Guilty As Charged… In Self Defence: A Short Story #kdsuspense #amreading

Just to Get Y’all Ready Here’s A Little Something From Us To you! A Bonus From Volume #1

Guilty As Charged, In Self-Defence.

 

AUTHOR ONE: SCENE ONE

“Your top is very stripy today.”

Dean announces with a quizzical lift of one brow. He’s practically blocking the doorway into the breakroom. I hate it when he does that. Our firm is the largest on this side of California, and of all the Lawyers that Martin Law could’ve chosen to partner me up with on the most important case imaginable, it had to be Dean.

Dean Pritcher, the handsome, young, successful and entitled douchebag. He doesn’t have much of a filter on the stupid shit he says, and he gets away with it, because his father is one of the most powerful money grabbers known in the law business. Dean has a thing for me – a major one. The annoying flirtatious comments have been in full swing, ever since I accidentally let him get into my pants during last year’s Christmas party. That’s right, I said accidentally, and I also said, during – not after.

The wine was exceptionally fruity, which I love, and he was very easy on the eyes that night. We’d had too much to drink, and after a few laughs about the firm’s crappy choice of music, we wound up sneaking off to fuck in his office. The rest of the party was singing Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree in annoying rounds of staccato, while I was two rooms over rocking a shaft of my own, singing a whole different kind of tune. It was actually a very exceptional fuck, and I can’t even begin to explain how much I hate to admit that. I’ve told him time and time again, that it was a one time thing. He’s yet to accept that as a reasonable turn down.

“Can you move please? The coffee over there isn’t going to pour itself into my mug.”

I hold up my black coffee cup with the words smarty-pants-attorney scrawled in fancy pink and white letters across it, and flash my most sarcastic grin in his direction. This is the cheesiest coffee cup a lawyer could possibly have, but my mom gave it to me as a gift when I passed the BAR a few years back. I haven’t started a single morning since without it.

“And, I love this shirt.” I retort as I squeeze past.

My mom raised me and my three younger siblings on her own, she couldn’t afford to pitch in a dime on my schooling. My father is long gone. He’s been in the six foot hole he belongs in, for fifteen years exactly this month. My dad was the entire reason behind my drive to make it through law school. I intend on playing my dutiful part in keeping men like him off the streets and out of the beds of women who clearly deserve better than waking up each day hoping it isn’t their last.

I paved my own way, I waited tables and climbed more stripper poles than I like to talk about to get myself here. I’ll be damned if I let a spoiled little daddy’s boy brat, like Dean, mess up my chances of making partner in this firm. I honestly don’t even think he likes me that much anyway. To him I’m more of a challenge than anything else. The one woman who’s ever turned him away. I’ve even heard him refer to me as a “prick tease” to his friends, when he assumed I was not within earshot to overhear such absurdity.

“I’m not a fan, it makes your tits look smaller than they really are. The necklines way too high.”

“I hate that you know what my tits look like.”

I really do love this shirt. The stripes are small, and they’re several shades of black and gray. The material is mostly spandex so it’s very soft against my skin and tucks nicely into this particular black pencil skirt. It’s my favorite skirt, I have it in four colors.

Dean remains in the doorway, but he rotates himself to keep a close eye on me as I pass. He does this often.  He doesn’t even actually use this break room, he has a single serving coffee machine and fridge in his own office. The only reason he comes here is to pester me. Even though we already spend enough time around each other as it is, especially with this particular case we’re working on. I can feel his eyes as they scour over my backside. I shift all my weight onto one leg, to accentuate my curves. Fuck it, I might as well show off what he can’t have.

“Did you get the email I sent you last night? Mrs. Chevelle will be here in an hour, and we need all of those documents finished.”

I say, while spinning back around to face him.

“I thought we were talking about your tits.”

I roll my eyes at his tenacity, this man is relentless.

“Can we please be professional?”  I ask wholly irritated.

“I mean, I know you’re young. But maybe it’s time to act my age for a change instead of yours.”

Dean’s perfectly white teeth make themselves known as he bites his lower lip. Wanting and teasing me with those soft squishy lips, just before displaying his biggest grin.

“So, you’re finally going to admit that you’re my cougar?” He asks with his sparkling brown eyes and smiling from his cheeks.

“Oh my God,” I mumble. “Just have it all ready, okay? I’ll be in your office in forty five minutes to review it before she gets here.”

I shove my way through the small space he’s allotted me for a passage through the doorway. My chest rubs softly across his upper abs on my way past, making my nipples slightly perk, and my hips brush his thighs. He practically towers me in height, making him that much harder to resist. The short contact of his body heat sends a shock between my legs. I hate that he makes me wet so easily. I find it best to stick with irritation and spite when dealing with him. It makes things much easier.

“It was finished an hour ago, Kitty.”

He hollers after me, just loud enough to be heard by the few suits at the end of the hallway. They don’t even look up.

“It’s Catherine.” I retort, without looking back.

“Kitty-Cat.” He calls followed by a purposefully low humming purr.

I can hear the smile behind the words. I grin, despite myself, as he can’t see my face anyway. Then I flip him the bird over my shoulder, and sway my hips just right in step, knowing full well what those sexy eyes of his are locked on.

***

I’m actually surprised at the stack of pages he gracefully hands over to me. He leans across the desk, putting his weight on his forearms, and smirks in my direction. I thumb through the pages, double checking the format and signature markers in each section. Dean added in all our client’s information in the exact places needed. For being a shoe-in attorney here, and given the job based on his father’s name, he’s surprisingly bright.

“I’ve got to admit I’m impressed, Dean. Everything looks great.”

He leans back into his chair, pushing it a couple of feet to the side of his desk, to get a better look at me. We’re now a mere couple of feet away, without any furniture between us to block his view.

“I concur.”

He says while rubbing his chin in thought, and staring blatantly at the exposed portion of my legs.

Before I have a chance to put his inappropriate innuendos in check, there’s a light tapping on his door. His entire office is made of the type of distorted glass that can be seen through from one side only. We can look out, but no one can look in. There are few offices in the building of its stature, and of course his is one of them. It made our one time sexual encounter that much more intoxicating. It was like having sex in public, yet not a soul could see it. I wonder how many other girls he’s fucked in this very room, as I look over to see the silhouette of his secretary standing at the door.

As soon as I turn back to Dean he winks at me. I wonder briefly if he’s secretly a mind reader. He calls her in without breaking eye contact. Becky is very tall and skinny with a quiet mousy voice. She blushes every time she addresses Dean, and stumbles over her words often. She walks in slowly and hesitant then clears her throat.

“Yes, um, Mr. Pritcher, you have a client here. Shall I, um, send her in?”

Dean hardly acknowledges her presence. He continues to stare into my eyes, refusing to let a blink slip through. The gaze is intense. I hate it when he does this in company. It’s like he’s staking an intense claim on me. Pretending that no one else around can pull his attention away. It’s irritating. Cute, but most definitely annoying nonetheless.

“Go ahead and welcome her in, Becky. I think Cat and I are ready. Aren’t we Kitty-Cat?”

“It’s Catherine.” I correct before turning to the timid girl. “Yes, we’re ready Becky, go ahead and send her in.”

Becky doesn’t look over at me. She’s just as stuck on Dean as he is on me. Just like every other girl around here. If he’s in the room, no one else on the planet exists. I just hope the judge is as impressed. I’m yet to work a case with him, and we could really use the help on this one.

Becky does as she is told, and shows Mrs. Chevelle in.

I instantly see my mother’s young face peering out through the eyes of Denessa Chevelle. Minus the prominent scar that my mom sports above her right eye, compliments of a grazing bullet provided by my dad’s nine millimeter. Denessa actually looks nothing like my mother, but the demeanour of a timid and abused pet is written all over her face. My heart pulls in a familiar ache for her.

I stand to my feet and walk over to greet her formally. Mrs. Chevelle keeps her head to the floor, staring at the tiles. A habit like this only comes from years of abuse. The woman clearly has no confidence or self -respect. Her eye is still blackened from the night that put her on the path to this very Martin Law office.  I introduce myself and Dean before urging her to take a seat, on a plush white chair across from my own. I straighten my back and place a comforting hand on her knee.

“Mrs. Chevelle, I want to start by telling you that everything we talk about today will stay in this office. No matter what it is.”

She nods and finally looks up to make eye contact with me, though Dean is still avoided completely. She glances in his general direction, but has trained her eyes to avoid any direct contact with those of a man.

“You’re safe here.” I continue. “We work for you, and are bound by law to maintain the utmost discretion. Do you understand that?” I ask softly with genuine concern.

“Yes.” She replies softly and it’s my mother’s voice that I hear.

My heart races as my mind runs circles around the similarities in this circumstance. I was only fourteen years old when my mom took my father’s life in self defence. He was too drunk to actually hit his target, her face. He made one shot that grazed the side of her face, and in return she finally snapped. My mom stabbed my father repeatedly in the chest and head with the crafting scissors she had in her hand, when he tried to kill her. I personally locked myself and my little brothers in the bedroom. I remember helping them to hide from our dad underneath my mom and dad’s shared bed when it happened. I came out of the room by the coaxing of a uniformed officer, and witnessed first-hand the bloody mess that was my home.

Mom was lucky, and didn’t have to face trial after the entire incident. She buried my dad, and has been reminded of her own past by the scar on her face every time she looks in a mirror.

Mrs. Chevelle isn’t going to be so lucky. Her husband was a very well-known public figure, and not everyone around believes her story of self-defence. In a way, you could say that I took the case in honor of my own mother. I finally get the opportunity to do what’s right by a woman who defended herself, before she ended up dead at the hand of a man who claimed to love her, just as my mom almost did. Dean’s voice pulls me back from the distracting memories.

“Mrs. Chevelle, we need to start by asking you a few questions.”

AUTHOR TWO: SCENE TWO

“Okay, no problem.”

She replies without moving her eyes over to Dean. I take the lead, I can see she feels more comfortable speaking to a woman.

“Mrs. Chevelle, can you tell us a bit about your marriage to Ronald?”

I watch Mrs. Chevelle take a deep breath and swallow hard at my question. She’s nervous. I remember the look on my mom’s face, as she was asked the same question all those years ago. As my eyes well up I get up from my seat, smooth over my shirt and sit down beside her. My knees touch hers, I take her small and wrinkled hands in mine.

To my surprise she doesn’t flinch, but her head remains low.  She grabs both of my hands tightly, and starts to sob lightly. As I hold onto her small hand it’s like an electric current runs from her to me. I feel it, the hurt, the pain, the years of being knocked around like a fuckin’ bean bag. For what, in the name of love? Because she’s too scared to up and leave, and try to make it on her own.

I look into her face as I wait for her response. The current runs through me still.  I can feel my breathing become deeper. It’s right here and now that I make up my mind, guilty or not, there is no way she’s going down for this shit. I’ll work that court room and whip those jurors into line and get a not guilty verdict, and acquittal. Pretty boy Dean, better step up too and not fuck up with any armature moves.

For a woman in her late forties she looks good. That’s what money and good Botox does for you. The only tell-tale sign she’s a woman of a certain age are her weathered hands, rather than her face.

“When you’re ready Mrs. Chevelle please.” I softly encourage her to speak.

“Well I don’t know what to say really. The stories you read in the glossy magazines and newspapers really don’t fit the truth. Ronald was a twisted man. No matter how much he gave to charity or how many humanitarian things he did, it was all a cover up.”

I gently let go of Mrs. Chevelle’s hands to pick up my legal pad and pencil. I’m not missing a beat of this. I fix her with an empathetic look and brace myself to hear her story.

“Behind closed doors Ronald Chevelle was a bully, drunk and a very nasty man. I had to grin and bear it all for years.”

“Can you go into a bit more detail Mrs. Chevelle?”

Dean cuts in. I almost forgot he was in the room. I shoot him a warning look. The last thing I need is Mrs. Chevelle to clam up. He’s moving too fast, with women like this you have to let them talk with little interruption. Mrs. Chevelle places her hands over her face, a muffled voice comes from behind them.

