Wednesday, March 14, 2012

WIP Wednesday - Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9

Witches are bad news in the Netherworld, as Brandilynn discovered in the first book Drop Dead Sexy.  While possessing exotic dancer Fizz, Brandilynn has a new spell weaver to worry about in the guise of Hazel, a stripclub owner:

     I turned around and jumped back with a little scream of surprise to find Hazel right there, his lanky frame looming over me.  The witch looked pretty darn mad, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I don’t want any witch looking that ticked off at me.
     The first words out of Hazel’s mouth only proved my point.  “You fucked up, Fizz.  You know how I feel about that.”
     I felt Fizz not just cower, I swear I heard her shriek in my head.  Panic vibrated in our shared mind.  I edged back from Hazel, wondering what he’d done to her in the past to make her so scared.
     Carefully, as if trying to soothe a rabid dog, I said, “I’m sorry.  I’ve been real sick all day.”
     He had Fizz’s skinny bicep in his hand in an instant and yanked us close.  He smelled sour and smoky, like he hadn’t showered in a couple days.  He also smelled like power; a buzz of electricity mixed with something sulfurous.  “You’re not as sorry and sick as you’re going to get.”  Hazel squeezed hard, and bright, vicious pain flashed through my arm. 
     I cried out, nearly going to my knees with agony.  Hazel’s eyes widened, and he smiled.  His tongue, a wet, pink slug of muscle, licked all around his lips.  The crotch of his jeans swelled.
     Oh jeez.  He was a sadist, and the kind that didn’t go looking for an actual masochist to play with.  In fact, the less a woman liked pain, the more fun a man like Hazel would find her.  No wonder Fizz was gibbering in terror.  Hazel was one sick puppy.  And he was looking to hurt.
      Being part of the BDSM scene I know the type all too well, and I’ve been pretty good at avoiding them.  Sadists who don’t play within the scene’s rules are quickly ostracized from the kink community, but somehow I was sure Hazel could have cared less about such things.  He’d been playing outside the boundaries probably his entire life.
     Knowing it was wasted breath but unable to stop myself, I said, “Wait, please.  I swear it won’t happen again.”
     Hazel grinned, and Fizz screamed inside my head again.  “We’re going to make sure of that,” he chortled. 
     Before I could brace myself, Hazel twisted me around so that my arm was bent painfully behind my back.  Lifting me off the floor, he ran across the hall to ram me up against the wall.  My forehead rapped sharply on the unforgiving surface, and I cried out along with Fizz.
     The next dancer was leaving the dressing room, and I saw her skitter towards the stage, keeping her eyes averted from my predicament.  No help there.  I was blinking back stars when Hazel crushed against my backside, rubbing his very prominent erection against me. 
     He panted.  “Nice.  I like it when you bitches scream.  You’re going to scream for me a lot more before I’m done with you, and you’ll never get loaded before work again.”

Under contract

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