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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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Not Guilty ~ Flash Fiction

May 10th, 2013 by Theresa

Suzanne forced herself to take in her new client.  It was the way he eyed her .  She was a prime rib dinner; he, a starving man.  Suzanne shuddered as he licked his lips.  She wasn’t sure if was pleasure or revulsion.

“Daniel Baker,” she began.  “As your attorney I will defend you to the best of my ability.  However, you’ve got to tell me if you’re truly guilty this time.”

“Ms. Delta, may I call you Suzanne?  Would you like to have breakfast with me?”

“It’s four in the afternoon.”

“So? I’m sure we can occupy ourselves until sunrise.”

“Mr. Baker, please,” Suzanne hissed.  “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”  Suzanne’s eyes looked to his.  He licked his lips again and leaned forward.  He reached out a hand, cuffs jingling, to trace a finger along her arm.  “I make a great omelette.”

Suzanne moved her hand away a few seconds too late.  He knew that she fell for his charm.  “Fine,” she said slowly.  “Then tell me the truth. Did you do it?  Have you either this time or ever in the past stolen money?”

“Not even once,” he replied with a sly smile.

“Can you prove it?”

“Yup.”

“Then why have you been arrested and charged thirteen times?”

“I’ve been trying to get you as my lawyer.  Know how hard it is to find your number?”

Suzanne snorted.  “Fine. You give me unshakeable proof?   I’ll not only get you off the hook but I’ll bring the orange juice.”

”Deal.”

 

 

As seen on Thursday Threads with Siobahn Muir

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Don’t Get Killed ~ Flash Fiction

May 2nd, 2013 by Theresa

Only a few women in the Sagittarii, the most elite horse archers of the kingdom, looked at him with a measure of respect. He was the only man to make it this far in the trials. He reset the strap of his quiver a few times and stroked his horse’s mane.

“Berit? This way please? You can mount when you get to gate.”  Mylam, the captain spoke softly, her voice carried far.  Berit followed his instructions carefully.  At the designated stall, he got in the saddle and waited patiently. The captain herself walked up to him, new bow in hand.

She didn’t smile as she handed up the bow. “You do know how to do this, right? You know, aim and shoot?” Her voice carried farther now, as if she spoke for all to hear. Berit looked down at her face. His keen eyes detected that something was amiss. Was it a set up?

He raised a brow slowly.  Mylam rolled her eyes.

Definitely a set up.  Berit let a half smile flash for a moment. This was his time to shine. “Aim,” he said loudly, “like this.” Laughter broke out as he purposely fouled his grip.  He looked back to Mylam to see her grin.  He was ready as she stood back and slapped the horse’s rump.

He took the course in a blur, arrows hitting their targets. As his horse slowed and walked back to the gate, silence greeted him.

“You’re in the third flank. Don’t get killed,” Mylam said.

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