A Halloween Gift~ A Glimpse into Mirror Image

Hey Y’All!

Happy Halloween!

As a treat for this ghoulish holiday, I’m posting a chapter of Mirror Image. At first I wasn’t sure what chapter to post, but I realized Lola, who is one of the characters in the book has a nail file pointed to my throat, screaming, “Me!! Me!! Me!!”  So I gave in.

As a side note before Lola takes over, if you have already read Mirror Image or Forgetting Jane, Please post a review on Amazon and Goodreads. I’d so appreciate it! And if you haven’t already, follow me through social media and sign up for my newsletter to get the latest details on what i’m doing next, giveaways and adventures.

***Warning!!!***

There are graphic contents which isn’t for the faint of heart.

So here’s Lola at her finest!

 

Prologue / Lola

Las Vegas / Saturday Night

“What the hell did you get me into, Gabby?” I lean over the white oval chipped sink and examine my face. I wipe the trailing tears from my cheeks. Maybe I should have called Max, and then I wouldn’t be in this fucking mess with my sister. I’d be fucking him my way instead.

A buzz begins to sink into my blood. I’m slightly dizzy with adrenalin, drunk on the rising rage filtering through my muscles—my bones. My asshole stings and so do my ass cheeks. I twist my hip, checking the hand welts across my ass.

“Jesus.” Whatever sick notion went through my sister’s head, this wasn’t what I called a great time. As always, Gabby got in way too deep with bullshit situations she couldn’t pull herself out of. This fucked up scenario isn’t any better.

Picking up a douche bag from the strip club for a good time was her first bad choice. Then not far from the motel, they hired a skeezy prostitute to make three, which was the worst idea my sister concocted.

But here I am, saving her sorry ass again. And mine. But protecting my sister is what I live for. My cheek glows red in the rectangular mirror, the handprint across my face fueling the ire that is coursing through my veins like a flash bomb. Bursts of nearly uncontrollable need to rush out of the bathroom and kill the fucker is coiling tight in my gut, ready to strike. He fucked me and sadistically used my sister. He’ll pay. Oh fuck yeah, he’ll pay.

I white knuckle the side of the bowl for control, breathing through the angry haze. If I don’t get control of my shit, this dilemma will be messier than what it already is. With each breath, my heart slows and my rage simmers, knowing what I have to do.

Kill the douche bag and the whore. Retribution is in order and it will be mine. This shit shouldn’t be happening right now. Not when we’re so close to opening our spa retreat, Votre Plaisir, which is my sister’s brilliant but fucked up idea. I chuckle at that axiom. It seems like that is my adage whenever Gabby puts me in these messes and I have to clean up her bullshit.

I’m just glad I sent Gabby away, because she can’t handle the sight of blood. Glancing down at my sore wrists, I examine the red striated marks that run across my pale skin from the nude panty hose Gabby wore earlier that day. My ankles hurt like a bitch too, like thousands of bees swarming at my feet and stinging the shit out of me. Not bothering to look down at them, because it would only enrage me again, I refocus on the welted mark across my face. My ass cheeks aren’t any better.

However, my asshole took most of the punishment. The biting ache will be a reminder that I’m going to feel it for the next several days. But that fuckhead in the next room will bleed for it. And I will make sure he dies seeing me smiling down at him. As for the prostitute…wrong place, wrong time. Dead. I spit into the sink, trying to rid myself of the taste of the briny cum that spurted all over my face and mouth earlier. There is no amount of mouthwash could rinse that funk flavor away.

With a single twist of the dull faucet knob, the water stream comes out hard, fast, and cold. I grab the only washcloth that hangs on the flimsy towel rack and wipe the shit off my face, then gently clean my pussy and ass. After adjusting the red bobbed wig on my head, I tuck loose blonde strands of my hair underneath the webbing and pin it back into place.

I grab my Fendi purse and pull out the long metal-pointed file that sits nicely at the bottom of my bag. Even under the crap bulb in the bathroom, light glints off the striated markings, which fascinates me. This tool—after I made some modifications—if used properly and held firm, will go straight through a jugular. Tried it out with one of Gabby’s old hook-ups.

He died a painful death, while I watched with glee as the life slipped out of his eyes. It was truly remarkable. What’s even more perfect about my tool is that it can also file a nail like nobody’s business. I smile at the image I have in my mind. Happy with the plan, I palm the blunt end of the file and close my fingers around the handle. First the whore. Put her out of her misery before she starts trouble. Then the motherfucker. Shooting one last confident look over my shoulder, I say, “This is for you, Gabby.”

I turn and open the bathroom door. The sickly aroma of cigarette smoke, booze, and sex permeates thick in the air like an oppressive film. I’m sure the matted, dark grey carpet is a Petri dish of sperm, sweat, vomit and whatever shit is growing between the shag. Drawing my attention from my objective is the motel sign blinking between the parted faded, red polyester curtains. What the hell am I doing here? Oh right, I’m going to kill these two.

“It’s about fucking time, bitch. Come over here and suck me off,” he orders in a slight slur. The bottle of tequila in his hand is nearly polished off. He stands by the edge of the queen size bed, swaying.

Jesus Christ, Gabby. At least you should’ve picked a good looking fuck wad. Not this short, nearly balding, Napoleon complex motherfucker. “Get your ass over here. Your daddy doesn’t like waiting.”

How fucking poetic? Not! Gabby and I have daddy issues already. We don’t need another daddy, since our father sexually abused us since we were three years old. Too bad that son-of-a-bitch died of a heart attack when we were fifteen. I would have loved to get my hands on him. Daddy. I’ll show you fucking daddy. His meaty right hand grips the whore’s sweat-slicked blonde hair while she slurps at his dick. I want to gag, but instead I smile wide. If I want to do this swiftly, I have to play.

“Sure thing, Daddy,” I purr without gagging, but my rage is now stoked to a mammoth blaze inside me. I stroll over to him, but the second I’m in his reach, the bastard grabs my arm and yanks me down to my knees. I glance at the slut next to me, who now has the asshole’s balls in her red-lipped mouth.

“Open your mouth and suck me,” he says as he pulls away from the blonde with a pop. “Yes, Daddy.” I open my mouth, but the second he pushes the plump purplish head toward my lips, I tighten my hold of the file and I punch the whore right in the nose, grab her head with both hands, and swiftly twist. Like twisting off a bottle cap, I break the bitch’s neck, letting her drop to the sticky shag.

Without losing a beat, I swing the file upward and lodge it right into his ball sack and yank it out. A riot of screams comes out of his mouth as he grabs his balls. I quickly stand, push him back on the bed, and clamp my hand over his gaping mouth. He tries to move, squirm and buck, but I straddle him and get a few more jabs in with the file to his jugular. I stab and stab until the screeching ceases and the blood pools heavily around his head, seeping into the sheets and mattress.

The haze of blind fury that enveloped me fades as I watch the life drain out of this man. I relish the moment, but it’s short lived. As the calm wedges back into place, I slide off of his lifeless body. Ignoring the wide gape of his mouth, I quickly position the whore so that it looks like they have killed each other. I then slip into the shower, change back into my clothes, and wipe down and remove any remnants of myself and Gabby’s existence from the room.

The final cherry to this fucked up cake is placing the file in the whore’s hand. With one last look around, everything is in place. I sneak out into the Vegas heat, avoiding the traffic camera near the street. I stroll two blocks down to where Gabby was smart enough to park the car, and take off back to the hotel Venetian as though life couldn’t be any sweeter.

Maybe later, I’ll call Max.

 

I hope Lola didn’t scare you away!

Have a Great Halloween and…

Smooches!

CJ