“Please, please I can’t talk with him here.”

I look over at Dean, I nod my head toward the door. I watch him unfold his lean body, adjust his tie and head out the door.

“He’s gone Mrs. Chevelle. Please when you’re ready tell me a bit about your home life?”

“Ma’am there’s no point really is there? No one will believe me, no one will understand just what I went through. I may as well give up.”

“No, no we must tell your story, you have to trust me…please let me help you.”

In a low gentle voice, I question her further.

“Did he ever put his hands on you Mrs. Chevelle?”

She looks up at me with damp pale blue eyes, her thin pencilled eyebrows meet in the middle as she searches my face. I know she’s trying to feel me out, to see if she can trust me.

“Umm hmm.”

She mumbles and blinks, as she does a single tear falls to her plump cheek. Her mascara runs as her tears start to overflow violently once again. As the tears escape her she stays mute, staring off into space. I take a deep breath and brace myself for the shit I’m about to hear.

“Mrs. Chevelle, what’s your earliest memory of him hurting you?”

I hand her a tissue from the box on the table, and watch her wipe her nose and smooth over her blonde sleek shoulder length hair.

“When I was pregnant, about four months or so. I was in the kitchen cleaning the floor. I had terrible nesting syndrome everything had to be just right. Ronald hated it, as soon as he placed something down I’d tidy it away. Anyway, I was mopping the floors and forgot to tell him. He came in and almost slipped as he entered the house. He stormed into the kitchen and grabbed me by the hair. He yelled in my face why the fuck didn’t I tell him the floor was wet? I told him I never heard him come in or I would have. Then he… he.”

I take her hand again and hold it tight. C’mon lady, open up tell me. She looks down at our hands intertwined and speaks in a small voice.

“He threw me to the floor and smashed my face on the tiles, then he kicked me in the stomach – four times and raped me.”

As her voice breaks and the tears and sobbing take over Mrs. Chevelle, I keep my poker face in check, but inside I’m fuming. Son-of-a bitch.

“Mrs. Chevelle, is that the reason you… is that how the–”

She cuts me off.

“Yes, yes that’s the real reason I lost my son at four months pregnant. I never miscarried like the glossy magazines said. He kicked it out of me.”

I sit up straight, for a moment. My face slips as I think back to the headline of Hello magazine all those years ago. Mrs. Chevelle did an interview with them following the “miscarriage” she had. She played the grieving mother over the loss of her son. She confessed following complications with her miscarriage, she can now no longer have children. She conceived in her late thirties, it was considered a miracle it happened.

“He made me do it, Ms. Ms…”

“Call me Catherine, please.”

“Okay, he made me do it Catherine. He made me decline a makeup artist the day of my interview, as they would see the black eyes. He demanded that I do my own makeup and cover up my marks well. He said if he looks at the magazine picture and notices unperfect makeup he’d beat me.”

“Mrs. Chevelle, is he the reason you can’t have children?”

She bows her head again and sniffs back the tears and snot.

“Yes.”

In my mind, I’ve won this case already. That piece-a-shit can go to hell. I place my personal emotions inline, and smooth over my chocolate brown sharp asymmetric blunt cut bob. I tuck the longer section of my hair at the front behind my ear, let go of her hand and make some swift notes. I keep my eyes low, I can’t afford for her to see my true feelings over this sick bastard.

“Mrs. Chevelle, was this the first beating? If not, can you confirm how long ago the first beating was?”

“I was thirty seven, so almost ten years ago when this happened.  The first one was two years after we married, when I was twenty.”

I do the math, that’s over twenty five years ago.

“Right, and before this day in the kitchen how did he treat you?”

“Well, he was a little rough, ya know during sex. He liked very strange things, sometimes he’d want to tie me up and punish me, really punish me. I’d have welts all over my breasts and thighs from the strap marks. He also asked me to do weird things like…”

“It’s okay, when you’re ready keep going.”

Mrs. Chevelle sighs. Her face pinches up into the most painful look I’ve seen on any one in a while, it’s clear this is a hard trip down memory lane for her. Her voice starts of slow and then ends up in a shrill plea by the time she’s done.

“Maybe I’m the weird one? I don’t know but he… he liked to force himself on me. Nothing would stop him, period or no period if you know what I mean, he would still force himself on me and inside me. Then tell me to clean up the mess of blood and say it was all my fault. Catherine, I’d beg and plead and tell him how painful it was and I was in pain from time of the month cramps but he never stopped. One time he held me by the neck and forced himself inside me up against the wall. I was terrified, he was high on cocaine. Afterwards he beat me, told me it was all my fault, and punished me for messing up the walls with blood.”

“Mrs. Chevelle, can I confirm a few things? One, you said no, and made yourself clear. Two, he would still demand sex from you. Three, he would enter you with force, while you had not consented to sexual relations?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Chevelle, this is going to be a hard question to ask, and even harder for you to answer. But you’ll be asked it in court, so we need to prepare. Why didn’t you file for a divorce?”

Her timid face looks up at mine. I take in her smudged makeup as she moulds her pretty face into a frown. Her pale blue eyes plead with me.

“Catherine, please don’t judge me okay. Look at you you’re pretty, you have brains, you’re a lawyer, you go to work and kick ass every day. Men respect you because you deserve it.”

She looks away from me for a beat as she continues.

“Shit, you demand it Catherine. I wish I could be like you. I saw the way that other lawyer looked at you when you told him to go. He knew better than to fuck around with you. Me, I… I can’t do that. I don’t have brains.”

I’m flattered, this is a Hollywood wife telling me she’d love to be like me. I study her closely and prick my ears up, something big is coming I can feel it. With a look of shame, she lowers her lashes again to her lap.

“I can’t read… properly.  I got pregnant at fifteen and my parents disowned me, I worked every strip club in London, after I gave up my child for adoption at sixteen. I’m British, not American, I hide my accent well after so many years here. At eighteen, I came over here to the USA on a visa. I worked the poles every night. That’s all I knew and still know how to do even to this day. I was a Las Vegas show girl. That’s how I met Ronald one night at The Golden Nugget Hotel, in downtown Las Vegas. He had money and demanded a private show, so I did it for the $10,000 tip he was offering. Back then to me that was a lot of money. Now I have shoes that cost more than that. The rest is history. I stayed by his side for security, I told him I wanted to learn to read and write and go to work, just like you be something ya know? He said no, pretty girls don’t need to learn that stuff. So, I stayed home, kept the house clean, went shopping and tried to make friends with the other Hollywood wives.”

Mrs. Chevelle pauses and takes a breather. She looks into my eyes, and then back down at her lap. I take her hand again and listen.

“The other wives never really accepted me, they still don’t after all these years. In their eyes, I’m just a stripper that got lucky. They’re all fake toward me, and I know they speak about me behind my back. Sometimes they laugh when I find it hard to order from the menu, I can’t read for God sake I’m not stupid.”

She takes another breather and squeezes my hand, as she shakes hard.

“I had one girlfriend, our friendship was never made that public, we were never often pictured together.  But we were best friends”

I watch Mrs. Chevelle’s face light up for the first time as she relives her friendship with her close girlfriend.

“We met one night out at a celebrity charity event Ronald was hosting. She sat next to me. She started talking to me like a normal human being she liked me. She knew my background and wanted to talk to me for research, about the underground world of stripping. She was a little older than me and wiser, she helped me a lot over the years. Ronald knew about our friendship.”

“Who? Tell me who is or was your girlfriend? Maybe we can talk to her as well as a witness.”

“No, we can’t she’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, my one-time girlfriend, and best friend was the author Jackie Collins. You know her right? We bonded over the struggles of adjusting to the USA, her being British she understood me. We would sit for hours and gossip about all the stories she was writing. She was so talented and great to talk to. One day, Ronald came home, he caught Jackie trying to teach me how to read and write. He threw her out, told her not to come back. Called me a cunt then beat me black and blue within an inch of my life. I was never allowed to talk to Jackie again. And I wasn’t allowed any female friends.”

 

My mouth hits the floor as Mrs. Chevelle pulls a photo from her purse. I take it in my hands and study the picture closely, her and the British New York Times bestselling author, at a party in elegant dresses, all smiles with a glass of champagne in their hand. Ms. Collins herself. Well I’ll be damned.

“Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that Mrs. Chevelle. I’m sorry for your loss of friendship and the treatment. Thank you for telling me your backstory. It’s useful for the jury to know.”

I flip over my page, and jot down her story.

“Mrs. Chevelle the night you attacked your husband, it was self-defence, right?”

She hesitates, for a moment I wonder if she is guilty of murder.

“Yes, of course.” She replies in a muffled voice.

“Okay. I think we’ve had enough for today. We’ll meet up in a few days before the trial starts and go over a few more things. Is that okay?”

“Umm hmm.” Is all she says as she starts to sob again.

I can’t help myself, I reach out to her and hug her tight against me as he breaks down crying heartfelt sobs. Her shoulders shake and my blouse is covered in her makeup, but it’s okay. As I hold her I wipe my own eyes and try to return to me. The tough ball-breaking lawyer and not the emotional wreck I feel. I can’t believe it. Raped, beaten, and deprived of the right to educate herself. If it’s the last thing I do, and for the sake of my own mother this woman is walking out of that court room, with a clean name.

***

After Mrs. Chevelle leaves, and Dean walks in, I head back to my office. I completely ignore Dean as he walks in. I brush past him and shove him slightly to one side.

“Wow, what’s got into you?”

“Nothing.” I call back as I walk off down the corridor fuming.

“You sure Kitty-Cat?”

I stop dead in my tracks, I spin around and sashay back up to him. Even in these heels he still towers over me. I get up in his face, before I know it the Brooklyn fire in me comes out. It’s like I step back in time, remembering what it was like having to protect myself and my little brothers in the ghettos of New York. Under his six foot three height I push Dean’s cheek, point in his face and yell up at him.

“Yo’, call me that one more time I’ll snap ya fuckin’ neck, got it?”

I spin around and the whole corridor looks my way. Fuck these suits. I straighten my skirt, hold my head up and sashay back to my office with my bitch face on show. The one I always reserved for those pricks back in Brooklyn. No one meets my eye as I walk along. I’m not in the mood for his banter about my tits, how good my ass looks in this skirt or how much he’d love to bend me over his desk or fuckin’ Kitty-Cat names. Now is not the time to piss me off with that shit.

I sit at my desk with my heels propped up. Reflecting on life, how unfair it can be sometimes. Some people don’t have the silver spoon others seem to have. They have to do what they have to do to get through each day. Even if it means staying married to a rapist, drug addict and abuser. My blood boils harder just as the door knocks.

“Yeah, come in.”

A timid looking Becky enters my office, she pushes her glasses back and shuffles over to me like a mouse. Her eyes rest on the floor and her shoulders hunch over.

“Urm, Catherine, Mr. Pritcher–”

I cut her off. From my desk, I remain rooted with my heels propped up, I bark at her.

“Stop Becky. Look at me when you’re talking to me God damn. Hold your fuckin’ head up. Get out of my office, and come back in. Let me know you’re present, don’t shuffle in like a chump.”

Becky looks at me wide eyed and scared. Like a rabbit caught in headlights.

“Catherine, I’m sorry.”

“Becky, shut up and get out there, knock on the fuckin’ door with some clout. Then get back in here and tell me whatever it is you wanna say. Go.”

I watch her turn on her flat sensible heels and walk out. The door knocks louder. Good girl. Now don’t let me down, show me who you are Becky. In she walks head high and hands clasped in front of her.

“Catherine.”

“What?”

“Mr Pritcher wants to know if he can meet with you in five minutes?”

“Hmm, okay.”

She lowers her head, ready to leave.

“Becky, sit down.”

“Am I in trouble Catherine cos I–”

Sit down, Becky.”

