This story is totally the fault of Kat French. She has a story starter on her blog. Click on the link and it throws up three elements to combine for a story. So I clicked yesterday and this is the result. It’s Kat’s fault. And on a Sunday, too!
“Nervous, Baby?” Mason turned the bolt on the motel room door and hooked the chain. He closed the curtains and the heavy drapes. “Don’t be.” He coughed up a laugh. “Not like it’s your first time, is it?”
“No,” she said. “I’m just excited. I always am.”
“That’s kind of sweet.” He traced the curves and points of her tribal tattoo up her bare arm to her shoulder.
She shivered.
“Let’s get this show on the road.” He pulled her toward the bed. “Don’t take anything off. Not even your shoes. Not even that pretty, pretty scarf around your pretty, pretty neck.”
Talitha’s heart pounded. This one always did them fully clothed, always with pieces of their own clothing: a scarf, a belt, a purse strap.
She fell back onto the mattress, feigning eagerness to mask her tension.
“Yeah,” Mason said, contempt creeping into his voice. “You’re all alike, aren’t you? Dirty girls, making a dirty world.” He reached for the lamp switch.
Kind of sad, Talitha thought, in that slowed-down moment before she gripped the handle of her blade. Two people, each one with the same goal: taking out the bad guys.
The next few minutes would tell which one was on the suicide mission.
Time snapped back into focus as the light clicked off.
I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, but now live in the woods in southern Indiana. Though I only write fiction, I love to read non-fiction. The more I learn about this world, the more fantastic I see it is.
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Jane
October 15, 2012 at 10:43amOkay, that’s creepy.
Marian Allen
October 15, 2012 at 11:55amThank you! 🙂 My work here is done.