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The Wrath of Temptation – Hell Hath No Fury …(Book Teaser)

Blog image 1 wordpress Wrath of Temptation 09 Jan 18(For more information about this book, click on image)

Alkwari rides her bicycle along a dirt road leading to her home in the bush. Wari, as they called her for short, wears a long kaftan, tattered leather sandals, beads around her neck, and a number of bracelets on her wrists. Her face is the colour of honey from a mixture of white Australian and Aborigine blood, and is dotted with white.
Sweat pours down her face as she pedals the long trip home from the town centre, something she undertakes every couple of months. Normally it’s not that hard a trip, but today she, is weighed down by the satchel of newspapers she carries on her back.

Wari was born in the bush, miles from nowhere, and has spent all her life in the bush. The hermit has no idea how old she is, and it doesn’t matter to her. The remoteness means that she has to fend for herself and live off the land. That’s not a problem for Wari, as she lives off dead animals mainly. She is adept at trapping animals, killing them, skinning them and using their carcasses for food. The rest of the animal is used to make medicine. Other hermits living in the bush sometimes travel to her for medicine, bringing food to barter with.

Wari arrives at her home, a shack made of corrugated iron and wood, and locks her bicycle with a chain and padlock to a tree. Her bicycle is her only luxury, her only means of getting into town, and she cannot afford to have it stolen by scroungers.

Clutching the satchel of newspapers, she draws aside a curtain made of discarded plastic sheeting and enters the dimly lit room. The room is bare, except for a mattress and the bottles of medicine made by Wari, which line the edge of the room.

A man dressed in just a pair of boxers lies on the floor. Extremely thin with a heavily scarred face and body, he jumps to sit up at the sight of her. “Did you get them? Did you?”

Wari nods, then throws her satchel at him.

He catches it, hurriedly opens it and scans the newspapers, his eyes bright and shiny with excitement.

The man is Lieb Sault. Once a patient of hers, he now is someone who shares her bed. It was more than two years ago when she found him lying on her doorstep. At first, she thought he was an animal that had been mauled by another. He was covered in blood and dirt, and barely alive. When she realized it was a wounded man, she took him in and began healing him with her homemade medicine. He had lost a lot of blood from the chest wound. She had plugged his wound with special herbs and given him medicine for the pain.

For the first three months, she’d enter the room and look to see if his chest was still rising and falling. Each time she saw that it was, she was amazed. It was a miracle the man with the deathly pale skin was still alive.
Over time, he had begun to move. When he opened his eyes, she saw that they were grey-blue. Once he sat up in bed, she knew he was going to be okay. Shortly after that, Wari began to share Lieb’s bed.

Being in the middle of nowhere suited Lieb. He needed time to heal and recover. He also needed the dust he had raised by helping Scarlett escape, to settle, before he could even think of returning to his former life.

He had no idea when, how or where, but he knew that one day, Scarlett would return to prison and he lived for that day. That would be the day he would be at the prison waiting for her, to look the woman who betrayed him in the eye. The woman who made him give up everything for her – his kids, his wife, his home, his job, his life – everything, only to deceive him in the end, then murder him. He would return, and make her days a living hell.

Every time he scanned the newspapers, he looked for news of his prisoner. (Yes, she was his prisoner and she would always be his personal prisoner.) He lived for that day when he reads that she has been, arrested and thrown back in prison.

That’s why it was important for him to read the papers. Whenever Wari went into town, Lieb would ask her to bring him back newspapers. Why he was so interested in the news, Wari had no idea. She had always got him paper though. Even though the newspapers were old, they made Lieb happy. Wari wanted to make him happy so that he’d stay. She had no idea who he was, what his name was or what had injured him, and she didn’t care. She just wanted him to stay with her.

Lieb holds his breath as he reads. Has she been caught as yet?

According to the newspapers: no.

Lieb nods to himself. Still out there, living your life, are you? Well, enjoy it while you can.

Disappointed, he walks out of room and into the harsh sunlight of a sun-baked land. After blinking to adjust to the bright light, he walks over to a pile of rocks, picks the two large ones from the pile and lifts them above his head several times. As he exercises, he thinks of his obsession. Revenge will be sweet. He will see to it. She thought he had died, but she was wrong. Lieb Sault will be back. Assault will be back.

He drops the two rocks, picks up two heavier ones, and lifts them above his head. Over and over again he lifts them until his muscles burn.
When he is done, he pulls open his pants and looks at his penis. It is hard as the rock he has lifted. Just thinking about Scarlett, could make him rock-hard. That made him happy, it made him feel virile and young again. He hated how old he felt when he couldn’t get an erection. Now, thanks to Wari’s medicine, his penis now works. Every day he drinks her vile potions for potency. What is in them, he has no idea and he doesn’t really care – as long as they work, he’ll drink them by the gallon.

