The kid’s hands are covered in blood, his face unidentifiable; he moans terribly and tries to protect his face. Hook looks around and sees the knife glinting, within reach. Grabbing it he holds it to the kid’s eye; he shakes his head in a desperate attempt to evade the point.
“Where’s Ulrike?”
“Why?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m her husband...” ‘Huthband’: the kid lisps through broken teeth.
Hook holds the blade to his cheekbone. “Yeah, the one who raped her.”
“Me? No!” The kid’s eyes widen then close tight. “Never! I’d never do that to her, I love her! It was you what fucking raped her!”
Hook leans in closer, hissing. “It’s love, cunt!”
“That’s not what she said!”
“OK, where is she? Let’s sort this out!”
“I don’t know! I swear! I just wanted to get a few quid out of you...”
Hook has read that in American prisons the inmates use rape as a form of hierarchical device, it having nothing to do with homosexuality. He hadn’t bought it at the time, but crouched over this prone man, knowing he can do as he wishes, the thought crosses his mind – he could fuck his arse and there’s nothing he could do about it. He’s a rapist – how would he like it?
Hook decides it’s a bad idea. In any case, he hasn’t brought a condom. What if you fuck someone then they say they’ve got AIDS: how does that affect the hierarchies?
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