The taskmaster, p.1
The Taskmaster, page 1
Copyright Material
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Any trademarks, product names, or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used for reference only.
Copyright 2025 by Nikki J Summers.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without the express, written consent of the author. A CIP record of this book is available from the British Library.
Editing/Proofreading: Lindsey Powell &
Caroline Stainburn at CLS Editing
Interior designed and formatted by: Lou J Stock
Cover Image by: Designs By Charlyy
Contents
Playlist
Trigger Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
Bonus Chapter
Need more of The Taskmaster?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other books by Nikki J Summers
Playlist
Available to download on Spotify
Exit Music (For A Film) – Radiohead
12 Rounds – Bohnes
A Work of Art – Ice Nine Kills, SHAVO
Cradles – Sub Urban
I Am Defiant – The Siege
Bad – Royal Deluxe
Bad Guy – Falling In Reverse, Saraya
Uninvited – Alanis Morissette
Bodies – Drowning Pool
The Drug In Me Is You – Falling In Reverse
Emergence – Sleep Token
Still Don’t Know My Name – Labrinth
AMERICAN HORROR SHOW – Snow Wife
Caramel – Sleep Token
Crawling – Linkin Park
The Worst In Me – Bad Omens
Head Over Feet – 2015 Remaster – Alanis Morissette
Provider – Sleep Token
Trigger Warning
Please read and take note of the trigger warnings listed below for The Taskmaster. This is a dark, serial killer, stalker romance with some very dark themes. Your mental health matters, please take care of you first.
The Taskmaster is also written in British English; therefore, the spelling and grammar will differ from American English.
Murder
Violence
Gore
Suicide
Death of a parent
Child neglect
Child cruelty
Child S.A. (Historical – for both main characters)
Self-harm
Explicit torture scenes
Torture mind games, leading to a gory death
Kidnapping
Drugging
Stalking
Drowning
Death by hypothermia
Forced Imprisonment
Human Trafficking
Attempted S.A. of the main female character but not by the main male character
Stillborn at birth (Historical reference)
Baby snatching/ baby trafficking
Cancer (Parent)
Scenes of a sexual nature between the main characters (all consensual)
“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
William Shakespeare
Chapter One
Twenty-Four Years Ago
Our sirens blared, blue lights lighting up the dark street as we drove at speed through the rundown urban neighbourhood. We swerved around a sharp corner and pulled up in front of a shabby terraced house. The front door was off its hinges; the first response unit that’d already arrived couldn’t wait for back-up. They knew there was danger, and they had to get inside. But the question was, did they get here in time?
I shut off the engine, radioing to let dispatch know we’d arrived. There was an officer standing guard at the front door to the property. The place hadn’t been properly cordoned off yet, and forensics were on their way. But it was essential to preserve the scene and not contaminate any evidence. Whatever we found inside, we knew it was going to be tough.
It was four a.m., but there was a large gathering of neighbours outside on their lawns, no doubt woken by the sirens and the flashing lights, desperate for any shred of gossip. Or maybe it was the screaming they’d heard before that alerted them, followed by the hollering and forced entry of our first responders. Dispatch told us a neighbour called this one in. It was a domestic. I hated when they used that word to describe whatever had happened here tonight. Domestic made it sound trivial. It wasn’t. Someone had been hurt by a person they trusted. It was the worst betrayal of all, in my humble opinion.
My partner, Jenkins, and I got out of the car and strode up the uneven pebbled path, we glanced around the neighbourhood at the gawping crowds, thirsty for a show. Like the vultures that used to gather at public executions back in the day, they were here for the entertainment.
“You’d think they’d have something better to do than stand around gossiping. They’re like sharks, circling, out for blood,” I said, as we approached the officer guarding the door.
“Shame they didn’t come out of their houses when it was really kicking off and do something useful,” Jenkins replied.
But this was a poor area. A crime-riddled estate where people were all too happy to look the other way to avoid getting involved. We knew the place well, so it was no surprise they’d kept their distance.
The officer on the door gestured to the inside of the house and told us, “It’s not a pretty sight in there.” A grim expression on his face as he shook his head.
We put on our protective gear, then I pushed past him to enter, muttering, “When is it ever a pretty sight for a callout like this?”