He removes all his clothes and allows the sun to scorch him. He would need to lose the paleness and acquire a tan. She liked her man tanned. Despite the burning sensation, he stays in the sun, forcing his face up to the skies. She would be impressed at how bronze he was, find it sexy and become turned on. The thought of her being turned on with his improved physique is exhilarating.

He looks out into the expanse and takes a deep breath. Some men kidnap women and hold them prisoners in their basements for years, to do whatever they want to do to them. He would do the same. Except that he would do it legally – he’d have his personal prisoner shackled and chained in a hole in prison, to torment and abuse at the drop of a hat, and he would take great pleasure in doing that to her. The best part of it all? It was legal, and he would never have to worry about going to prison for kidnapping and torture.

He couldn’t wait for that day – the day when he goes back to his job as prison chief warden and once again, become revered and pandered to.

In preparation for the day he leaves this God-forsaken place, he’s evaporated some of the jars of medicine in the sun, creating a fine powder, which he has packed into plastic bags. It would be easier to carry bags of powder when he leaves, rather than jars of liquid. He has to take the powder with him, for the type of punishment he has planned for Scarlett, his penis would need to work on demand.

He looks down and nods at this erect penis. “Soon. It will be worth the wait. She will be worth the wait. Trust me.”

End of Excerpt. 

Release date: 16 January 2018


The Other Woman (an epic and jaw-dropping collision between a betrayed wife and a cunning seductress), which has an overall 5-star rating on Amazon U.K. and Amazon Aus. Fans of Girl on the Train and Gone Girl will love Eve Rabi’s tales of love, lust and revenge. To read The Other Woman, click on the image below.

#RomanticCrimeBooks #RomanticSuspenseBooks #StoriesofRevenge #VigilanteJustice #RomanceNovels

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The WRATH of Temptation – Book










Book 9 in the Girl on Fire Series


People say it’s okay to fail in life sometimes. They say it can be a stepping stone to … blah! blah! blah! They’re right.
I’ll tell you one thing you should never fail at. Murder. Oh, no, it’s one of the worst things you can possibly fail at. Especially a carefully orchestrated one. Ask anyone behind bars for attempted murder and they will tell you, that kind of failure is not an option, and it’s a stepping stone to time in prison.
In my case, my husband had an affair. That was okay – it happens. What was not okay, was him and his mistress, luring unsuspecting me to my death, burying me alive, she assuming my identity, they living a charmed life.
You feeling sorry for me? You should. Can you think of anything worse than being buried alive? No? You’re right – there isn’t anything worse than that – it’s pure hell.
It’s okay though, because they failed at murder, so they would live to regret it, because … I’m alive.
Mirror, mirror on the wall …