She takes a seat opposite me, I swing my heels down off my desk and lean over, I look her in the eyes. Of course, she moves her eyes away from mine. In a soft voice, I try to boost her confidence.

“Becky, in life there are two types of people, the doormats and the stilettos let’s call them. The doormats will never get very far, as the stilettos are too busy walkin’ all over ‘em. Ya see where I’m goin’ with this?”

“Umm I think so.”

“Becky, I don’t know why you come across as so shy, but people will take advantage of that, if you let them. I’m not saying change who you are, if you’re a shy person that’s fine. I’m saying believe in who you are, have fire in you. Be the stiletto not the doormat. Okay?”

She looks me in the eye, a small smile creeps over her face and her eyes light up.

“I’ll try. Catherine.”

“Good girl”

“Catherine”

I sigh, I need a drink and a smoke.

“What, Becky?”

“Can I ask you something?”

I swing my heels back up on my desk as I lean back in my chair.

“Sure, shoot.”

“Can I assist you as your secretary? I like Mr. Pritcher but…”

“But what?”

She lowers her eyes, again.

“Eyes up Becky, I’m over here.”

“Sorry, yes. I like him but I want to shadow you. I think I could learn a thing or two and I’m debating whether to study law.”

“Okay, what else, that can’t be the only reason. You can shadow any lawyer as their secretary. Don’t bull shit me Becky, what’s up?”

Becky lowers her eyes again. What is wrong with this kid?

“He tries to touch me, Catherine I don’t like it.”

“What, you don’t like it? Every woman in here wants his hands between their legs, are you kidding me?”

I laugh out loud at this joke, she can’t be serious. Becky’s face stays numb and straight. I see her eyes well up with tears and she looks at the ground again. For a moment, I regret my joke.

“No, I don’t like it. I’m… I’m not really into boys like that. I, I… Catherine I don’t know how to say this but, I have a girlfriend, no one knows and I don’t want anyone to.”

 

You can knock me down with a feather. All this time I thought Becky was getting wet over him when she looked at him, it was a look of fear and disgust. He made her nervous that’s why she stutters around him.

“Jesus Becky, really? I’m sorry for my bad joke. Okay starting Monday, you’re on team Catherine. Leave it all to me.”

Becky’s face lights up and she gets to her feet.

“Thank you! I better get going I have a few reports to type up.”

At the door, she looks back at me.

“Catherine, you’re awesome. No one has ever stood up to that prick like you did back there.”

Before I can even respond she scurries through the door and closes it behind her. I laugh a belly rolling laugh and hold my sides. I swing my heels down from my desk and bend over in a fit of laughter…  shy reserved Becky actually said prick.

***

“So, what did she have to say then? Catherine.

Dean’s voice snaps me out of my daydream, as I stand over at my window, looking out at the blue cloudless California skyline. It’s a beautiful sunny day. My eyes take in the beach in the distance from the eleventh floor my office is located on. I feel him behind me. I smile at his emphasis on my name. That’s right bitch, fall in line. Runs through my mind, as he stands behind me in my personal space. I don’t face him. I continue to admire the beauty of the day.

“First things first. If ya put your hands on Becky again, I will snap ya fuckin’ neck that’s a promise. Second, as of Monday, she’s my secretary find yourself a new one … a male one preferably. Third, I don’t care who ya father is in this law firm. If I hear so much as a whisper that ya pawing any women in this place, you’ll be sorry. Got that pretty boy?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now we got a case to put together, I need ya on point. Let’s get to work.”

I spin around and face him. He’s so close I can smell his cologne.

“And one more thing. Ya followin’ my lead on this case, stay in line.”

Dean looks down at me, he gives me a salute.

***

Monday June 1st, 2016, California Supreme Court.

In the lady’s room, I look myself over. I feel good. I take in all the minor details. The sharp fringe of my blunt bob, minimal make-up, my best well-tailored black Chanel skirt suit, sky high red bottom Christian Louboutin heels. Perfect. I feel confident I’ve got this in the bag. I was raised a strict catholic by my mom, I bow my head in prayer before I walk out. Today as confident as I feel I’ll need God on my side. The prosecution lined up a good case. Naturally they have played on her as a money grabbing whore. She was a Las Vegas showgirl, doing what she had to do before she met that bastard. That does not give her a motive for murder… I hope.

***

“All rise please. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we’re here to hear the case of Mrs. Dennessa Chevelle. On trial for the murder of Ronald Chevelle.”

I watch an officer move over to Mrs. Chevelle, and hand her a bible to place her hand on. She gives her plea of not guilty and the show begins. The prosecution swim around her like sharks. A jumped up over confident suit, with way too much hair gel takes the center stage. He tries to break her down. I clinch my jaw, as my eyes watch him prance around the court room.

“Mrs. Chevelle, is it true you were a stripper before you met your late husband?”

“No, well yes but not a stripper I was a performer in Las Vegas. That’s how we met.”

“Right, right.  A performer.

The sarcastic chump uses quotation marks around performer, as he looks over at the jury. My anger rises.

“And how would you describe your financial situation at the time, stable? Or unstable?”

“I… I did not have much that’s true but I got by.”

All eyes rest on Mrs. Chevelle as he pushes her.

“Mrs. Chevelle, if you could please answer the question.”

A low voice leaves Mrs. Chevelle, she lowers her lashes to the ground.

“Unstable.”

“Unstable you say? Is it fair to say a man like Mr. Chevelle was desirable due to his financial status, maybe?”

The fuckin’ douche, he’s wasting no time. I get to my feet and call out to the judge.

“Objection!”

“Ms. O’Neil, please remain seated. As you were Mr. D’Costa.”

I look over at Mrs. Chevelle and hope she doesn’t fall for the trap.

“No, certainly not. How dare you assume such a thing. He was my husband, not a meal ticket!”

That-a-girl Mrs. Chevelle. I take a seat and breathe a sigh of relief. I look over at the jury. Predominantly female, excellent. I’ll let this shark paint whatever picture he wants of Mrs. Chevelle, in my defence case I’ll hit ‘em with the abused woman story and give them some shit the female jury members never got to read in Hello magazine.

***

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, as you can see the prosecution has tried to paint a picture of a money grabber, a whore and a stripper.”

I move closer to the jury, and slowly walk past the stand with confidence as I talk.

“The woman you see over there in that stand, is none of these things.”

I stop for a beat in front of a female juror around Mrs. Chevelle’s age.

“You see that lady over there, she was an abused woman, mentally, physically and emotionally.”

The female juror moves her eyes over to Mrs. Chevelle, she takes a closer look at her on the stand. Right on cue, Mrs. Chevelle blows her nose into her tissue and wipes her eyes. Perfect. I watch the women in the jury stand some more. Their faces move from pinched up discomfort to shock. Beautiful. I walk back across the room to center stage, and command their attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what you don’t know about Mrs. Chevelle is she endured years of beatings. I’d like you to cast your mind back around ten years ago, Mrs. Chevelle miscarried. Or so we were told. Mr. Chevelle, beat that child out of her on the kitchen floor, and blackened her eyes. He then raped her at four months pregnant. The interview you read in Hello magazine was a facade, he made her give that story.”

I hear the gasps from the jury stand, I look over at Mrs. Chevelle with her eyes lowered playing her part well.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for nearly twenty six years Mr. Chevelle raped her high on cocaine, beat her with whatever he could get his hands on, made her do sexual things she did not want to do. Including things like threesomes, water-sports and rough sex, including anal sex. She did not want it at all, none of it. She never asked for it, she was forced into it, she never consented. This happened for years.”

The jury are stunned, of course they are. They never imagined that the glossy magazine pictures of Mrs. Chevelle and her husband would hide such a lifestyle. I glance over at the prosecution and smirk.

“Ladies and gentlemen, is this the great land of the United States of America? Where everyone has freedom of speech, and equal access to human rights?”

I let the question linger, as I walk over to the jury. I turn and point back at Mrs. Chevelle.

“Mrs. Chevelle was denied all of this, on purpose by her abuser Mr. Chevelle. Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Chevelle is unable to read or write at the age of forty six years old, sadly. When she arrived in the USA from London, aged just eighteen and met her late husband this was her aim. To learn these skills, find suitable work that didn’t mean exposing her body and make a good life for herself. She expressed her interest to her late husband. She asked permission to learn to read, he said no.”

I turn fully to Mrs. Chevelle up on the stand.

“Mrs. Chevelle, can you please repeat what Mr. Chevelle said when you expressed your desire to learn to read?”

In a timid voice, she responds to me.

“He… he said no. Pretty girls don’t need to learn how to do those things.”

I look back at the jury, the women have their hands over the mouths, their eyebrows are raised in shock. Excellent.

“Mrs. Chevelle can you please let us know what Mr. Chevelle wanted you to do instead?”

“Stay at home, clean the house, give him sex when he wanted”

I turn back to the jury and look over at their priceless expressions of disgust.

“Thank you, Mrs. Chevelle.”

I walk away from the jury stand, I feel their eyes on me, watching me. I love it, it feels better than any dick out there to know I’ve got them hook, line and sinker.

“Mrs. Chevelle, can you please explain to the jury what happened the night your late husband got home, and he found you with a girlfriend, learning to read?”

Mrs. Chevelle clears her throat, wipes her eyes at the painful experience of reliving what that bastard had done. I can see it written all over her, she’s dying a slow death up there with these memories. Again, a muffled voice leaves her, she looks at the jury this time and pleads with her eyes.

“I, was very good friends with the late author Jackie Collins, she understood me while other Hollywood wives shunned me. You may not believe it but it’s true, I have a photo here with Jackie.”

Mrs. Chevelle pulls out the picture she showed me at my office and looks down at it, the picture brings a small smile to her lips.

“Years ago, Jackie tried to help me to learn a few words and read, just a few not many. He walked in on us, he threw her out, called me a cunt then beat me within an inch of my life. Jackie and I were banned from speaking to each other from that day. And I was never allowed friends after that day.”

Mrs. Chevelle sobs and throws her arms up in the air. She becomes erratic and emotional. Like a crazy woman she throws her arms around the court room, as tears of pain escape her.

“I never done it on purpose, I never meant to kill him but he was going to kill me.  He attacked me that night I hurt him. Oh God I can’t do this. Someone please just take me away now if that’s what you want to.”

She offers her wrists to the guards next to her. They wrestle her to her seat where she sobs more and cries out.

“For years I took the abuse, he beat my baby out of me, I can’t have kids because of him, he raped me constantly, and locked me out of the house in the garden with no clothes on, he made me do cocaine with him. I hated it. I lost count of the number of men and women that would enter me on those nights, when he had wild parties with cocaine that I had to be part of. He made them do all kinds-a shit to me… and he watched while he masturbated himself and then came over me. He was a sick son-of-a bitch. Please believe me.”

My eyes well up for a moment. If I blink, I’m going to break down myself. I compose myself as best I can. I look up at the ceiling as I breathe heavy. I give it a beat, and allow the jury to watch Mrs. Chevelle in an emotional state mutter to herself and slap the side of her head calling herself stupid.

***

After just ten minutes of deliberation the jury enter the room with their verdict. My heart pounds. This is the biggest case I’ve worked. A high profile Hollywood wife on trial for murder, I gave as good as I got. I worked the court room and bat off all the bullshit the prosecution tried to make stick on Mrs. Chevelle. She has to walk free. The judge hushes the room with her stern voice. A female judge, I like it. I watched her listen to the evidence, but it was hard to read her.

“All rise please. Juror number five step forward. How do you find the defendant Mrs. Denessa Chevelle, guilty or not guilty of murder in the first degree?”

Juror number five walks over to the stand. A middle-aged man with grey hair and small glasses speaks up.

“Not guilty ma’am.”

Bingo.

“How do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty of manslaughter?”

“Not guilty ma’am.”

I wink at the prosecution as they sit there and stew. I can’t help it, very unprofessional I know. Who gives a shit, this is cause for celebration.

