She struck him three times and took a step back. Stunned he looked down at the blood weeping from his chest and stomach. The squelch when she removed the knife had shocked them both and a second or two later he slumped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
She dropped the knife and it bounced on the stone floor with a clink and a clunk. She looked down at him in disgust and placed her right foot on his chest. The sole of her red shoe slid in his blood and she pushed her stiletto heel deep into his wound. His mouth opened, a gurgling noise rose from deep in his throat and his head lopped to one side. He was gone.
She grinned and whispered, 'My turn you bastard.'
It hadn't always been like that. Once she had doted on him and had become bewitched by his charm. But that was a couple of years ago and it had turned to hate after six months. She vowed never to trust a man ever again. If only he hadn't seduced her mother.