The story of the married man and his mistress continues …

With a heavy heart Drover watches the train ease out of the station. He doesn’t move. Love will return to him. She will change her mind, hit the emergency stop, force them to open the locked doors and run into his arms. They will hold each other for a long time, before they venture toward their next step in their complicated future together.
It wouldn’t be easy, he knows that for sure. Nothing worth it in life usually is. So, they would make the most of what they have and be thankful that they can be together some of the time. They love each other, that is all that matters. That is all that should matter.
The train becomes smaller. Drover waits.
The train became a speck in the distance. Drover drops to his haunches and watches the moving speck. Love will come back to him.
The train disappears completely from sight.
Drover does not move. The next station – she’s going to get off at the next station, board a train in his direction and rush into his arms.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t get up to pace, he stays exactly where she left him, so she can  find him easily when she returns to him.
Minutes pass. He waits.
People filter out of the train station. He waits.
Lights on the platform are switched off. The station became ghostly. Drover feel a little cold. He waits.
“Mate, you okay?”
Drover looks up into the face of the train station conductor.
“Wha …?”
“Been sitting like that for a while now, mate.”
Drover shrugs.
“Whachu waiting for?”
Drover lets out a long breath before he mumbles. “Love.”
The conductor chuckles. “Aren’t we all?”
Drover attempts a smile, fails miserably. He looks around. The place is now deserted.
“Go home, mate,” the man says in a kind voice. “She’s not coming back. Not t’day.” Embarrassed, Drover stands up and looks in the direction of the train.
She’s not coming back. Not t’day.
He nods. Love got onto a train and left, taking his heart with.  It’s over.
Shrouded in a despair, Drover turns and ambles toward his SUV. As he drives home, different scenarios flit through his mind.  What if he had got on the train and left with Love? Just followed his heart? Like they did in the movies? Rode off into the sunset with the woman he loved?
They would have been happy, yeah, but … would he have been able to live with himself knowing that he had abandoned his wife and children? That he was shirking his responsibilities? He loves Joy, he loves his kids and abandoning them all because he fell in love with another woman, is not something he could ever do.
Do the right thing – wasn’t that what a to do? A parent supposed to do? That was important to him – to do the right thing.
Sometimes in life, when love costs too much, a mammoth sacrifice is necessary. This is one of those times, and it hurts like hell.
He will forget her – the woman who could make him laugh, make him cry and make him quake with fear whenever she held a shotgun in her hands. The one who adored his silver and gold eyes. He glances in the rear-view mirror at his eyes and smiles. Silver and gold – what a way to describe them.
He will forget her, because time will make it happen. Well, that’s what people say. He will make time his friend. He was determined to.
A dull ache lodges in his chest. Heartache? Heartbreak? He releases his seatbelt a little. It doesn’t help- the ache persists.
He drives up to his house, eases the SUV into the garage and kills the engine. Instead of alighting from his vehicle, he remains seated behind the wheel and presses his palms to his eyes.
Joy. He’d have to face her. Damn!
He looks at his phone for the first time. One hundred and seven missed calls. Damn!
His quick-thinking, analytical brain kicks into gear – He’s been away for twenty-six hours. Joy has called every fifteen minutes during those last twenty-six hours.
Being the attorney that he is, he evaluates the facts:
AWOL for twenty-six hours.
He’d turned off his phone.
He’d left without an explanation.
Most importantly, he’d spent the last twenty-six hours with his mistress. There was no doubting as to who he was with.
Joy would have a problem with that. Joy has a problem with that – a phone call or text every fifteen minutes – crap! He’s not proud of his behaviour, but he just couldn’t help it – he was losing the woman he loves, because he put his family first.
Damage control:
Apologise, explain, then assure Joy that he is back for good.
Assure her that when faced with a choice, he chose to remain with her and the children.
Assure her that he is never going to leave her. Ever. She is his wife and she will always come first in his life.
He means it. He loves Joy and he knows that she is hurting right now. He vows to make it up to her. Do everything in his power to fix their marriage. Kiss away the hurt. He wants so badly to ease her pain.
Joy’s an attorney too; she’ll also look at the facts, resolve to handle the issue in a logical and rational way. We can do this.
Suddenly, his SUV is rocked by a loud bang and the sound of breaking glass.
“What the …?” He spins around to see Joy smashing the rear window of the SUV with a baseball bat. It is a shatterproof window, yet, glass flies at him.
“Joy, what the hell?”
Snarling with rage, Joy moves to the driver’s side and swings at his window. “Cheating, lying, son of a –”
Drover jumps out of the SUV and tries to get the bat off her, copping a good few blows in the process. Eventually he manages to wrestle the bat out of her hands and flings it into the bushes.  “Christ, Joy! What the hell are you doing?”
She stands before him, chest heaving, eyes glowing with anger. “You were with her, weren’t you?”
“I … I… Joy …”
She shoves him hard in the chest. “Answer me, you lying bastard!”
“Joy, I’m sorry, things happened … but it’s over, okay? I’m back, I’m home, with you and the children. I want to make things work. Please just … under –”
“How … how dare you treat me like this?”
“—stand, okay? Please?”
Her voice is shrill, borderline hysterical and she paces as she speaks.
“I’m sorry. I am. I really am. Please, let … let’s just forget it all and start again, Joy. Please.”
She whirls around to look at him. “Forget it? You … you dog. You fucking … you son of a …”
Drover allows her to vent, and vent she does, cursing and hurling insult after insult at him. He stays silent, nods his understanding, eager to let her get everything out of her system so they can move on.
He rubs his eyes, red and tired from the lack of sleep and crying.
“What? Your eyes are tired?” Joy circles him as she rages. “Didn’t sleep last night, huh? Too busy fucking that whore? Huh?”
“Don’t call her a whore, Joy.” The moment he utters those words, he regrets it. Too late. Joy stands absolutely still, a loaded silence follows, and Drover suddenly thinks about wearing a crash helmet.
“You protecting that slut? Seriously? You protecting her, DROVER?”
Drover looks at the ground.
She pokes him in the chest, then slaps him in the face. “Huh? Answer me, you dog! You protecting that dirty whore from nowhere? Huh? The one who spreads her thighs for any married man to get what she wants? Huh? Answer me? You actually protecting? You are protecting her. The audacity of you!”
Fight or flight. Blame the weariness, blame the fact that he was feeling emotionally and physically drained, blame the fact that Joy won’t stop, Drover choses the coward’s way out. “Listen, Joy, I’m going to take a shower, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, Drover strides into the house.
The house is dimly lit, eerily quiet and cold. Like something is missing. Love. She is missing. She walked into their dark, gloomy house and turned it into a home. Brightened up the place by turning on the lights, putting fresh flowers in the vases, and playing music. Add her humor, wit, goofiness and laughter to the mix, and the place became one big carousel of lights, music and laughter. Now that she’s gone, she’s taken it all with her, including that carousel.
At the thought of the days, the weeks, the months … life without her, that ache in his chest intensifies and a lump the size of a golf ball jams in Drover’s throat.
Andrew appears in front of him, eyebrows raised. He cranes his neck to look behind Drover. When he does not see Love, his shoulders sag.
