Sam parked her truck behind Varner’s grocery store and took a deep breath. She rotated the rearview mirror down so that she could see her painstakingly positioned cleavage. After one last quick readjustment she climbed out of her big old truck, no mean feat in heels like the ones she was wearing. Sam’s skirt was so tight she had needed to lie on the floor of her bedroom and suck in with all her might to get it buttoned. She had fought a brutal war with her thick, wild red hair to tame it and curl it to perfection. The final touch had been having Macy put so much makeup on her face that Sam was sure her head was at least five pounds heavier.
Doing her best to swing her hips seductively and feeling utterly ridiculous doing it, Sam sauntered up to the back entrance of the grocery store. The guard stared at her more than a little too intently just to be a diligent security guard. Sam gave him a sexy smile and waited for him to think of something clever to say.
Evidently he wasn’t the clever type. “What’s a hottie like you doing here, sugar?”
Sam did her best not to grimace, she had never expected to miss Arthur’s dorky, stumbling sincere way of speaking to her. “I have some papers for Mr. Varner.” She held up a sealed manilla folder filled with random spreadsheet printouts Sam had made earlier that afternoon.
“Well shit, honey. I can have somebody hand those to the boss man while the two of us get cozy.” He reached out to put his hand on her ass, but Sam slapped his hand with the folder.
She waggled her finger playfully. “Ah, ah, ah. These go straight to Mr. Varner.” She winked at him. “Then I get to be a free woman.”
The guard frowned. “Alright then, you’d best hurry up so you can get back out here!”
Sam touched his bicep on the way by, just for good measure. One door down, one to go, Sam thought. She approached the door to Varner’s office, this one was watched over by two guards. “Hiya, fellas!” Sam said flirtily as she flipped her hair back. “I need to see Mr. Varner.”
The two toughs exchanged a look. “You ain’t on his schedule. You need to make an appointment to see Mr. Varner,” the more muscled one said with a regretful look down at Sam’s bosom.
Sam wriggled her torso just so and pouted a bit, which made her feel a little dirty. She was a smart, hard working, independent woman, dammit! Why should she have to get all slutted up just to save her stupid boyfriend from a murdering psychopath? Suppressing a sigh, Sam knew very well why she had to dress this way in order to get to Varner: these meatheads would never let a man or even a tomboy get this close to Varner, so she had to use what she had to her advantage.
“Please, could you just check with him? I’ll only be a quick second.” Sam leaned a little closer to the one staring at her chest and pouted as best she could.
The doormen exchanged another glance. They both shrugged, almost in unison, and one of them cracked open Varner’s office door. “Mr. Varner, sir. There’s a girl here to see you. She says it will only take a second of your time.”
Sam heard Varner grumbling to himself before peering up from his desk to glance blankly at Sam. Then recognition swept across his face. “Good Lord, you actually look like a woman for once. Frisk her and then let her in. I’m quite curious what would make her foolish enough to come down here.”
Sam handed her purse to one of the guards. “My sawed-off is in there, don’t you lose it. My daddy gave it to me.” He peeked inside and his eyes bulged when he saw that there really was a shotgun in there.
The other guard, the one who had been staring, patted her sides. “Raise your arms and spread your legs,” he said nervously.
Sam looked down at her ultra-tight skirt and smiled impishly, barely separating her thighs. “That’s as far as they go in this outfit.”
His ears turned beet red as he felt down one leg and then the other, up her backside-he lingered there a bit-and felt her stomach and arms. He looked at her chest questioningly and Sam arched an eyebrow at him.
“This top doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination,” Sam told him, jostling her breasts so they bounced seductively. She was rewarded with both guards letting their mouths drop open just a little bit. Evidently all the extra padding she had filled Macy’s smallest bra with still looked natural enough.
“She’s clean, Mr. Varner,” the guard who had frisked her said in a much higher pitch than he had used earlier.
Sam stepped inside and blew the boys a kiss as she shut the door behind her.
“What in God’s name makes you think I’ll let you walk out of here alive after what your idiot boyfriend had his friend do to me?” Varner asked bluntly.