***

Following the trial, of course I made partner at Martin Law Firm. I strut into work every day with a smile on my face, proud that I oversaw justice. The media went crazy, every glossy magazine wanted to interview Mrs. Chevelle. She became an even more wealthy woman than she was when Ronald Chevelle was alive. From what I’ve read she’s turning her hand to business, good for her.

***

Three weeks later:

My office door knocks, I look up from my paperwork.

“Yeah, come in.”

Becky walks in, she’s a changed woman. We hung out one weekend at the mall, we ended up in the opticians, she has a new pair of funky, cat eye shaped hot pink glasses. I take in her sharp outfit, she wears flat black brogues with white knee socks, a black mini skirt, a crisp white shirt is tucked in… and a black tie. Her nails are also a hot pink shade to match her glasses. She looks so cool and individual. She’s starting to express herself with her dress sense. She said it makes her feel confident.  The whole office knows she’s gay after she brought her girlfriend to after work drinks. Good for her, her confidence has grown and she has fire in her belly. I’m proud to have her as my secretary.

“Catherine, Mrs. Chevelle is here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment is that okay?”

“Yeah of course, send her in.”

I push my papers to one side and wonder what she wants, as she sweeps in with a cloud of perfume.

“Catherine, so good to see you. I’m sorry to drop in unannounced like this.”

“No problem take a seat, what can I do for you?”

“Catherine, I’m going back to school, I’m learning to read at forty six, can you believe that? I have a private tutor. I’m also setting up a service for abused women in California, to help give something back to the community.”

“That’s great.”

“There’s something else as well”.

Mrs. Chevelle looks around the room and leans in close to my desk.

“Catherine, I can trust you right?”

“Right of course, always.”

“I want to thank you for helping me walk free, and these are for you.”

A shoe box lands on my desk from Mrs. Chevelle’s large purse.

“Just a little something to say thank you, I think these are about your size if not just exchange them.”

I open up the box and eye a pair of gladiator style high heels. Sexy and patent black, as the weather heats up these would be great to let my toes out a bit.

“Why thank you! Perfect size. Oh, my you really did not have to, these are so beautiful, just my style.”

“Oh, but I do Catherine, you helped me when I most needed it. And lemme tell ya somethin’ else.”

I smile as Mrs. Chevelle’s accent dips back to its original London cockney accent.

“That prat ‘ad it comin’ to him. It wasn’t self- defence darlin’. That was cold blooded murder. He never attacked me.  That night I ‘ad enough of his bitchin’ ‘bout dinner not bein’ as nice as what the cook does. So, I thought fuck it… I’ll shut you up good ‘en proper. I picked up the sauce pan an’ battered that bastard to death, I loved every fuckin’ moment of it, the little prick.  Then I blackened me own eye to make it look good, ya know what I mean? I met him when I was eighteen, from the age of twenty I took the beatings and rough sex, I’m forty six. That’s over twenty five fuckin’ years love, I had enough.”

My mouth is on the floor. At the confession, her spunk, and most of all her brutal honesty and acting abilities. In court and when I interviewed her myself, she had everyone under a spell, she played the part perfectly. To a Goddamn T. As she gets up from her chair she winks at me, then kisses my forehead, just like my own mom. I’m too stunned to talk. I lean back in my chair with a stunned look on my face. She laughs.

“Take care darlin, I’ll never forget you. It’s time to start living life now.’

She disappears out the door. The lingering smell of Chanel No. 5 is all that’s left.

Telling-Tales-Weekly-Challenege-Kim-&-Didi

I told you we’re back! 🙂 No discussion, no planning, one author starts a story she sends it to the other to finish part #2 .

If you would like to read more stories from volume #1 of The Suspenseful Collection click here.

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Kim’s Call: Who is Listening? #amreading #betareaders #reading #romance

Beta Readers

This is a re-blog guys I’m getting ready to unleash Lover’s Retreat book #2 of my Romance Set in Paradise series, I’d love a few more Beta Readers Chapter preview on link above more details…. See below!

Afternoon!

I’m putting out a call for Beta Readers. This call is for myself and also a Best Selling Romance author friend of mine. I won’t say who it is!! (Yet). We both would love a few quality, honest and reliable Beta Readers, who would be interested in reading samples or all of our novels/ novellas before they go to publication. You can be an author yourself or just a lover of fiction.

Do you like these genres/themes within stories:

Romance .

Suspense.

Paranormal (not my genre).

Time Travel genre.

Contemporary fiction /romance.

Thriller/ crime (that’s yours truly).

A multi cultural / diverse line up of characters.

Strong, likeable women.

Modern day Romeos for men.

Location based stories all around the world.

Stories that touch on real life issues.

Are you okay with:

My use of British English? If this will annoy you I’m sorry I may not be the author for you. I spell organised with a S! Favourite has a U… got it?

Are you:

Over 18 …..things can get a lil’ steamy in our stories. Both myself and the other author are not really into all that sweet wholesome romance. We write about love and sex in tasteful ways. Our characters do more than hold hands and walk in the park. *Wink

Have English as your first language.

Honest & reliable.

Able to keep things confidential?- This is important.We will send you our work before it’s published…don’t let the cat out the bag!

What does a Beta Reader do?

In a nutshell read and critique, in a constructive way. Offer their views on what’s been placed in front of you good or bad.

If you’re interested in being a Beta Reader for me, and/or the other author contact  me here. Send me a message.  We’d love to hear from you.

Thank you!

Oh we’ll throw in signed paperbacks of every book you Beta Read!

 

 

 

Rambles and Randoms #MFRWauthor #amwriting

2019 badge blog challenge 640x640 Amerigo BT

A few years ago I joined in on the fifty two week blogging challenge for romance authors, using the prompts from this great organisation. I’m jumping in for 2019 at week eleven, and go back and answer a few of  what missed…. in other words take a break from proof reading.

Question: Do you hold, share or hide an odd hidden talent?

I love astrology, I just can’t get enough of  how the study of the planet movement can impact on life. I studied it, got a diploma in astrology and yep every month I do look at the what the plants are doing.  Sometimes  I plan things I want to do based on what star sign the new or full Moon is in, or where my ruling planet for my star sign is in the universe.  Yep, I know my birth chart off the top of my head, and do compare it to the day that certain astrological major events are happening, like a planet moving signs or whatever event is taking place like an eclipse for example. Just to see how it may impact me, or what ‘house of life’ the planet transit is happening in. Is that weird? Probably.

Question: The difference between collecting and hording?

I found this such an interesting prompt, as I really had to think and question myself.  My paranoia set in big time!

Kim’s brain ticking, and eyes narrow: To collect, means you collect things that are valuable, rare or something useful.  Hording is when you’re afraid to let go of something you’ve collected, no matter how broken or unusable it is. Hmmm yeah,  when my shoes are old and battered…. I chuck them out, and buy a new pair to add to the ‘collection’. Same with all the beauty products.  Hmm yeah yeah.  If kept hold of the old shoes, finished glosses or lippies…. then I’d be hording right?… right.  *Nods head slowly while pouting* …. yeah, that sounds about right you’re collector girl, don’t panic.

Question: stress eating, whys and wherefores?

You know, I don’t and never have done this. I  get that some do, but when I am feeling stressed I turn the other way from food. I tend to not eat, if there’s very stressful things happening, not like everyday stresses or challenges but real life stress. I can’t answer this one from the why or wherefores.

 Question: Point of view choices and preferences?

Now, this is going to sound very strange from a romance author, but I proudly break every rule in the ‘romance writing’ cookbook of ‘how it should be done.’ In fact, I recommend to any new writer to stay away from those books, as they mass produce the same old. I stray whenever I feel like it, if the story calls me to.  I write first person, present tense and I don’t give a hoot who thinks what. And that is probably why I stand out, I’m not the only romance writer that does it I know, but those of us that do we’re the rebels and the bad asses to go against what’s considered the norm and ‘way to write romance’. And we are the ones probably turned away from agents and publishers  the most, because we are rebels.  But I’ll be honest… I chucked that cookbook right out, along with the cookbook that says every male lead is ‘tall, dark and handsome’ and every female lead is ‘ waiting to be saved’. * Smirks* nooo, no no, I like my women like I like my coffee strong! For the most part anyway, same with the men.

The romance genre is very full of third person past tense, which is nice and okay, and yes I can write like that if I feel like it or feel the story needs it, but that’s not what got me my first publishing deal, that’s not what made me an award winning author, and it’s not what landed an agent’s interest in my the novel I wrote to submit this year.  So I keep it real, and I keep it how I like it and where my true gift shines.

I’ll let you into a secret too those very same chapters I submitted to two agents, one came back and said to me ‘ I need to follow the rules’ and asked me if I’d consider doing a rewrite she did want my work, I kid you not, I actually laughed told her ‘no thanks.’ The other one she requested the full manuscript, in order to know where I stood with them I checked if the tense is okay , they said ‘yeah it works keep there.’ From this I feel be creative don’t feel bound to rules.

Personally I feel that POV’s should be written from the angle the story calls for it to be written from, if it’s an intense thrilling story there is nothing like bringing the reader up close.  My honest POV, on writing POV in the romance genre and generally is, be brave because there are readers of this genre (which includes me), who are sick and tired of the same old same old, same plots done over, same feel of the story the same predictability.

On the other hand I could feel like this and write how I write, as I write things like general thriller and crime, so I guess that’s where I get the rebel streak in me from. But, in a nutshell there are ‘rules’ and then there’s talent and creativity which will allow you to tell the story,  and find your own style and not have to follow ‘rules.’ Don’t be afraid to use it and stand out, there is nothing wrong with that.  This is by no means a knock to any writer who sticks to the rules either, it’s just an honest response to this prompt.

Question: reading, writing or living?

All three, damn I can’t do one without the other two. I can’t write without the urge to read, reading is what brought me to writing, not the other way around. I ran a book club for years ,and read two books or more a month before I even even wrote ‘Chapter One’ and wrote a story. But I always had a love of writing, I needed a push I got it and never stopped.  I need to live to read and write, and and live for reading and writing, so I need all three in my life!

Right! Okay, back to the proof reading before bed, I am going  over the stories from The Suspenseful Collection Volume Two. I can’t believe how going back over work I did with Didi from 2017, has made me smile so much, mainly as the challenge was and still will be to write the story over a weekend LOL. It’s such a great challenge every week, I need to thank you again if you voted in the writing prompts we used for the stories we have so far for this volume.

Right now, we’re writing the bonus stories ( that will only appear in the actual published book only), and extending the ones you all voted for to be extended  in the actual volume. This trip down memory lane is pretty cool. Thank you guys!

I hope once I speak with Didi again next week, we’ll have a plan on how we go about the challenge in 2019, and voting. I have never been more challenged by this kind of writing prompt challenge I LOVE IT. Thing is I  have no say on how the story ends ( unless I’m author two), but the challenge of being author two is I need to just roll with what Didi puts on my plate, and lap it up I can’t change it as  we don’t talk about the story it’s against the rules!

On the other hand being author one, is also just as challenging as you need to  break the ice and give the reader something interesting quick as it’s a short story, and the other writer something good enough to work with, and hope they don’t hate it! I could go on, but seriously it’s brought a much needed smile back  to my face, after personal withdrawal to deal with life it’s great to be back doing what I love.

Catch y’all soon.

 

Comfort Zone: What Are You More Comfortable With? #amwriting #writingprompts

 

 

img_20190314_104032.jpgI’ve got some time to kill before I leave the house, perfect to fit in a quick writing prompt right?  I opened up my 365 days of writing prompt book on today’s date. This seems like a very fitting topic right now!

“What are you more comfortable with, routine and planning or laissez-faire?”