Drover slaps him on the back, before hurrying on.
He sees Daisy on the top of the stairs, both hands balled on her chest, her face tear-stained.  “It’s true, dad?” she whispers. “Love’s gone?”
Drover’s shoulders lift and drop, before he whispers, “It’s gonna be okay, baby.”
She wipes away tears with her sleeve, then darts into her bedroom and shuts the door.
“Where are you going?” Joy shouts, running behind Drover. “I haven’t finished with you!”
Drover takes the stairs, two at a time, and heads for their bedroom. He strips quickly, throws his clothes on a chair and makes a dash for the bathroom.
As he showers, Joy flings open the bathroom door, a golf club in her hand.
Drover’s heart drops. If she slams that club against the shower door …
He’s unsure what to do – stay in the shower and let her vent, get it all out of her system, or leave the shower and get rid of the golf club, but risk getting into a physical altercation with her as he does?
“Yes, take shower, a hot one!” she yells above the noise of the shower. “Scald yourself, Drover, and get rid of the stench of infidelity before it further taints this home of ours! Before you further defile our marital bed with the scent of that slimy whore.”
Don’t call her a whore!
Drover remains in the shower, trapped, because there is no escaping Joy’s wrath. For a few minutes he lets both the water and Joy’s vitriol rain over him, waiting for that swing of the golf club, listening out for the sound of shattering glass.
It’s unfair, he thinks as he watches her. If the roles were reversed – if he threatened Joy with a baseball bat and a golf club, while she was in a car or in the shower, people would call him abusive, and he’d face jail time for sure. Yet, she gets away with it because she’s a woman.
He turns off the taps, steps out of the shower and moves toward the towel rack, his eyes still fixed to the golf club in her hand. Joy beats him to towel rail and snatches the towel out of it.
“Joy, please!”
“You don’t deserve anything in this house, you slime ball. Not even a goddamn towel.”
Drover yanks the towel out of her hands, wraps it around his waist and walks into the bedroom, expecting to feel the golf club in his back. Joy follows him into the bedroom.
Stay calm and keep apologising.
“Joy, I am here,” Drover says in a controlled voice. “I’m home, okay? I’m sorry for everything. I am.” He lowers his tone of voice, put his hands on her shoulders and looks into her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry I did. I really am. You were gone for almost a year and … I was … Joy, I was lost, alone … and … she was there, and she was lonely too and … it just –”
“— happened? Is that what you’re going to tell me? You going to use that cliché as your get-out-of-jail card? Seriously?”
Drover hesitates, then continues. “I’m home now, Joy. Where I want to be, okay? How about you cut me some slack? Please. I really need your –”
“You … you … how dare you try and sweet-talk me?” She violently shrugs off his hands, then slaps him across the face.
“Joy, I am home!” Drover yells. “What more do you want from me?” He snatches the golf club out of her hand and flings it across their bedroom. It crashes into a picture frame of them on the wall and shatters it. Glass rains down on the carpet.
Joy stares for a moment in disbelief. He stares too, shocked at his anger. He’d never done anything like this before.
Joy soundlessly claps her hands. “Good shot, Drover! Bet you wish that photo frame was me, right?”
Drover doesn’t answer. With a Labrador-like shake of his head, he strides back into the bathroom, shuts the door and locks it.
“And don’t act like you are doing me any favours by being here, because you aren’t!” Joy yells, banging on the door. “You open this door, you cheating bastard!” She starts to kick the door.
With his eyes squeezed shut, Drover leans his forehead against the bathroom door. Maybe if he’s out of her sight, she will calm down, he reasons.
She doesn’t; she continues to rage, screaming profanities and abuse at him through the locked door.
Drover gets back into the only place he can hide – the shower. It drowns out her threats and gives him time to cool down. He only gets out of the shower when the water runs cold.
What was colder than the water? Joy’s shoulder – she suddenly stops ranting and they spend the rest of the night in icy silence.
This is so hard, Drover thinks as he lies in the dark at three in the morning, staring at the ceiling. If only Joy knew how hard ending the affair was on him, on his heart, she would act differently. She would put her arms around him and hold him close, help him fix the broken pieces, help him grieve the loss of the woman he fell in love with, so that he can move on with his life. With their life. That’s what he longs for – for her to understand, comfort him, make him believe that he’s made the right decision, make him think that Joy was worth suffering heartbreak over. Worth the pain. Make him believe that doing the right thing was … worth the pain.
Joy does not – her episodes of rage become maniacal. There are marathon sessions of abuse hurling (“You both are liars and thieves! Rotten to the core. Dirty cheats, that’s what you are.”), where she dishes accusation after accusation, asking questions, then demanding answers (“How was she in bed? Better than me? Huh? Tell me. Go on answer me, you son of a bitch!”).
Asking questions, then answering it herself (“Where did you fuck her, huh? I’ll tell you where you fucked her – in the car, in the bathroom, in the toilet, in the shower, in my fucking bed, Drover! In my bed!”).
Asking questions, providing him the opportunity of a multiple-choice answer, then demanding that he pick one (“How does she compare to me in the sack? Huh? I’d like to know. Tell me. Was she as good as me? Was she almost as good as me? Was she so good, so much better than me, you had to have the slut at any cost?”).
If he answered, he was in trouble. If he didn’t answer, he was in trouble. He could do nothing right. Day in and day out, morning, noon and night, Joy unleashed on him, and there were no signs of her anger abating.
Sadly, a lot of the madness was in front of their children. To spare them, Drover would often walk away during an argument, walk away from an imminent fight, hoping she’d cool down if he left her alone – it takes two to tango. That didn’t work – Joy would follow him around the house, insisting he answer, provoking a reaction, baiting him to fight back. She’d poke him, slap him, shove him and throw things at him.
When he extracted himself from a volatile situation, or a potential fight, she’d call him spineless, a pussy and a coward.
It was ugly. It was hell.
Often, he’d have no choice but to get into his SUV and drive off to some place he could hide from her wrath. Sometimes, he would leave home in the middle of the night and sleep in his SUV rather than go back and face Joy. Because of this, he now kept a blanket, pillow, a toothbrush and a change of clothes in his SUV. If he wasn’t a man, he’d probably find himself in a woman’s shelter, seeking refuge for the night.
Oh, there were times when Joy wasn’t abusive. Those times she was hostile, cold and uncooperative toward him. She would ignore his questions, turn off the light while he was in a room reading, hide his car keys, hide his wallet, hide his phone charger, hide his phone, hide his eyeglasses, hide the remote to the garage, hide the remotes to the TV, hide the remote to the air conditioning unit or change the wi-fi password for no reason.
It was as ugly. It was hell.
The saddest and most unpleasant part of this whole thing? The children – when Joy flew into her rages, she unleashed on them too. Over simple things, like Andrew spilling some orange juice on the table, or Daisy forgetting to say thank you to her. She would get in their faces and scream at them, and they would quake with fear, expecting her to hit them.
No one knew when Joy was going to explode. The family, terrorized and edgy, tiptoed around the house, speaking in whispers, avoiding Joy at all costs, and tensing the moment they heard her voice.
Before long, every inch of their beautiful, triple-story, 6,800 square-foot home was covered in eggshells.
Life was ugly. Life was hell.

