laid the young girl into the