Well, to be honest as a person, mother, and human being I do like planning and routine. If there was no routine in my life then the house would not be tidy, there would be no dinner made, and the bills would all be left unpaid it would be chaos. There would also be no fun times for me and my family…which is planned for. I think in life we all need some kind of routine and planning, if not it is very easy to lose your way, or destiny. How do you know what direction you are meant to head in, if you don’t have some kind of plan?  Also if I work on projects and do things with others the same applies, where are we going? In that respect I do prefer and think we all need it. Even those of us who like to fly by the seat of our pants, you can’t always take that approach you’ll probably achieve very little. Even down to minor things like how you’ll spend the day, what you will eat, what you will wear today, etc. There is no avoiding it, planning is needed.

Aside from that,  my personality generally is that  I do like to go with the flow, once I have a plan or loose idea about something which could be about anything.  My personality is more carefree, I don’t tend to be a stress head, as long as I have an idea of what’s going on I’ll go with the flow and know that, because I have some kind of loose idea ‘it will work out’.

I guess on reflection as I write this, my ‘comfort zone’ is to have a plan and routine of some kind. That’s what I think stops me from being a stress head. If I don’t have a plan no matter who loose it is, I would become very stressed, and my personality is to flow with things providing I have a direction.

You’re probably thinking, well what about as a writer do you like to plan or go with the flow. It depends on what I’m writing as a fiction writer  I do very much go with the flow while writing. Yes I plan characters, yes I plan my surprises and twists in a story,  yes I plan endings but no when I actually write I hardly, if ever look back at that plan. To be honest, I don’t think I have actually written anything that ended how I planned it to on paper. That’s because as a  fiction writer I tend to jump into the story and behind the character, which means I come out of myself if that makes sense. I am no longer ‘Kim writing a story line.’ I am the serial killer, the female lead, the drop dead sexy male whoever I am writing, and I’m at the location of the crime, the sex scene whatever I’m there not behind my laptop. It’s very strange my imagination removes itself from me, so half the time I go with ‘what the character would do’  or the situation that’s fitting for them, not me.

As a non-fiction writer, as in writing an article or ghost writing something for someone else, who has an idea of what they want. As much as it might a pain in my ass, as I may have other creative ideas I do 100% stick to what’s been asked of me to write about, or the style I have been asked to use. That’s the only time I will be ridged  with plans when I do non-fiction writing . It’s a lot more fact based and aimed at making a particular point more time, so I am kind of forced to plan to make that point by the end of the article, or whatever it is I’ve been asked to write that’s non-fiction.

So… I guess no as a writer my comfort zone is that I don’t like tooo much of a plan, just a tiny bit so I know where to run wild and flow. But in my own life as a person I need and do better with solid planning.

What about you to plan or not to plan that is the question? Where do you plan the most in life? Love to see what you all do! Also, does anyone know where we find the old WordPress daily prompts these days? Do they even still do them ?

 

 

 

 

Thirteen?- Service Resumed As Normal #amwriting

img_20190313_211101.jpgI’ve not logged into my author email account since the 13th September 2018, I’ve not blogged since the 13th September 2018. Today is the 13th March 2019, as I sat down originally and pulled up a new blog post to write, the time was 9.13 p.m. Many consider this an unlucky number, if you’re into numerology like me you won’t believe this. And, you’ll probably break down the number 13 to the number 4. 4 being the number of stability… which to means to me, today is a good day to write this and a very good sign from the universe that things are ‘stable’.

My original plan was to do a video and upload it and speak to everyone, but there’s been so many changes on WordPress, and for some reason my account ‘does not allow this access’. So what the fuck? May as well do what us writers do a write up y’all. I don’t know how many will read this but it’s important for me to write it, so it’s here. I want to let those who have contacted me, and had a lack of response know that now I am okay. Before I was not 100% and I had to withdraw and focus on my personal life.

The first thing I want to say is if you have sent me an email since the 13th September 2018, you’ll know I never got to respond. This is a heartfelt apology to all those 10,000 unread emails I logged onto today. If you are someone from what was  a Conscious Talk Magazine  member who emailed me, or has been emailing me asking what’s going on,  I will contacting you all directly speak to you ALL to explain, the ending of 2018, which resulted in my lack of response and absence. To everyone else I am so sorry!!

If you were waiting on a book review, interview, some kind of promotion and I never came through. I’m sorry forgive me I had a rough end to the year. But 2019 has started great. I feel that the end of last year, and most of the last two years for me personally, have been the ending of cycles, and karmatic things I had to experience  and deal with in order to be where I am now, which is a very good place.

I turned thirty-six in February and had a fantastic time, thank you if you did send birthday wishes thank you. Honestly, there are  good reasons for my absence.  I don’t really want to go into all that on a blog, I just want to let you all know I had to disappear for  six months for personal reasons, now I am the best I have ever felt. Living my greatest life! My family are well too.

That aside, I should start with the good news, and what I have been doing as a writer. The last time I wrote here  on the 13th  of September, I was in the throes of writing a  romance novel that has been requested by an agent. I was (and still am even more) over the moon. It’s complete,  yes! And I renamed that bitch after it took me so long to round it up. It’s changed from the very nice ‘Once Bitten Twice Shy’ title to ‘Sacrifices’ the story took on a meaning of its own, as I was writing. It’s now  on the way to that agent’s inbox.  I now await her response and I hope she likes it. While it’s shorter than my first full length novel , it’s taken me like since 2017 to push out just 72,000 words. I say just, as that’s nothing compared to the 90,000 odd I wrote before.

Now, I’m focused on a manuscript I’ve not finished, before I even published my first book. My very first idea,  it’s a crime thriller with a hint of romance! I keep talking about that, and need to get around to focusing on it. So yes, 2019 I have big plans in terms of writing personally, and finishing off The Suspenseful Collection part two, with my co-author bestie Didi Oviatt. That girl’s been so patient with me after I ghosted her in September. Tomorrow we’ll  meet on Skype and I am totally prepared for her to curse me out. I laugh as I type this as I know Didi very well, personally and what she’s like ( and she  knows me very well). I can imagine what tomorrow will be like. Thing is not only is our writing similar we have a lot in common as people, and get on really well. So I know it will be like ” what the fuck Kim? You bitch you ghosted me, I had the stories ready and blah blah blah” then, we’ll be back to laughing and joking, like nothing ever happened. After six months, I am rather excited to speak with her.

I’ve also been ghost writing too! Which is a great way to earn money as a writer,  if you are good, have talent and if you don’t mind signing non-discloser acts, and not being credited for your work…but paid instead, very well  indeed for all your work! I’ve written some very interesting topics and short books, to put food on the table and live. I have been offered another topic I’m considering, while I juggle my own work to publish.

Life has changed,  it feels like I’ve shed a skin, been to hell and back, come out smelling like roses and feeling good. I still have a day job that involves writing so I guess now, I am now a full-time writer.  I never actually thought I’d get the pleasure to say that, but I am! Writing my own work but also a variety of things that I never thought I’d turn my hand to.  I feel like I’ve got my dream job! So here goes  for 2019.

In terms of being present here, my vision for my blog is still to write short stories, do writing prompts which you all know I looooooooooooove, promote other authors, book reviews all the stuff I did before. And of course interact with as many of you as I can, and READ as many other blogs as I can. I no longer get emails sent to me for blogs I follow, why is that? Is this some major change on WordPress?

This is just a quick post to say ‘sorry’ to those who need to hear this, and update those who have just been like ‘ where’s Kim?’ I better try and make my way through this mountain of unread mail!

Thank you for reading, thanks to those who have sent me ‘hey what’s up’ emails. And if you have sent me an email cursing me out, which I’ve not got to yet, hey it’s cool I have no hard feelings.  I am yet to pull up all the mail and see what I’ve missed. But you have to understand I had no choice but to pull back and remove myself totally from everything.

I’ll catch y’all soon!

Ps. guess what the time is as I end this blog post 10.13pm…this is spooky!!

 

 

 

 

THROWBACK: ‘CHAINSAW RIDGE’ 18+ READING #KDSUSPENSE #HORROR @didi_oviatt

 

KD SUSPENSE 2019         Long overdue, a story extended by a few scenes by reader’s request from 2018. Be warned this one has a lot of gore… you voted for it!

Author One Scene One

“Alice!”

The voice is a blend of husky and shrill, like nails on a chalkboard. Alice cringes at the sound of it.

“Alice.” It repeats. “You better answer me, dammit!”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The rickety steel framed bed creaks as Alice rolls onto her side. She’s cradled by the dip in the overused and extremely stained mattress, that she’s been sleeping on for nearly twenty years. It’s the same bed she slept in as a toddler. A waft of her uncleansed flesh floats into the air with her movements. The sour pinch of the smell wins its competition with the week old garbage pile to her side. Alice mozies to the window of her bedroom to let a breeze in, as she listens to her crippled father’s voice. She knows full well what’s coming.

“My babies are starvin’, get yer fat ass out there and feed em’.”

“M’kay, Daddy.”

“We’re runnin’ low on chow,” he shouts through the thin wall separating them. “It’s time ya’ go ta’ town and pick up some feed.”

“‘M’kay, Daddy.” Alice answers his barking orders, completely numb to what the request entails.

“Well, get to it! An’ make it snappy. I wanna’ watch ya’ prep the meat before dark.”

“Yes Sir.”

Alice’s nose pleads for the fresh earthy scent of the white oak forest, that she can see in the distance. That luxury is denied, and only the rotten smell of her father’s pig farm bites into her room. They grunt and pop their jaws, searching their large shit filled pens for dinner. Directly below Alice’s window, everything about the hogs gives her nightmares. Especially what they’re fed. She complies with her father’s wishes either way.

At a very young age, Alice was taught exactly how much a pig can consume. Teeth, bone, everything. They don’t even shit out the evidence, their bodies absorb every last bit. After a while the horrid screams of her father’s victims became nothing but routine, a familiar sound fighting its way through the emotionless fog of her brain. The farm is secluded, miles from Chicago where the homeless pickens have always been abundant. She learned to tune out the screams very well…until his accident.

Alice was there when her daddy crashed, and so was the middle aged man knocked out in the back seat of the pickup. The man happened to be twice her size, so she had to take extreme measures to get the job done. It was the very day her father passed down his legacy, and the first day of his new life, bound to the restraints of a wheelchair.

The sounds of that day are what playback consistently in Alice’s head. Her daddy was trapped in the truck, smashed at the waist, and the stranger had been tossed out through the front window. Alice withstood the roll completely unscathed, leaving her to clean up the mess her daddy had started. The squeals of the tires and the crunch of metal and glass, were nothing compared to what came after they rolled.

“Do it, Alice.” His voice was younger then. Still husky, but with less of a scratch.

“You have to kill him, Alice! Do it! Do it before he wakes up!” Alice was only thirteen at the time. Her hands shook as she squeezed her body out of the broken glass of the truck’s windshield. In a panic she searched through the chaos of scattered shards, as they glistened in the summer sun. Thousands of tiny shining chunks covered everything from the back of the truck that had been tossed out, all over the pavement. Alice ran to a shovel, only to be shut down by the voice.

“You’re too small for that! Use your fuckin’ head!” Alice dropped the shovel, her body froze. She didn’t want to do it, but knew it was up to her. They lived in a very remote place, but they couldn’t risk being seen nonetheless. She also knew that if the stranger woke up, he’d likely get away. Although Alice was very large for her age, and strong, she was still much smaller than the man. A sharp jagged chain shimmered in the sun, calling to her. Alice shook her head, afraid of her own thoughts.

“Do it Alice!” Hesitation set in, she reached for it, her meaty fingers gripped tight around the handle of her daddy’s chainsaw. The pit of her stomach screamed out in horror. I can’t do it, she thought, I’m not ready yet. He yelled even louder from inside the smashed truck bed, while she stood staring at the stranger. Mute.

“Just fuckin’ do it, Alice!”

“Daddy I…”

“Do it now, before he fuckin’ wakes up!”

Alice swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled the chainsaw’s rope. She was no stranger to the tool having used it on the farm often, yet it still took her shaking arm a few tries. The buzz of the saw cut in and out, struggling its way to life. Rununununun, Runununununun.

“Do it!”