Release date: 16 January 2018

This is not a stand-alone book. It is a sequel to the Other Woman (an epic and jaw-dropping collision between a betrayed wife and a cunning seductress), which has an overall 5-star rating on Amazon U.K. and Amazon Aus. Fans of Girl on the Train and Gone Girl will love Eve Rabi’s tales of love, lust and revenge.

#RomanticCrime #RomanticSuspense #StoriesofRevenge #VigilanteJustice

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(Click on image above to read The Other Woman)


Blog gripping entertaining read

Scarlett’s unfair, underhanded and downright shameless tips to getting
or marrying the man with money
(based on the book, The Other Woman by Eve Rabi)

Warning: This is no dating manual. It is not for the woman seeking to charm a man in the hopes of commitment or a lasting relationship. No, no, no; it is for the woman wanting more. Much more.
It is a book for the girl Madonna talked about – the material girl, the gold digger who wants to line her pockets with the money of the man she spends her time on.

Like the title says, my tips on seducing such men are downright underhanded and shifty, and I make no apologies for it, none whatsoever, so enter at your own risk.
What I do make, is a promise that after reading this manual, you will change the way you think about men, the way you view your future. With these tips, you will learn to go after what you want, what will benefit you in the long run. Who … will benefit you in the long run.

After which, you will go on to triumph over women who you once believed were more attractive than you were; women you’ve mistakenly believed were your competitors.
In this book you will learn, among other things:

  1. how to embrace your inner gold digger
  2. how to acquire the mindset of a gold digger and fatten up your bank balance
  3. how to acquire the mindset of a business woman when it comes to dating and spending time with men
  4. how to pick up wealthy men
  5. where to pick up wealthy men
  6. how to secure the attention of a wealthy man in a roomful of attractive women
  7. what to do if another gold digger comes after your man
  8. what to do if you are not born attractive, but crave the lifestyle of Kim Kardashian.