“I have a proposition for you,” Sam told him. She sat down in one of the chairs facing Varner’s desk and crossed her legs, after sucking her stomach in, of course. She felt the material of her skirt groan and wondered for at least the tenth time today why other women do this to themselves on a regular basis.
“Honey, you know very well that I’m not buying what you’re selling, so cut the sexy nonsense, you aren’t that good at it,” Varner growled.
Sam smiled, her natural, goofy smile, not the come-hither one she’d been flinging about out there. “Got me in here, didn’t it?”
Varner clapped sarcastically. “Bravo. You’re in my office with folder full of papers. What could possibly be on those papers that would convince me to let you walk out of here with your pretty little head in tact?”
Sam’s smile slid into a smirk. “Absolutely nothing.” She pulled the adorable little James Bond style pistol her father had given her for her nineteenth birthday out from the overly large cleavage of her generously padded bra.
+
“I’ll just be stepping out with the lady here for a moment. I’ll be back shortly,” Varner told his guards grouchily.
“Alone?” one of them asked, clearly confused.
“Yes, alone!” Varner snapped. “Stay here and don’t let anyone blow up the building while I’m gone.” Sam followed him outside and the two of them climbed into her truck.
+
Arthur no longer cared about trying not to cry. He wept openly as Priscilla hooked her crochet needle under the third stitch holding his knife wound from this morning together.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Priscilla chided. Then she laughed viciously. “Just kidding! Keep crying and screaming, it really gets me jazzed up!”
Arthur moaned pitifully. He had never imagined his death being so slow. Everyone in Port Haven had a gun besides him, why couldn’t he have just gotten shot and bled to death in a couple of minutes? Priscilla had been working on him for hours. And every new torture was done with mundane household items, which somehow made it all the more terrifying. The sporks had by far been the worst. How could someone invent a way to inflict so much pain with a plastic eating utensil? And why would anyone do such a thing? Priscilla must have sat around her house for hours, if not days, thinking of the best way to torment someone with a spork, but dammit, Arthur was willing to bet she was the deadliest woman ever to wield that unholy utensil.
Priscilla gave a sharp yank and Arthur started screaming again.
+
“You handcuffing me was not part of our deal,” Varner complained arrogantly.
“Well, you scare me, so I didn’t want to leave you alone while I was in the bar figuring out where to meet Priscilla,” Sam explained truthfully. “And right now I have the guns, so I get to make the rules.”
“You are going to live to regret this little scheme of yours,” Varner threatened.
“That’s better than dying to regret it,” Sam quipped.
“We shall see about that,” Varner promised ominously.
Sam ignored his continued threats, both implied and overt as she drove them to the secluded barn Priscilla’s man at the bar had directed her to. It was starting to get dark when she arrived at the address she had been given. They truly were out in the middle of nowhere.
“Here we are,” Sam announced. She shouldered her purse, shotgun still inside, and walked around the car to let the still handcuffed Varner out. She marched him up to the barn door. The door swung open as they approached.
A terrifying man about Sam’s age pointed a humongous revolver in her face. He had a nasty scar at both corners of his mouth like someone had cut his cheeks. “You weren’t supposed to bring him alive,” he snarled. “Miss Priscilla don’t like people altering her plans.”
“Calm yourself, Iosef,” Priscilla called from inside the barn. “If petite little Sam didn’t want to get her hands dirty, I understand. The important thing is that she arrived in time to save her beloved Arthur.”
Iosef stepped aside, allowing Sam to push Varner ahead of her into the dimly lit barn. She had to steal herself immediately. Arthur was lying on an old wagon wheel placed on top of two tractor tires, blood soaked nearly from head to toe and breathing raggedly. Just a little longer, she told herself. Then he’ll be safe...or at least safe-ish. Sam didn’t think anyone in Port Haven was truly safe any more.
“We had a deal,” Sam announced, dragging her eyes away from Arthur.
Priscilla grinned hungrily at Varner. “That we did, dearie. Are you ready to make your little exchange?”
Sam’s whole body tensed. This was her moment, the one she had planned and prepared for. “I am.”
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