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“Oh, that can definitely be arranged.”
My dick rocks up, hard ‘n’ ready. And I take this as a sign.
I glance up at the bright, blue sky and smile, wiping a lone tear that slides down my face. Marika filled my life with so much joy. But, I have to move on. And there seems to be no better time than the present. Between the sheets, lost in the warmth of a tight, wet pussy…and a warm, juicy mouth.
IF YOU ENJOYED “BETWEEN THE SHEETS,” WE INVITE YOU TO ENJOY A TASTE OF
BY CAIRO
AVAILABLE NOW FROM STREBOR BOOKS
Prologue
Remorse and guilt don’t exist in an empty heart…
I wasn’t born a killer.
And I hadn’t initially planned on becoming one. I had hoped that if I had to murder anyone, Jasper would be first on my list. Not Felecia. Not my flesh and blood.
But here I am.
In the flesh.
A killer.
A murderer.
Still clutching the gun in my hand, I stare into Felecia’s dead face. Her eyes wide and frozen in fear, her curled lashes still wet with tears, what’s left of her bloody mouth is gaped open, front teeth cracked and knocked out, smoke still floating out of her lying dick suckers. I feel a surging rush of adrenaline pumping through me, yet I feel nothing—for her, for what I have done. I am numb to this, to her current state. Slumped over and lifeless. In a flash, Felecia, along with every mental snapshot—an entire lifetime of memories—of everything we’ve ever shared, gone. Her last breath snatched by the bitch she tried to do in. Me.
By choice.
I stare at the gun in my bloody hand, then look up toward the ceiling as if expecting the roof to open up at any moment, to only get struck by a bolt of lightning. This bitch betrayed me. She hurt me. She disrespected me. She fucked me over. And she fucked my man. Regardless of whether it’s over between Jasper and me or not, this bitch fucked him, sucked him, while things with him were good—even if they were only in my own head. And the bitch continued fucking him on the sly—after shit between him and me went downhill.
So I killed her.
By choice.
Because I wanted her dead! Because she deserved to be dead! Because she ran her mouth and popped shit.
Sadly, I feel not one ounce of sorrow. No regret. No remorse. No guilt. Nothing. And no goddamn tears.
I’ll admit
. Killing this bitch wasn’t my initial intention. No. I planned on confronting her, allowing her the chance to confess, to redeem herself—not that anything that came out of her cum trap was going to change the damage already done. She and I would never be close again. Then I was going to slip out of my heels and beat her ass real good. However, somewhere in the back corners of my mind, I knew it was a slight possibility that I would take it to her skull—not with my fist, with a bullet—if the bitch came at me sideways and crazy.
And she did.
The more she tried to lie and deny her way out of shit, the stronger the urge became. The more reckless she talked, the deeper my conviction became. Then the bitch had the audacity to tell me she was pregnant. The admission of who planted his nut in her became scribbled in the fear shown in her eyes. It was Jasper.
So, for that, I took her life. There was no blackout. There was no lack of judgment. There was no temporary moment of insanity. I didn’t just get caught up in the moment. I was clear and in my right frame of mind when I reached in back of me and pulled out my 9mm, shoving it down into her motherfucking throat.
And I was fully cognizant of the look in her eyes when I pulled the trigger.
I am still very much aware of what I’ve done. I’ve murdered her.
And the scary thing is—standing here taking in the splattered blood on the walls and the loose teeth knocked out of her big-ass mouth—I know, deep down in the pit of my soul, I am very much certain, I’ll have no problem doing it again, if I have to, when I have to…if I am forced to.
Bitch wanted to be me. Thought she was going to snatch my spot. I’m convinced she wanted me dead. Wished it. Hoped for it. Shit, the bitch admitted she didn’t give a fuck. That she didn’t care then. And damn sure didn’t care now. I’m glad I didn’t allow her up to the hospital to hover over my bed, secretly gloating that she’d had a hand in doing me in while I clung to my life, and sanity.