Yes, after reading this manual, which is a work of fiction, you will be a changed woman. You will be craftier, sneakier, ruthless even, but you will also have a bigger bank balance. No more dating losers with nothing to offer you.

Warning (another warning, that’s right): This book will never be part of Oprah’s book club, for it will be deemed immoral, depraved and corrupt by Winfrey’s club. They are right – what can I say? I make no apologies, remember?

Warning (yes, this book is full of goddamn warnings): This not the kind of book your mother would like you to read, for it has strong language, sexual references and adult themes. However, read it anyway, for when you rock up at her door in a limousine, bearing diamonds and gold, she will pat herself on the back and say to herself, “I raised that child right.”



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The GOLD DIGGER’S Guide to Seduction – A book (Fiction) by Eve Rabi

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Book 9 in the Girl on Fire Series 

Warning: This book will never make it into Oprah’s Book Club!


“Don’t bother trying to be an angel. The only angel men want to
fuck is Victoria’s.” Scarlett Smyth-Murdoch-Callan


“Scarlett has gone too far. These tips aren’t just underhanded; they’re immoral. However, if I had to live my youth again, I would have done so much better had I read this book.” Beta Reader


Release date: July 2017


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Eve Rabi is the author of 28 crime and suspense novels, five screenplays and more than half a dozen short stories. Inspired by the likes of Sidney Sheldon and Gillian Flynn, her tales are bold, scandalous, controversial. They’re also peppered with romance and humor. To quote an Amazon reviewer: “When you pick up an Eve Rabi book, forget sleep. She writes gripping page turners that will keep you reading till the very end.”
In her spare time, Eve likes to dance like no one is watching. In fact, she also likes to eat like no one is watching.
For more of Eve Rabi’s works, click on any of the links below:
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Amazon U.K.:

The Whisper of Temptation – Now Available for Purchase on Amazon!

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My confused head goes to war with my equally confused heart.

Head: You’ve imagined it all. He isn’t the type to cheat on his wife with another woman. He loves his wife – he’s told you so, remember? You’ve read more into it than you should have.

Heart: But … but … we did kiss?

Head: The kiss was not something you both wanted. It was purely because of circumstances. You were forced to. He was forced to kiss you.

Heart: Forced? No, he wasn’t! He was tender and –

Head: FYI, you kissed once that night. One deep kiss that counts as a real kiss and only at the venue, not after that. All those little pecks, they mean nothing. Be smart about it now. 

Heart: Okay, sure, you’re right. But wait, what about the spooning?

Head: Well, there was only one bed and you both were tired. None of you wanted to sleep on the tiny chairs. Nothing significant about your spooning. You are making mountains of out molehills. Stop acting like a teenager, will you?  He’s asking you to stop, saying that he’s not that strong. Do as he asks. Make it easy for him to be a decent man.

Head: But he’s said that he loves her and he waited three years for her. He is strong. Why does he say he’s not strong?

Head: He’s talking temptation. You are a whisper of temptation in his ear, and he admits he, like most men, he’s vulnerable. You don’t want to be known as a cheat, a homewrecker, because that’s what it comes down to – he’s a married man, your friend’s husband. Your friend who is vulnerable and needy too. Both of them are vulnerable. Don’t take advantage of the situation.

Heart: I’m not, I’m not. It’s … all of it is just happening. It’s predictable even – he’s lonely, I’m lonely … But you’re right, I will stop. I never want to be the kind of woman who takes advantage of a situation. Never. No matter how much I want it.

Head: Good. Now you’re being sensible. You’ve always been sensible. That’s your strength, remember? Stay that way.

My head, scolding, scalding and sensible that it is, wins. My heart tucks in its tail, slinks away in a corner and licks its wounds.

Sensible. What a word. What a bland, boring, cautious word. Sensible.

Put that on my tombstone – She was known for always doing the right thing, for being … sensible.

Never let it be said that she was spontaneous, impulsive reckless and daring. Never let it be said that she followed her heart because … she dared to.


Eve Rabi is the author of 27 crime and suspense novels, three screenplays and more than half a dozen short stories.
Inspired by the likes of Sidney Sheldon and Gillian Flynn, her tales are bold, scandalous, controversial. They’re also peppered with romance and humor.
To quote an Amazon reviewer: “When you pick up an Eve Rabi book, forget sleep. She writes gripping page turners that will keep you reading till the very end.”
In her spare time, Eve likes to dance like no one is watching.
In fact, she also likes to eat like no one is watching.