To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew from the initial callout that this was a violent incident involving a male and a female who lived at the property. Philip and Ruth Dalton were the names given to us. We didn’t recognise them. There were a lot of families in this area whose last name would’ve sent alarm bells ringing, but Dalton wasn’t one of them. Maybe they’d flown under our radar. But not anymore.
We stepped into the tiny hallway with no carpet on the floor and filthy floorboards. I screwed my face up as a musty, damp smell hit me, but once we entered the living room, the metallic stench of blood and the foul odour of excrement made us both recoil. I took a handkerchief out of my pocket and put it over my face to help counteract the effect this house was having on my guts. Jenkins did the same.
Our superior, Officer Stamford, appeared in the doorway across the living room and said, “The incident started down here.” He nodded to the smashed TV on the floor and the upturned coffee table.
The place didn’t look habitable, despite the mess from the altercation. The walls were stained, and the curtains were ripped and hanging off the curtain pole. The sofa had no cushions fitted, and springs protruded from the base. A quick glance to the left showed a kitchen with dirty dishes piled everywhere, old takeaway boxes and rotten food festering on the counter, and rubbish strewn all over the floor.
“Neighbours said they heard her screaming for help,” Stamford added. “They said she screamed most nights but tonight was different. It went on longer. Got louder. And then they heard the gunshots.”
I shook my head. “So they heard her scream for help on other nights and didn’t think to call it in before?” The longer I stayed in this job, the more I lost faith in humanity. What sort of people listened to a woman suffer and ignored it, day after day?
“Gunshots. Great,” Jenkins stated. “So what are we dealing with? Has he fled the scene?”
“No. Both bodies are upstairs in the bedroom,” Stamford replied. He didn’t move with any urgency, a clear indication that they were dead, and there were no other suspects for us to investigate. We were only here to collect evidence.
“Lead the way, officer,” I said, and trod carefully through the living room to the doorway where he stood.
There was a narrow staircase behin d the door, with bloody handprints streaked up the dirty wall, where they’d obviously fought and she’d fled for her life. Stamford led the way, followed by myself and then Jenkins, as we all took slow steps towards something none of us wanted to see.
“Has anyone been to the neighbours yet to get their statements?” I asked as we ascended the stairs.
“I’ve sent an officer round. Not sure how much help they’ll be, though. You know what people around here are like. They see a police badge and suddenly amnesia hits harder than anything.”
I knew that was true. I’d lost count of the times a case had crumbled because someone from this area wouldn’t talk, or they retracted their statement. But what could you do?
We got to the top of the stairs, where I could see a tiny bathroom just ahead, but Stamford turned to the left, taking us straight into the bedroom.
I was not prepared for what I saw.
It was the smell that hit first, even with the handkerchief covering my face. Blood, excrement, death, so overpowering it seeped through your pores with every second you stood there looking at the scene in front of you. I had to switch something off in my head, pause my emotions and observe it like it wasn’t real. But it was. It was so fucking real and so fucking gruesome.
A woman was hanging from the ceiling, with a rope around her neck. Her stomach had been cut from chest to abdomen, and her organs spilled out of her onto the filthy, blood-soaked floorboards. I fought the sick feeling in my stomach and took a step closer, inspecting the bruises on her naked body and her fingernails that were bloody, some hanging off because of how hard she’d fought her attacker. An attacker who lay at her feet with half of his skull missing, and the gun still clutched in his murderous hand.
“I see he took the cowards way out,” I remarked, using my foot to prod his lifeless body.
“And she put up one hell of a fight,” Jenkins replied.
“That isn’t the worst of it,” Stamford said, nodding to something on the floor, and we moved to see what he meant.
Jenkins stalked out of the room when he realised what it was, holding his hand over his mouth as he made retching sounds. I felt the same, but I managed to tamper it down.
On the floor, lying in the bloody mass of her organs and intestines, was a dead foetus. A baby that hadn’t been given a chance. Cut from its mother in a fit of unimaginable horror by this man, who I assumed was the father.
“What kind of monster would do this?”
“He wasn’t fucking human, that’s for sure,” Stamford replied.
We stood for a moment in stunned silence. We knew we had to do our job and gather evidence, but for a split second, we let ourselves be human; fathers, husbands, men who thanked the lord that the evil we saw in our profession didn’t invade our lives and our families like it had for this mother.
“Forensics are on their way,” Stamford said as Jenkins walked back into the room, keeping his head up but averting his eyes to avoid the massacre on the floor.