Finally the chainsaw’s roar became steady. Alice made her way  over to the man, her weapon vibrated both arms as she gripped it with every bit of strength she could muster. With ease, the saw chewed through the man’s flesh like butter. Scarlet chunks painted Alice’s face with a splat. She closed her mouth to keep the taste out, and wiped the wet pieces of him from her eyes with the long sleeve of her once floral print dress. Without missing a beat she went back to work. As soon as his head rolled away from his body she held the loud running saw to his middle.

The pieces of him had to be small enough for her to carry by herself. Her daddy’s voice bounded over the destruction of her running metal weapon. Chewed up chunks of intestines spilled onto the pavement, like bloody heaps of broken rope.

“Do it!”

As Alice remembers the sounds of that day, she stares at her daddy’s pigs. It’s a new bunch of animals. Most of the hogs that had eaten her first kill are now dead. Sliced into the bacon that fills the old power sucking freezer, in their dank basement.There’s only one of those particular hogs left. Alice recognizes this very pig because she watched the oval black spot on top of its back, as it chewed through the skull of that man’s severed head. Each bite with a crunch. It was a tiny piglet then, now it’s grey and aged.

“Alice!”

His voice cut through her again.

“Yeah, Daddy?”

“I said make it fuckin’ snappy!”

Author Two Scene Two

Alice sighs, and cut her eyes at her dad’s voice. He’s a mean old bastard, her daddy. Never one to show any compassion to anyone. All he cares about are his fat pigs. She remembers in her childhood, when he was not yet wheelchair bound, that he’d slept with them on the hay in the barn, right under her window. As if it were normal for folk to do that. When her mum was alive, Alice swore that’s what turned her crazy. An unloving husband more interested in intercourse… with pigs.

She shudders at the thought, and sight of it. She remembers well the day she walked in on him with his pants around his ankles, humping a pig in the ass, she felt disgusted. She ran out the barn screaming and confused, not sure what to make of it all. She reasoned with herself the best thing to do was to tell Mum. She laughed as she sat by the window with her grubby shawl wrapped over her shoulders, rocking in her chair, chain smoking cigarettes.

“Get used to it baby girl, that’s your father for you.”Was all her mum said. In a flat unmoved tone.

Gathering herself together and shaking off the early memories of her childhood, Alice walks over to the cracked mirror on the wall. She takes a deep look at herself. For a woman of twenty three years old she looks nothing like her peers. Compared to all the other women her age Alice is a state. She always wears her wavy dark brown hair in two French braids, her eyebrows are unattended to, they look more like caterpillars crawling across her face, rather than a set of threaded and plucked neat brows. Her skin is grey with lack of sunshine and vitamin D, she hardly leaves the house, it also has a slight dirty look to it. She’s far from fashionable, even if her father had the money for her to buy the latest trends, the mean tight fisted old bastard  probably would never allow it. She donned a plain grey sundress, no matter the weather come rain or sunshine. Her dirty off white ankle socks completes her look of an un-kept woman, clearly poverty stricken. On her feet as always are pair of worn brown sandals, Alice looks a woman trapped in a time warp.

“I’m on my way, Daddy.” She calls over her shoulder as she tears her eyes from her reflection.

“Good, like I said hurry the fuck up, they’re hungry an’ so am I.”

The sound of his voice as it  penetrates through the walls struck Alice differently this time, instead of fear she feels annoyance at his demanding, unappreciative ways. She’s waited on him hand and foot since he became wheelchair bound. How does he thank her? … He doesn’t, that’s the messed up thing about it. After she pulled him from the smashed up truck and saved his life, not to mention kept his ass out of prison by disposing of the stranger’s body, he has not once thanked her.

***

Alice makes her way down the dirt gravel road from her house then takes a left. She heads toward the town centre. It’s winter and the days have become chilly, she feels it as she pulls her worn cardigan tighter around her. The chill bites through her to the core of her bones. With her bare legs and low ankle socks she has no protection from the bitter air.

Alice looks around her as if seeing her neighborhood for the first time, through a new set of eyes. How has life just slipped away so quickly, the rhetorical question hangs between her and the open air. The years just rolled into one since her mum passed away. “Natural causes” the Dr. said, Alice found it hard to believe. Her mama was crazy yes, but apart from a slightly disturbed mind she was fit and well. It had crossed her mind at the time that maybe, just maybe, her dad had something to do with her death and “natural causes.” She pushes the thought away as she spots Bill up ahead.

“Hey Alice, what-chaya doin’?”

“Nothin’”

“Don’t look like nothin’ ta’ me.” Bill teases her as he runs over to her, and steps in line with her pace.

“I’m headin’ to town.”

“What for? An’ you walkin’ all that way?”

“Yeah, I’m walkin’”

“What for though, what ya need over there?”

“Chow.”

“Oh them damn pigs. You mean ta tell me ya father’s still got ‘em?”

“Yeah Bill, I swear he loves them more than me.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Hmm.” Is all Alice can say. Numb to any emotion regarding her dad.

“What-do- ya say we take a lil’ walk in the woods on the way?”

“Not today Bill, I gotta get goin’.”

“Oh C’mon, Alice… you love our walks in the woods.”

Bill takes Alice’s hand and leads her off the dirt road toward the woods. He’s hard already at the thought of slamming Alice up against the trees. One thing he likes about Alice is she’s an easy goer. She never talks much, not the intelligent type. She spread her legs and that’s all she needs to do, that is good enough for him. She likes to get fucked and has no problem with servicing two, even three men in the woods at a time. Often, he wonders what caused her to be so mute and unemotional when it comes to sexual relations. She seems unfazed by it all. Alice stops in her tracks and pulls her hand from his.

“Bill not today, I really gotta go.”

“It won’t take long, let’s go.”

Alice gives in with a sigh, she notices the twinkle in Bill’s eye as he smiles and walks ahead. She follows behind him into the depths of the woods.

***

Bill wastes no time as he grabs Alice’s hair and bends her over. He pulls the hem of her dirty dress up, then pulls her panties to one side. Alice holds onto the tree for dear life as he slams into her. Her mind goes blank as he thrusts in and out of her from behind, grunting and moaning. He slows himself down to hold back his climax, and slips out of her. He spins her around and put her back against the tree, he looks down at her with a smirk on his face. Bill is far from handsome. He has dirty blond hair cut short, a wide forehead with a thick nose. She never focuses on his looks when they are intimate in the woods. In fact, she’s never focused on any of the men’s looks she allowed to have their way with her. For her, sex allows her to not think or feel.  At least someone, anyone paid attention to her during the one on one sessions, or many three or foursomes she had with the town’s men.

“Ya ganna treat me nicely today Alice, maybe suck me off a bit?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“Maybe, that’s not what I wanna hear.” Bill retorts as he pulls down Alice’s zipper at the back of her dress and slides it over her shoulders. She’s braless, as always. Her full breasts fall out and greet him. Bill massages over her breasts roughly as he stares down at her. The air is now so cold he can see his own breath as he speaks, the sight of Alice’s nipples hardening against to cool air hardens him more. He gives into temptation and lowers his mouth to her right breast, he takes her nipple in his mouth and begins to enjoy her. Alice tips her head back and lets out a slight moan. Her back arches against the tree as she allows him to take her into his mouth deeper.

Bill’s hand travels south, it makes its way between her legs. He forces her thighs open, and slides his middle finger inside her. He feels her slickness as he finger fucks her into heaven. Alice’s eyes rolls back as she bites her  lip, Bill slides in a second finger and fucks her within an inch of her life up against the tree, as he nibbles and enjoys her breasts at the same time. Alice pants and breathes heavy but that’s all he’d ever get from her.

For Alice secretly, this time things feel different with Bill. She feels a sense of satisfaction from the way his fingers worked her insides. Usually, her body would react in its normal way and she would become moist at his touch, however her internal feelings are always still numb. It’s like her body has its own mind. Today she feels alive internally.

“Do I make you feel good Alice?”

“Hmm”

“You like that?”

“Hmm.”

Bill laughs at Alice’s response, or lack of it. He ups his game a little, he removes his hands from between her thighs, then drops to his knees. With the hem of her dress pulled up she is on show for him, all of her. Without a second thought he leans into her and put his mouth between her thighs to taste her slickness.

“Ohhhh.”

Alice loses herself control, for the first time she becomes verbally expressive.

Bill, gets off on the reaction he causes from the usually mute Alice. He buries his head between her legs, and with his mouth set to work. He’d never given Alice head before, he usually saved that for girls that actually mean something. He’s had enough of Alice’s distant mute reactions, she’s now  a challenge sexually to get her to react to his touch. He pulls back to tease her and looks up at her. Alice smiles down at him, with a very satisfied look on her face.

Alice slides down the tree onto the wet grass. She spreads her legs for Bill. For a moment Bill stands in front of her, and stares at her mound inviting him in. Alice slides her hand between her legs and starts to masturbate herself in a vicious way. Bill drops to his knees. He gladly obliges and continues to service her with his mouth. As he dips in and out of her with his tongue, and licks slowly and softly the tip of her clitoris, Alice fondles her own breasts. He watches in excitement as she squeezes, pinches and plays with herself.

Bill feels like he is going to explode in his pants. He is more eager to explode on her ass.

“Get up, turn around.”

“Hmm.”

“Alice, you heard me get up and turn around c’mon I gotta go soon.”

Alice does as she is told and moves onto all fours. With her ass in the air he enters her from behind and pumped away until he exploded…. On her bare ass.

***

“Alice, Alice I’ve been waitin’ over one God damn hour for you. Where ya’ been?

“Nowhere Daddy.”

“Nowhere, don’t fuckin’ lie to me.”

Alice stands frozen at the entrance of the house. The musty smell of the house is drowned out by her fear. It  runs deeply through her, has she really been gone that long. Bill took her by surprise today, she never knew he could do what he did with his mouth, at twenty three years old she has no real girlfriends to learn from. Men never offered to do that before. She hears her dad wheeling his chair into the hallway. He stops opposite her.

“Where ya been?”

“Nowhere, Daddy–”

“Well that’s not the right fuckin’ answer is it? I sent you to town for the God damn chow an’ some food, ya come back here an’ tell me ya been nowhere? After ya been gone a fuckin’ hour?”

“I got it Daddy I got it, well I got the food but forgot the chow I’ll go back.”

Alice’s dad slowly wheels his chair closer to her, his face twists into a mean scowl. He  picks up a wooden stick that is within reach as he rolls forward. Pointing in Alice’s direction he begins to curse her.

“You… ya little bitch, ya forgot ma’ damn chow.”

“Daddy please no, don’t, not the stick, it hurts.”

“Hurts? Hurts? I’ll show you what fuckin’ hurts means.”

“Aww Daddy no, no please.”

“What… what is that? What the fuck is that smell? Alice ya smell even more disgustin’ than usual. Have ya been in the woods again. Fuckin’ boys again?”

“No Daddy.”

“No Daddy.”  He mocks in a whining voice.

“Slut!”

Alice feels the full throttle of her dad’s anger as he beats her with the wooden stick that came loose from the stair banister. It has sat in the corner of the hallway for months.

“Daddy no, please.”

A flashback of all the times Alice had walked the two miles to town in rain, snow, and anything in between comes flooding back to her. Her anger builds over the way her dad treated her mother, causing her to lose her mind.

“You, yoooou!  You pervert fuckin’ pigs in the barn, you deserve to be in a wheelchair. After all I’ve done for you, this is how you thank me?”

“Alice you better watch… ya… mouth.” Tom responds as he beat her three times to punctuate his words.

“Fuck you! You freak.”

Before Alice can even live to regret her actions, her dad is overturned on the hard dirty wood floor of the hallway. She yanked the stick from his hand with such a force his chair overturned. Tom’s face moulds from anger to fear in the space of seconds as Alice takes control. He looks up at his only daughter as she stands above him. The rise and fall of her chest and deep breathing are enough to let him know his luck has run out, when it comes to bullying Alice. She points the wooden stick at him as she speaks down to him.