For more of Eve Rabi’s works, click on any of the links below:

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Facebook sabotage 4 7 april 16 3



The Whisper of Temptation – Teaser 2 (Book 8 in the Girl on Fire Series)

Beautiful blonde girl on beach, summertime

(NB: This is the second teaser in this book. The first was released on
06 June 2017. Please read that first)


You are never going to believe this, but guess what? Rival MacBitch has emailed me. Well, she emailed Clover, not me. Probably to defend her sister-in-law, Arena. Probably to blast me for my ‘harshness.’ Let’s see what the slut has to say, shall we?

From: Rival MacMillan
Sent: Friday, 4 June 2016, 11: 25 AM
To: Clover Callan
Subject: Rival and the Gang

Hello there, Clover. We all in Sydney were talking about you and Pastor Colin. Just wondering how you both were doing in your new home. Is everything okay? Where about are you? Are you settling in? Do you miss Sydney? Are you pining for the UK? Where are you guys located? So many questions, lol!
Keep in touch. Would love to hear from you.
Regards to Pastor Colin.

Rival (Smiley face)
PS: Would love to visit you sometimes.

 Well, well, well! What do you know? Arena hasn’t told Rival about my lambasting email? Isn’t that interesting?
The question is: why? Maybe they no longer speak due to some petty family squabble?Maybe they no longer speak due to some major, irreparable family feud that will span generations?
Maybe … Arena is so ashamed at my chastising and accusations, because they ring true, that she refuses to share my email with her sister-in-law? A girl can hope, now, can’t she?

Well, whatever the reason, Rival MacBitch has walked right into the lion’s den. This whacko stole my book and passed it off as her own, remember? It’s time for payback – watch me kill two angry birds with one stone – mow down this slag and stir up trouble between Arena and her. This is going to be interesting, let me tell you. You might want to mix yourself a pitcher of tea. I’m talking Long Island Iced Tea of course. (Generous helpings of tequilavodkalight rumtriple secgin, with a mere splash of Diet Coke. Every alcoholic has their own variant to this recipe, so feel free to stray from the norm and change the recipe to suit your alcoholism.) Go on, go fetch your tea; I’ll wait for you.

Ready? Let’s go girls!

From: Clover Callan <>
Sent: Friday 4 June, 5:26 PM
To: Rival MacMillan
Subject: Rival and the GangBangers

(Rival and the gangBangers! Mwahahaha!)

Dear Rival, funny you should write. My husband and I were just discussing you, when your email popped into my inbox. Yes, Pastor Colin and I have settled into our new home and we are very happy in it. Do I miss Sydney? No, I do not miss Sydney, neither am I pining for the UK. The moment we arrived here, we felt like we belonged. Moving away from Sydney was the best thing we could have done.
Keep in touch, you say? Well, that might pose a problem. Perhaps I should explain. You see, Rival, Pastor Colin and I have read one of your books. Finally. It was given to us by your sister-in-law, Arena. She begged us to read it, in the hopes that we saw what she saw – i.e. a sad soul in need of urgent help. She hoped that after reading your book, we would encourage and assist you to get the necessary help you so badly require.  

First, it was a struggle to get into your book, because of the dark, and almost taboo-like subject matter. Then, it was a struggle to finish it, because, let’s just say (please don’t take this the wrong way) the fractured writing style, coupled with what some people would call sick, deplorable and vitriolic ramblings (some people, not me, I understand that it was you expressing yourself in an ‘artistic’ manner), was a challenge, to say the least.
However, as I believe in finishing what I start, I soldiered on until I reached the end of your book.
My conclusion? Well, please forgive me if I come across as blunt, because there is no other way to say this, Rival – Pastor and I have discussed your book, and we have come to the conclusion that Arena was right – you must seek urgent professional help, Rival. See a therapist immediately, Rival, a psychiatrist at that. On an ongoing basis, too. We believe that your psychiatrist will be most interested in your bizarre and noir ‘art’. We suspect he may want to study both you and your ‘art’.

I urge you to be open, and forthcoming and expose that Jekyll and Hyde personality of yours, Rival. In order for him to really help you, drill deep down into your psyche, honesty on your part would be imperative. Your psychiatrist would have to see through that librarian, Laura Ashley exterior you present to those in your sphere of influence, and confront that desperate, derelict, crack-whore side of your personality surfacing in your ‘art.’

(How am I doing thus far? Good? Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying my slaughtering of Rival. Now, there’s more passive aggression in store for Rival, so keep sipping on that tea of yours. And remember, be like the British – crook that little finger of yours when you drink your tea. It’s classy. Ignore those who claim that sticking out your pinky is rude and connotes elitism. They’re just jealous of the British, because the pound is mightier than the dollar, trust me. That, and the fact that the British have Adele.)