“This is a pretty fucked up domestic,” Jenkins whispered, heading over to the window and peering out at where our car was parked. “Considering the level of violence, why didn’t anyone call this in earlier? I mean, days or weeks earlier? Don’t tell me this all happened on one night, no build up, no sustained violence over time.” He gestured with a nod to the neighbourhood beyond the window. “People out there, they knew what was happening. They had to.”
“If they knew, they didn’t care enough to act on it,” I said, stepping to the closet opposite where the mother hung. I don’t know why, but I pulled open the door.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
My knees buckled when I saw what was inside.
There was a stained, dirty cot mattress on the floor, filthy rags scattered across it, and in the middle of that piss-soaked mattress sat a little boy.
Chapter Two
The little boy couldn’t have been older than two, maybe three. He wore a dirty, grey vest, and his little grey underpants were filthy, from where he’d soiled himself.
Cautiously, I crouched down to be at his level. I was a father myself, so it was instinct to take the handkerchief from my face and smile kindly at him so I wouldn’t frighten him.
“Hey there,” I said in a low, calm voice. “You’re safe now, buddy. No one is going to hurt you. We’re here to look after you. Okay?”
I reached forward, but the little boy scurried into the corner of the closet to get away from me. A waft of shit, piss, and the stale smell that showed he hadn’t been washed for weeks blew over me, but I didn’t react. It wasn’t his fault, and as I looked at the slats on the closet door, I could tell this boy had seen everything that’d happened in this room, and my heart broke for him.
“Jesus,” Stamford gasped. “I had no idea.” Then after a beat he stated firmly, “We need to get him out of here. Now.”
Stamford pulled his radio out to request further assistance, and Jenkins grabbed a sheet off the bed and stood close to the cupboard, holding the sheet up to try and shield the boy from the scene behind us. But it was too little too late.
I couldn’t stand to see the poor lad shivering in the corner while three grown men, three strangers, stood in this room towering over him. A room with a scene no one should ever witness, least of all a little boy. I needed to get him out of this house, but I could see how truly terrified he was. I had to tread carefully.
He tucked his knees under his chin, and I could see the shine in his eyes from the tears he wasn’t crying. He started to rock on the mattress, staring straight ahead with eyes wide, but there was a deadness behind them.
“You’re going to be okay,” I reiterated, moving a little closer to him. I did it slowly. I didn’t want to add to his terror. “We’re here to help you.”
His chin quivered, but he didn’t react to me or what I was saying, he just continued to rock and stare ahead in a daze.
I noticed a broken toy train to the side of the mattress, and I picked it up.
“My little girl likes trains too. Is Thomas your favourite?”
He didn’t answer, but he did turn his head slightly to look at the train in my hand.
“My little girl likes James because he’s red. Red is her favourite colour.”
He stared at the train, and I was glad he was focusing on that. Hopefully I was getting through to him.
“Do you have a favourite colour?” I asked, and he shook his head to say no. “I like red too. I think that’s why Abi chose it for her favourite, because of me. Have you ever been on a real train?” He shook his head again. “Maybe I could take you one day...”
Stamford butted in, “Dan, just pick him up and get him out of here. We have protocols to follow. You know that.”
But I didn’t want to follow a manual. The boy was traumatised, and I wanted to do what I could to help.
Keeping my voice light and calm, I replied, “Cases like what? Because I don’t think I’ve ever been faced with this before, so let’s just go with our gut, yeah?”
He was too busy talking into his radio to respond, and I moved to sit on the mattress next to the little boy, holding my breath at the smell permeating the air. But I didn’t care. I was fighting the urge to pull this little lad into my lap and hold him tight.
“You look like a clever boy,” I said, and he nodded. “I knew it. I’m very good at guessing things like that. “Do you think you could do something really clever for me?”
He took a moment, then gave me a slight nod. “I know this is tough for you, so I’m going to give you a few choices. I need to get you out of here...” He started to panic, shuffling his feet to try to get away from me, even though he couldn’t go any further back, and he gave a little squeal that broke my fucking heart.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Don’t get upset. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. If you’re not ready to leave this closet, that’s fine. We can work up to that.” He was breathing heavily, but I think my words were getting through to him. “Why don’t you turn and face this wall,” I said, tapping the back wall of the closet. I wanted him to turn around so he couldn’t see the room in front of us. Jenkins might’ve been holding up the sheet to hide it, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