“Now, you’re gonna to be taught a little lesson, Daddy dear.”

“Alice, you don’t know what ya doin’. I’m your father.”

“Haha father!” Alice throws her head back mocking him with laughter. “You wouldn’t know how to be a father if it jumped up and spat in ya ugly face!”

“Alice, c’mon now.” Tom pleads as he attempts to crawl away from her with his hands.

“Where do you think, you’re going?” Alice pulls back her arms in the style of a baseball player and strikes her father across the back.

Whack!

“ Awww! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittttt! Alice for God sake will you get me off the floor?”

“No, it’s time you learned a little lesson of your own, you shit for brains piss poor excuse of a husband and father. Wait here, oh sorry I forgot YOU’RE A FUCKIN’ INVALID YOU CAN’T MOVE!”

Alice lets out a roar of laughter as she swings the bat back and beats her father around the head, face, ribs and groin area. Blood splatters all over her and the walls of the narrow damp infested hallway. Just like it had all those years ago when he made her saw off that poor stranger’s head. She hears every crack of a bone, pop of of his skull and break of his jaw. She loves it. It feels rejuvenating, after all the years of his bullshit.

“Alice, please, don’t do this please I’m–”

“Shut up! Just Shut up”

Whack!

“Awww fuck me Alice, Jesus, ya can’t do this” Tom strains to speak his slurred words through a cracked jaw.

“Poor mama, the poor woman lost her damn mind over you ya piece a-shit. Treated her like dirt, when really you were dirty, a pig fuckin’ dirtbag at that. Take that ya bastard.”

Whack!

Just like that, Tom’s lights go out. He’s gone. Bloody, barely recognisable and in Alice’s eyes pathetic looking. For fun, she hitches up her skirt and pisses all over him.

“There, that’ll teach you, Daddy.”

Pulling the hem of her dress down she stomps into her Daddy’s barn.

                                                                         ***

It was tough but she did it, she managed to drag her father’s lifeless and bloody body through the back door, out into the dark late evening and into the barn. There she places down some sheets of plastic her father had left around and dumps him on top. Alice is covered in blood it’s matted her French braided hair, and smeared itself all over her face and hands. There she stands, in the barn with the pigs going wild to her left. Hungry and acting like savages in their cage at the smell of fresh blood.

Ruuuum rummmmmmm! Rummmm rummmmm!

Alice lifts her father’s chainsaw with a lot more ease than she did when she was thirteen, She slices down on his thigh just above his knee, a smile of pleasure a crack of laughter rings out as she watches her dad’s left leg fall away from his body. Into the wee hours of the night, Alice chops up her father into bite sized chunks and feeds his sorry ass to his beloved pigs. They devour him, every last bone.

                                                                             ***

 

Five Years Later:

Alice stands at the window  and watches for Bill on his return home. She listens out for his nosey truck making its way up the dirt road. She centres her mind to the present day, after she re-lives her night in the barn five years ago, and the night she drummed up a theory about her father’s disappearance, once she fed him to the pigs and cleaned up. All these years later word around town is, he had a terrible “freak accident” and must have fell into the river, as he hit a rock with his wheelchair, while he took an early morning “stroll” by the creek, before she woke up. Well, at least that’s what the police thought after they found his wheelchair overturned by the creek, with no one’s prints on it but his.

Alice takes a deep breath and looks down at her husband’s shirt. He’s been at it again, a smudged lipstick mark is on his collar. She never cared for lipstick and cosmetics, Alice is not that kind of woman. She tried for a couple of years, but it didn’t last long before she let herself go again. She never mastered the art of beautifying one’s self. For two months now she’s restrained herself to not cause a fuss over her suspicions about Bill and his floozy. Until now she’s felt lucky to have Bill, he stuck by her after her father had his “accident”, when she was left all alone. They got married six months after her dad disappeared, while no children have appeared yet she is hopeful. That would be fucked up with another woman in the picture. Of late, Bill seems distant, and uninterested. Secretly her inner voice keeps pushing her… if he comes home again smelling of perfume, or with makeup on his shirt, he’d meet a terrible fate in the barn just like her dad did.

Right on cue, Bill pulls up outside the house and jumps out his truck. Alice grits her teeth, narrows her eye, then moulds her face into the loving welcoming wife. She hides his shirt in her closet and makes her way downstairs to the front door. It swings open just as she reaches the bottom.

“Hey Bill, how was your day?” Alice greets him in her most friendly, loving wifey voice.

“Ah same old, just work, work, work. What’s for dinner?” Alice narrows her eyes, as she watches him walk past, he smells of cheap perfume. She follows him with her gaze as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“ Dinner? Oh… something reaaaaaaal special baby, just you wait and see.”

Author One Scene Three

Slop… Alice chucks a bucket of table scraps over the fence, along with newly tossed away animal parts from a local butchers compound heap just out of town. The chow is devoured in a matter of minutes. She watches as her ten new little piglets chomp the skin, and crunch the bones of freshly discarded animal carcass. The smell is atrocious. But, at least the babies are cute, she thinks.

Just as she’s about to turn a heel and make her way back across the field to her house, an arm snakes around her middle. The warmth of his skin shocks her. Not only because it’s unexpected, but because she hasn’t felt such intimacy in his touch for weeks. Alice closes her eyes and leans into him. The grunting sound of her piglets ring  a sweet tune in her ears. Soon, she daydreams in Bill’s arms, soon it’ll just be us again.

“You’re home early.” Alice says, relishing the feel of his chest against her cheek, and the sound of his heart as it beat in her ear.

“Yeah.”

His voice crawls through her veins, and confirms that she made the right choice. She loves Bill, it’s his bitch that has to go.

“God, it stinks out here.” He said. “Why you gotta’ feed ‘em that shit anyway?  Can’t you give ‘em somethin’ a little less disgustin’?”

“It’s free, and they need the protein. They’re growin’ so it’s the best thing for ‘em.”

Alice’s lies roll off of her tongue with ease. Pigs can eat anything. She’s only giving them such an unthinkable diet because she’s prepping their digestive systems. It’s one trick that her father taught her well. She doesn’t want the pig’s bellies to reject the real meat she plans to give them. Her intention is to toughen them up. Hopefully she only has to do it once.

After weeks of mental confusion and debate, the decision has been made. Bill’s little fling has to die. She’d followed them, and has her plot all mapped out. She’ll do it as soon as her pigs are big enough to dispose of the woman’s fat ass. In the meantime, she waits and continues to feed her pigs. Twiddling her thumbs as she  regains her own personal self-worth while they grow.

“I still can’t believe you wanted ‘em. I know how bad ya’ hated growin’ up on your father’s pig farm.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not my daddy.”

Her ghostly sigh lowers her shoulders a few inches. Admitting her excitement for a kill was be like admitting to any sort of similarity to her father. The thrill is undeniably there, but Alice will never relish on it… not even to herself.

“I guess they just remind me of my mum,” more lies, “I really miss her.”

“Well then, if pigs make you happy, then pigs you shall have.”

Bill teases playfully, then releases her from his grasp only to slap an open palm on the lower side of her left ass cheek. He giggles, then follows the gesture with a quick but juicy peck on the lips. Alice is in heaven, even with the stench of dead animal only inches away. She misses her husband’s good humour. It has  been missing from their relationship for too long. Alice doesn’t know what brought on Bill’s sudden change of banter, but she knows that she can’t let the moment pass. A slug to the shoulder is offered before she takes off in a sprint back to the house. Over her shoulder she shouts at him.

“You’re it!”

Just as they reach the porch, Bill scoops Alice into his arms. Rolling laughter is cut short by an awkward snort in the back of his throat. Alice wraps her arms around his neck and lets him carry her across the threshold, just as he had the night they were wed. The weak floorboards creak under his feet. He lowers her slowly, and he allows his hands to explore the length of her bare legs as she regains her own balance.

Bill takes a long look at his wife. She’s been different since he let her buy the pigs. A sexy confidence has been restored. There’s something about the way she let her hair back out of their regular braids, she wears it long and wavy, just as she did after the incident with her father. The independent and determined air about her is irresistible to Bill. The lively spark in her devilishly dark eyes, intoxicating. Even her brows are manicured again into two perfectly curved lines. He knows her father didn’t disappear, because we watched her that night. And in the five years he’s been married to Alice he hasn’t said a word. Her daddy was a miserable man, and had it coming. Bill watched Alice close, and saw first hand her transformation. She cleaned up,  applied herself and cared about her looks for a short while. The shyness melted away. The changes in her were fascinating and utterly irresistible.

It wasn’t until about a year ago, when she  slipped back to her old looks and careless ways that he began going out and drinking at night. By the time Nancy came along, Bill was so distanced from Alice that he was numb. He felt like he’d already lost his wife as the strong woman she’d become after knocking off her daddy. Nancy was and still is an outlet, a way to escape his fears if he loses Alice for good.

The pigs have changed everything. Bill knows without a doubt that Alice has to be up to something, but he doesn’t care what. Hell, he’d even help her with whatever endeavor she’s got up her sleeve. Whatever it takes to get his wife back. Even death won’t stop him. He’s seen her kill before, and in all honesty the whole thing only turned him on. Just a couple more fucks with Nancy and he’d break it off.  Alice is finally coming back to him and that’s all he needs.

Their kiss is electrifying, just like the first real kiss he’d given her in the woods. Bill shoves his tongue deeper into her mouth, and hardens instantly at the sound of her wanting moan. Alice is wearing a skin tight button up jean dress that stops at the knees. It’s too tight for him to merely lift the bottom to access her, and there’s no time for foreplay. He wants her, now. He needs it, they both do. The rise and fall of her chest, and the pounding heart in his, tells him that she’s ready. It’s a pleasure he’s been denied for too long.

The passion of the moment is heating Bill’s core and boiling his blood. Strong hands grab at the buttons covering the centre of her breasts, and he rips. Buttons snap, and fall to the cheap linoleum floor with ting ting ting. Bill takes in the sight of his wife’s naked skin as the denim falls from her shoulders into a heap on the floor. Her ample breasts stare back at him, naked and full. He lifts her onto the kitchen counter with ease before tugging his belt from its loops in one swift movement, and freeing his long stiff cock from the restraint of his old stained jeans.

Alice is wet and ready to take in every inch of her animalistic husband. She slides her ass to the edge of the counter and spreads her legs wide granting him access. A deep gasp of air is sucked in with shock as he forces himself inside of her. It causes her back to arch as she lets her head fall behind her shoulders, and her mouth to open. His pumps are rough and hit the very spot she’s been longing to feel. It doesn’t take long for the pressure built up inside, and for her intimacy to crash around him. The release is intoxicating, and Bill pulls her body against his. Drinking her in like a forbidden fruit. He continues to push and grind himself against the soaking slick walls of her centre until the dynamic simulation can no longer be contained. He explodes violently, then carefully lowers them both to the floor to relax and catch a breath.

                                                                                ***

It’s been two months since Alice and Bill began to rekindle their passion for one another, yet he’s still been going out late at night to see her. Alice is fuming. She enjoys her husband’s touch and knows with every ounce of energy flowing through her body that he loves her back. It’s even written all over his face when he’s with Nancy. Alice dresses down to her old grey dress and watches them from the shadows. She sees the way Bill looks at the floor, and the way he avoids the touch of his mistress. The distancing is all too familiar, and the memory of him treating her the same way, makes Alice cringe.

In a weird unexplainable way Alice is actually glad the he hasn’t stopped seeing Nancy. It gives her an excuse. A reason to stalk the bitch. And, it justifies the want and need that Alice has to see the woman suffer. The pigs are finally big enough, tonight is the night. Bill told Alice that he’d be going out with the guys and not home till late. So, when he bids farewell to Nancy early, Alice knows that this is her chance.

Crouched down behind an old beat up Chrysler, Alice waits. She’s close enough to hear the hum of her husband’s voice.

