Page 1 of Madam Temptress
One
Magnolia
Fifteen years ago
Cold showers in the dark are a giant pain in the ass, I thought asI shut the tap off as quickly as I could, but it wasn’t quick enough to stop the chill from rippling across my skin as I reached for the towel hanging over the rod.
A thump came from somewhere downstairs, and I froze.
Since all the other girls left last night before the hurricane hit—when they realized we’d be out of business for at least a few days, if not longer—I’d been hearing noises I’d never heard in the house before. Probably because it got its bones rattled good with those terrifying howling winds.
You should’ve left with them, Ho-It-All whispered, but I brushed off the voice in my head that wouldn’t shut up. This wasmy housenow, and I wouldn’t let anything happen to it, hurricane or no. We made it through, but I knew what looters could do to a place, and it wasn’t pretty.
I listened for another sound, but there was nothing but silence.
See? Just my imagination.
I dried off with record speed, wondering why I’d waited until dark to shower anyway. Oh, wait. It was because without power and A/C, it was hot as balls, and I’d sweated my ass off all day until even I didn’t want to smell myself anymore. Still,note to self, I’d shower during daylight tomorrow.
I left the bathroom with the towel wrapped around me and the candle in my hand, only making it a few steps before I saw dark, shadowy forms coming up the stairs.
“What the hell are you doing in here? Get the fuck out of my house!” I screamed as I made a break for the bedroom—where I’d left my sawed-off shotgun.
“Fuck! Get her!”
Reaching the bedroom door, I tried to slam it behind me, but it bounced off someone or something before flinging open again and whacking the wall.
Five more steps. Three more.
I reached for the shotgun but someone tackled me from behind, and I landed facedown on the floor beneath the heavy weight of a man. My fight-or-flight reflex kicked in and I went fucking crazy, throwing elbows and trying to kick him off.
I’d been in this world long enough to understand nothing good was going to happen if I didn’t get him off me and get to my gun. Men took a woman a lot more fucking seriously with a double-barrel pointed at their chest.
My heart hammered as my elbow connected, and he grunted.
“Fucking bitch! Gonna make you pay for that.”
The stench of stale cigarettes and rot-gut whiskey assaulted my nose.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Stay calm and fight like hell. Ain’t nobody making me pay. Especially not some looter.
I kept fighting, swinging and flailing, praying I’d land a blow somewhere vital, but he grabbed my hair and yanked my head up before smashing my face against the wood floor.
Sparks flashed in my vision, and my cheekbone throbbed like I’d just been hit with a brick.
Fucking hell.
“Let me go! Help!” I started screaming, because what the fuck else was I going to do with what felt like a three-hundred-pound gorilla on my back?
“Shut the fuck up.” He grabbed the wet hair at the back of my head again, smashing me repeatedly against the floor until I tasted the metallic bitterness of blood.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Screaming failed, and words wouldn’t come out. My brain and my body were disconnecting like the out-of-service phone lines after the hurricane.
Stay. Conscious. Stay. Alive.
I couldn’t pass out. Unconscious meant defenseless, and I was anything but. I was a fighter. I was a warrior. And I was no one’s victim.
