Playing With Fire #WednesdayExpress

InShot_20170207_193828.jpgWelcome fellas!

This is the first edition of #WednesdayExpress short story series. Our #ShortStory for today is one that is particularly intriguing. It is the story of a man who was caught in his trap. It is funny how things eventually turned out.

Happy reading!

PLAYING WITH FIRE

It felt good.
Her small, amorous lips tasted like strawberry. She parted it and gave him more access. He quickly devoured, covering her mouth in his. She wrapped her tiny arms around his shoulders, and then her left hand moved slowly to the back of his neck. For him, there was no time to think. It was eleven pm, and the station was empty. It didn’t matter if he smooched her in a corner at a fuel station. She asked for it! Besides, why should he care? It certainly didn’t bother her. He’s got nothing to lose anyway; he knew there was no camera around and well, she made a good fling.
She was such an hypnotist…so much fire, and with such innocence. She completely knocked sense out of him.
As he undid the first button of her red shirt, her palm found the hollow directly beneath his skull. The meridian pressure point was one she relied on anytime. With a crushing force, she drove her thumb the soft cartilage and felt it depress, he slumped instantly.

She heaved a deep sigh and wiped her mouth in sheer digust. The moment she’d waited for in five years was finally here. The bastard who killed her father because of a damn two million dollar deal now laid at her feet. Her father was no saint, but he was her idol. And this idiot snatched him away.

A wry smile crossed her lips, she was indeed her father’s daughter…the Fox himself. She could still hear his deep croacky voice in her head, “The difference between the hunter and the hunted, my dear, is time.” he’d told her, “Don’t ever forget that,” and it was the last time they talked.

She’d studied her victim for years, just like the Fox would have done, before she’d passed off as the call girl. The idiot, he tagged along like a lapdog. She brought out a penknife from her jean pocket and flipped it open. The blade glittered even in the dark. It was payback time. She squatted beside him and caressed his chubby face, “See you in hell baby,” she whispered.
She slit his throat.

 

PS:
Let’s do this together! I would like hear from you. To feature in #WednesdayExpress, please send your short stories, poems, or articles to hopyrane@gmail.com.

It is #WednesdayExpress

Let’s Roll!

Advertisements

2 comments

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s