Don’t Struggle ~ Flash Fiction

August 31st, 2013 by Theresa

“Don’t struggle,” he whispered . “You’ll only make it worse.”  I felt something pointy stick in my back.

After five years on the run,  he’d finally caught me.  I shivered as he led me to his car.  As we neared the vehicle my stomach dropped. I wasn’t the first he’d caught tonight. Three other women looked up forlornly from the backseat, all bound and gagged.

“When are you ladies gonna learn?”  His gloating made my teeth itch. “I am smarter, faster and quieter then you will ever be.”

“Is that right?” I asked.  I hated him more that I was afraid. “Then we’re a perfect match.”

After all the training, counselling, and courses,  it was now or never.  Risking the knife, I spun around.

Wrist grab.

Knife drop.

Push body into car door.

Kidney punch.

Knee kick.

Damn it! He’s getting up!

He charged me and pushed me to the ground.   He wasn’t paying attention. I had the knife now.

I said nothing as I jammed the blade into his neck. Turning away from the spurting blood. I pushed his body off mine.  Digging for my phone I dialled 911.

“My name is Julie. I’ve been attacked.“

It was over.


As seen on Flash Fiction Friday with Sandra Bunino

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Bait ~ Flash Fiction

August 24th, 2013 by Theresa

“C’mon! I’m just doing my job lady!”

“Just doing my job – sir.”

“I gotta stand here, in front of all these people, strip to my boxers, and let you people paw me – JUST to make sure that I’m not carrying weapons?”

“We have it on good authority that you don’t wear boxers. Briefs actually, 38 waist and snug.”

Silence reigned as the courier stared down the security force.  They knew who he was, the deadly assassin known as “Samba.”  What Samba didn’t know  was that today he wasn’t the target.  Only an example to be made – a deliciously handsome example.  The real target stood in the crowd behind him – waiting.

Snarling, Samba ripped off his shirt, buttons flying.  His shoes went next.  As he shucked his pants and socks,  a sigh of delightful approval escaped.  Black and red tattoos in long sinuous lines crossed his body and wound down his legs.

“Happy now, Officer – “ he peered at the name badge on the  guards chest. “McKenzie?”

“Quite.” She replied.  In smooth move, she reached for the man with one hand and drew her stunner with the other.  With machine like precision, McKenzie fired in to the crowd as she pushed Samba to the floor. It was over in a second. McKenzie holstered her weapon to view her forces now taking the real target into custody – the man who had Samba on his kill list.

“You used me bait?” Samba said from the floor.

“It’s standard procedure,” McKenzie replied winking.

As seen on Siobhan Muir’s Thursday Threads

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