“I told you, Nancy. I won’t be able to meet up with you at all next week. I’m busy.”

Alice grins to herself.

“But I miss you,” Nancy wines. “It seems like you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

Silence greets Alice and she holds her breath. Listening, and waiting for her chance to slip into the bed of Nancy’s pickup.

“I. I. I don’t know what I want.” Bill stutters and lets out a sigh.

“All right well… whenever you’re ready I’ll be here.”

The annoyed defiance bleeds through the cracking of Nancy’s already high in pitched voice. Alice rolls her eyes and thinks, no you won’t bitch, by the time I’m done there will be nothin’ left of your stank home wreckin’ ass.

“All right.” Bill mumbles.

The sound of Bill’s clumpy boots trail off in the direction of the bar they just came out of. Back in to meet up with his friends no doubt. Alice creeps behind the car that’s concealing her and just as the engine of Nancy’s truck roars to life, she slips into the bed of it. She lodges herself between the cab of the truck and a large toolbox.

Alice knows that the drive won’t be long. She knows exactly where Nancy lives, and has her own truck parked a few blocks away. Waiting for them both.

                                                                                        ***

Nancy’s eyes slowly creep open, and the first thing she can feel is the thick rolling drop of wet blood down the side of her round face. It sticks to the tiny peach fuzz hairs that frame her chin. The instinct to wipe at the wetness is interrupted by the heavy restraints of her wrists. She wriggles and squirms, with her heavily made-up eyes still half closed, and her thickly lipsticked mouth  taped shut. Her vision snaps to fully alert as she remembers the last thing she’d seen before the lights went out was Alice — inside her home holding a baseball bat.

Nancy struggles for air, drawing in shallow breaths from her nose as the oxygen to her mouth is closed completely off. She can’t scream, only a muffled noise as if she’s yelling  underwater cuts quietly in the air.

They’re in a dank wooden shed with a concrete floor covered in dirt, pig shit, and scattered clumps of straw. Shovels, hoes, and saws are leaning up against one of the old cracked wooden walls. Nancy is chained down to the a large metal chair that’s bolted into the floor. She thrashes around as the distorted image of Alice standing over her with a chainsaw comes into focus.

Alice pulls at the starting cord of her weapon. Rummmmm rummm rummmm. It struggles to fire to life. She gives it another tug, but before it can light up, the wooden door behind her swings open. Nancy again struggles to yell, pleading with her tear soaked eyes. Bill stands in the doorway, but the lack of shock in his surprisingly amused gaze takes both Nancy and Alice by surprise.

“Bill!” Alice gasps.

“Hey sexy.”

Bill talks to Alice as if it were any regular day. Nancy is stunned, chained down like a rabid beast awaiting her deadly fate. Still gasping for air, and growing more petrified by the minute, all she can do is watch her lover with his insanity stricken wife.

“I thought you’d be home late.” Alice said, letting the chainsaw in her hands nearly drop to the floor.

“What? You think I didn’t see those ugly old sandals lurking around underneath that Chrysler at the bar?”   

“I um, I…” Alice is at a loss for words. “But, why… I mean, did you…”

Bill chuckles under his breath, excitement rising in his chest like the ocean tide. Arousal at the heinous sight before him is a pleasant surprise. He’d imagined the fire in Alice’s eyes as she murdered her dick-of-a-father all this time. Dreamed of the passion in her twisted face.

“Well…” he laughs at her stutter. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“But Bill… I. I.”

Alice watches her love closely as he walks past her and begins to circle her prey. He looks down his nose at her like a piece of meat. He stops between the two of them, and with one hand slid casually in a pocket, he scratches at the stubble on his chin with the other.

“Alice, I know what you did to your dad. I watched.”

Again, Alice turns mute, as Bill’s eyes smile from his cheeks.

“It’s okay, Alice, my love. I love this about you.”

Then he turns to Nancy and gives her the full evil grin that until this night he’d hidden from them both. The excited wrinkles around Bill’s eyes show both the women his eager anticipation. He steps aside and leans against a wall of the shed. He sweeps an arm in front of himself and continues to speak to his loving wife. The woman he is still ready to spend the rest of his life with. The woman he admires, and that excites him. The woman ready and willing to kill for him, just to keep him for herself. The woman he will clean up after and fuck all night while the blood of his dead lover is still fresh on her skin.

“I didn’t know how to get rid of Nancy anyway, my love. Proceed.”

Alice locks her eyes on his. For a moment unsure of his intentions. The wanting admiration in his eyes as he looks into hers tells it all. Still without words, Alice pulls the chainsaw’s chord.

Author Two: Scene Four

Rummm rum, rumm rumm.

Alice swallows hard as her eyes remain locked with Bill’s. The scene in front of her sends a pang of want between her legs, Bill’s gaze the lustful ‘I need you now’ look he used to bless her with in the early days of their marriage has returned. Alice carefully places her beloved chainsaw down on the ground beside her, its hum in the  background exciting her further. Bill shifts his weight and draws himself up to his full height, Alice makes her way over and stands under his gaze. There is no need for words to be exchanged between the two of them, they read each other’s mind as a menacing smile creeps across both of their faces. Alice and Bill move their eyes back over to their prize, Nancy strapped securely to the metal chair.

“Go on Alice, don’t be shy now.”

Alice peeks up at Bill slowly moving her eyes from Nancy to his broad chest, upward to look him in the eye. Both of her hands cup his face as she embraces him, then blesses him with a full on passionate kiss. Bill returns her passion without hesitation, his hands make their way round to her ample behind as she pulls her in closer to him. Alice feels the bulge against his jeans as his manhood strains to contain itself in his trousers. Slowly she grinds her hips up against him, teasing him.

“Mmm, Alice you better make quick work of her. I got plans for you.” Bill playfully slaps Alice’s behind and spins her around to face Nancy. Nancy sits trembling in her chair, even from a distance her fear is visible. Panic sets in, pleading with her eyes and  mumbles from behind the tape over her mouth. Alice gives no mercy.

“Right, ya little homewreakin’ slut!”

“Mmm mmmm mm”

Alice stamps her way over the Nancy and rips off the tape from her mouth in one swift quick motion, drawing blood and lipstick along with it from her bottom lip.

“What was that you said?”

“Alice, please listen to me it was just–”

“Fuccccccccccck you, Nancy!” Alice draws back her open palmed right hand.

Whack

Nancy’s face flies to Alice’s left from the force of her slap, leaving a red palm mark as a souvenir on Nancy’s right cheek.

“Now, open your Goddamn legs. I’ll teach you to fuck with my man.”

***

Bill’s stomach churns as she watches Alice do away with his one time lover. He feels no guilt, instead he has a hardon that seems to grow throughout the entire scene. Nancy is toast, completely unrecognisable her bodily remains scattered around the shed. He watches closely as Alice dismembers the last piece of Nancy.  Impatience gets the better of him, removing his shirt he walks over to Alice and surprises her from behind, as she’s bent over Nancy’s body. Standing directly behind her he places his hard bulge up against her and closes his eyes as he rubs up against her. In his mind’s eye he relives the vision of Alice dismembering Nancy. The blood, flesh, smell of the kill all sending testosterone through his body like wildfire. As he rubs himself up against Alice,  Alice keeps busy with her chainsaw. Over the loud hum of the machine Bill speaks up.

“That’s enough Alice, she’s good and done now.”

“What?”

“Let her be Alice, I can think of better things to do.”

Alice shuts off the chainsaw, wipes her brow with the back of her bloody hand and straightens up pushing her back against Bill further.

“Better things to do?” Alice teases Bill.

Bill responds by reaching around and unbuttoning her dress, as usual Alice is bra- less. As her breasts fall out he wastes no time as he cups both of her them wet, and covered in blood. Alice throws her head back slightly and drops the chainsaw.

“Bill.”

“Hmmm.”

“Nothing, don’t stop.”

Alice’s hoarse breathless voice urges Bill on. He rips open her dress. The coolness against Alice’s skin soaked with Nancy’s blood arouses her. With one hand busy caressing her left breast, Bill’s right hand snakes its way down between her legs. His fingers find the exact spot he knows will drive her wild. Alice’s moans of pleasure are music to his ears.  He wants to worship her and show her that it has always been her that he wanted and needed. Nancy was just a phase.

He spins her around and in one swift movement picks her blood soaked naked body up, and places her on the concrete floor of the shed. Blood, body parts, it doesn’t faze either of them, it adds to the ambiance of their love making . A fresh new experience for them both. Kneeling between Alice’s legs, Bill unbuckles himself allowing his strong erection to spring free. Placing one of Alice’s legs on his shoulder he rubs himself up against her opening, before he slides into her slowly, making a full connection, they become one. Rocking slowly enjoying every stroke, Bill watches Alice’s expression light up the moment he makes full contact with her.

“Billllllllllllllllllllll, jez!”

At Alice’s moan of pleasure, Bill moves up a gear as he penetrates her deeply placing both legs on his shoulders. In the background the pigs are nosey spectators, above their grunts for food Bill slides Alice around the blood splatter on the floor and brings her to  an earth shattering climax.

This was the first night of a new era for them. A spree of death, and elated passion is ahead. Alice and Bill will soon grow as a team, terminators, the worst kind of killers at their finest. This night is one that will never be forgotten, and will forever change the lives of everyone in their deadly path.

 Oh my God this one was something totally out of my comfort zone to write. Thank you for reading ,and the writing prompt challenge from both of us! Stay tuned voting for writing prompts in 2019 will open soon!

What’s Goin’ on?

Question Mark Hand Drawn Solution Think Ch

Yes, I know months have passed no blogs, writing prompts, short stories or even throwback Thursday. Truth be told I was ill for a little while, I got better, then  I had writer’s block then I found my mojo again!! So I have been away from my blog, writing my novel ready to send over to an agent who has expressed interest in my work. I feel the pressure…because it’s an AGENT, not self-publishing or even a publisher. I’ve been down the traditionally published route before, but this time all these years later it just feels sooooooo different in a good way.

I feel like this time, I want to write something even better than the work I am most proud of. It’s also tricky as this story is told in two different eras… in two parts so research and accuracy are also piling on the pressure, but I can do it.

Also, y’all know Didi right? My co-author… that bad ass from the USA, well I’m juggling writing The Suspensful Collection #2 with her, it’s well overdue. We have all the stories just a few things to tweak, so it’s all go go go!

That’s where I’ve been… that’s what’s goin’ on.  The next blogs will be snippets of my latest work, and also … come here… no, no closer, closer listen up. Didi and I have a surprise for you coming soon. Shhhhh don’t tell her I let the cat out of the bag okay? Cool, talk soon! I hope everyone’s well?

Book Review: A Stranger in France by Kim Knight

Thank you! I am humbled by my five stars, especially from a male reader. *blushes^

This Is My Truth Now

Love comes in all forms. Sometimes you fall in love, then out of love. It happens. As it did in A Stranger in France by Kim Knight. Kate is a wonderful heroine. Unfortunately, she’s emotionally abused by an alcoholic husband. When he pushes her beyond reason, she escapes to France to visit a good friend. She meets a stranger and falls in love. Everything becomes quite wonderful quite quickly. But then it gets a little complicated. She wants out of her marriage. She wants to love her new boyfriend. Can she make it work? If she can’t, I’ll take ’em!

I’m not a romance reader. This book might change my mind. Knight builds a beautiful character in Kate, and I believe her journey and approach to how she wants to fix her life. I’m sad when she encounters trouble. I’m happy when she wins. It happens a lot and…

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I’ve been away writing for MONTHS! I even forgot my password to log in…THANK YOU FOR YOUR FIVE STAR REVIEW FROM A MALE NON- ROMANCE READER!!

*FACEPALM* I  love that I’ve caught the eye of a non-typical reader. As always I am grateful for every readership, reviewer lover and hater… yes even the haters! I better crack on writing. I hope everyone is well.

 

via Book Review: A Stranger in France by Kim Knight