Wicked
Exposure
Wicked Exposure # 1
Wicked Exposure # 1
By: Katana
Collins
Releasing April 28th, 2015
Aphrodisia, an imprint from Kensington
Blurb
Nothing left to hide…
A
forensic photographer with the NYPD, Jessica is devastated to receive word of
her sister’s death in a robbery gone awry. But when she arrives home in
Portland and the local PD asks her to take pictures, she finds more than she
bargained for. With each new photo she exposes more of her sister’s secret
erotic life. And when she shares her discoveries with Sam, the super sexy local
detective, she experiences passion she never knew possible. But Jessica soon
learns she’s merely a pawn in a deadly game of betrayal and revenge and begins
to wonder if her next picture could be her last…
I pressed the binoculars to my eyes,
watching from the other end of the street as she moved gracefully up the front
steps despite the bulky luggage dragging behind her. Her sunglasses, shifted to
the top of her head, pulled her silky brown hair back from her forehead, acting
as a headband. She craned her neck back and looked up at the house.
Cassandra’s
house. The house that I needed more than anything. Using the binoculars, I
scanned Jessica’s body. A camera bag was strapped over one shoulder and bounced
off the small of her back as she cocked a hip, examining the stoop. A wry grin
crossed my lips and the weight of my own Nikon pressed into my lap. I lifted
it, dropping the binoculars down, and with several swift clicks, I captured the
moment in time. A moment that was seemingly uneventful. A moment that within
Jessica Walters’s life probably wasn’t even a blip on her radar.
But
that’s the thing with photography. It takes nothing moments and immortalizes
them, suddenly creating more than there ever was before. When—and if—Jessica
ever sees this photograph, she’ll be thrust back into the smells, the thoughts,
the emotions of today . . . right now. Even though in the moment, it meant
nothing to her.
If
Jessica was a good girl—if she did exactly as she should— these photos would
never need to see the light of day. She’d never need to know just how close
I’ve been all this time. Just how close she is to falling into the same fate as
her sister. But in case she decides to be a hero, I’d be here . . . watching.
And waiting. Because if there’s one thing I had to guess that the Walters
sisters had in common, it was martyrdom.
A
shudder rolled through my body. The weight of my gun pressed into the clip at
my ankle, its warm steel an easy reminder of how simple it would be to end this
right here and now. Kill Jessica and the house would go into an estate auction,
easily swept up by me. A thrill rushed through my body; an excitement at the
memory of pulling the trigger. The feeling of a gun pulsing in your hands as a
bullet careens toward your victim. There was no feeling quite like taking a
life. But no. I had to remain under the radar until Cass’s death had blown
over.
Sweat
gathered at the nape of my neck and rolled down my spine, getting caught in a
musky puddle between my shoulder blades. I cracked the driver’s-side window,
and orange light sprang through the split, illuminating the otherwise dark, tinted
sedan.
I
sucked in a breath of the crisp afternoon air. This had to be a clean kill.
Shooting in cold blood right now defeated the purpose of how carefully we had
murdered Cass. Last minute? Yes. But calculated and tidy. The way I liked
things in life. Organized. Clean. We had the plan in place for that night and
were ready to kill, if needed. And oh, how it was needed.
But
still, a small part of me trembled, excitement pulsing in my veins. Would
Jessica run? Fight back like Cass? Or would she beg for her life, falling to
her knees in tears? I closed my eyes imagining Jessica submitting to me—to
death—while I stood above her. Powerful. What would her screams sound like? A
breeze rushed through the open window and across my dampened brow. The screams were
the best part.
My
heart hammered as I jerked the camera back to my face and zoomed in as closely
as I could to her neck.
Click.
Strong,
lean shoulders tensed from beneath her shirt and I nibbled the inside of my
cheek as she pulled out a set of keys, opening the door.
I
shouldn’t want to kill her as much as I did. But death was the ultimate form of
control.
Katana Collins splits
her time evenly between photographing boudoir portraits and writing
steam-your-glasses romances. In addition to navigating life as a small business
owner, a first-time homeowner, and a newlywed, she is the author of the Soul
Stripper trilogy and the graphic novel Cafe Racer, co-written with her husband
Sean Murphy. She and her comic book artist husband commute back and forth as
they please between Brooklyn and Portland, Maine, with their ever-growing
family of rescue animals. She can usually be found hunched over her laptop in a
cafe, guzzling gallons of coffee, and wearing fabulous (albeit sometimes
impractical) shoes. Visit her on the web at katanacollins.com
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