Pastor Colin and I fear that your ‘art’ may have a negative impact on your family members – for example; how does Ritchie face his work colleagues, clients and friends after they have been exposed to, as Arena calls it, your ‘sordid art’?
Your children, Rival – how do they manage to keep their friends and remain socially active after the parents of said friends discover this dark side of you, their mother? Your children’s school teachers and tutors – how do they perceive your children now that they have been exposed to your ‘creative’ side’, Rival?
Pastor and I, together with Arena and Bear, genuinely worry (and pray) for your family, fearing that they, unbeknownst to you, are secretly embarrassed and ashamed of your writing. We worry that your family exists in a constant state of despair and humiliation over your published works.
Think about it; your daughters – little darlings that they are, they’re probably haunted by your public arrest over the murder of their beloved father. Throw, what some people may call your depraved ‘art’ (not me, I repeat, I understand that it is not depraved, but just you expressing yourself) into the mix, and what do they get? That’s right, several extra helpings of mortification.

As leaders in the church, and in our community, it might be best for all if we keep a certain distance from you. We have a reputation to maintain, our church has a reputation to maintain and it is imperative that we lead by example. Since you are judged by the company you keep, we simply cannot afford to be visited, or be seen visiting an ‘artist’ like yourself.

Please, if I come across as blunt and cruel, do not be angry at me, Rival, for I come from a place of love and spirituality. Why? Because I care deeply about you and your precious family, that’s why. Even your sister-in-law, Arena – I can very well understand if you perceive her as meddling, jealous and a backstabber. If you decide to sever all ties with her because you feel betrayed by her seemingly underhanded actions. However, Rival, I must point out that I for one, believe that Arena has nothing but immense love for you and your family. She just cares, that’s all. Perhaps a little too much, but she too comes from a place of love.

Pastor Colin and I, together with Arena and her husband, will be praying for you and your family, Rival. Even though we will cease all contact with you, you will be forever in our thoughts.

Love to your husband and wonderful children.


Clover Callan (Smiley face)

How did I do? Fantastic, you say? But of course!
You can be assured, Rival will be fuming when she reads this email. She will be confused with my accusations and she may discuss it with Ritchie. He may be equally confused, then declare that his sister is nothing like that. He may accuse me, or Clover Callan of making trouble between the two families. Rival may agree with her husband. He may suggest they have a chat with Arena and Bear about it, clear the air – “That’s always the best way to handle this type of conflict,” he may say. Rival may agree.
They may all end up seated at a table and duke it out over husband-sized helpings of Boboti and curry. Over whisky and wine and white port, they may reiterate how much they all love each other and how they have each other’s back. Bear might remind Rival that Arena helped her when she escaped the lunatic asylum (well, not escaped, but let’s pretend she did for impact purposes) Rival will nod and express that she will be forever grateful to Arena for being there when no one else was. Arena and Rival might shed a few tears and hug it out.

Yes, they may eventually accept each other’s explanation/ apologies, have more drinks, bear-hug the fuck out of each other during their drunken goodbyes, and take turns expressing how glad they are to clear that air.
However, those birdseeds of doubt … they have been sown into Rival’s hardly-used brain by Clover Callan. Long after the vino and port has expired from her system, Rival will stare at the ceiling in the dark and mull over the email. Soon, doubts will fester in her mind and she will find herself being cautious and guarded around her sister-in-law. (What if Clover Callan was telling the truth? What if Arena really is two-faced and underhanded, a backstabber who is out to sabotage me? After all, Arena was always quick to talk about my success as an author to everyone we meet. Was it all just a show? A ruse to set me up for failure? Was Arena in fact quietly jealous of me? I’m so confused.)
Well, that’s what I believe will happen once she receives my scathing and contemptuous email. Well, not mine, but Clover Callan’s. One thing you can be certain off; the relationship between Clover and Rival is … history!
Cool, huh?
Well, I expect a lengthy email in return from her.
How’s that tea going? Still brewing? Good.


Rival MacBitch has replied. Let’s check out her response, shall we? Should be interesting. Got your tea? A pitcher of it? Good.

From: Rival MacMillan
Sent: Friday, 5 June 2016, 06:03 AM
To: Clover Callan
Subject: Rival and the gangbangers

Congratulations, Clover! You are right; my book was written by a depraved, lost soul who was not fortunate enough to experience lasting love and contentment. She lived her whole life marinating in disappointment and coveting what others had. You know what, Clover? She reminds me so much of you.
Take care.
Rival and the gangbangers (Smiley face)

That’s it? You cannot be serious. And here I have this giant pitcher of tea in anticipation of her lengthy email. Oh, well, best not to let good tea to go to waste. Hold on a minute while I take a sip. That was delicious and refreshing.
Anyway, don’t worry, from now onward, whenever Arena mentions Rival’s success as an author, Rival will stiffen and listen carefully to her words. Then, she will post-mortem all that Arena has said, screening her own words for underlying hostility, jealously and ambiguity.
Arena will sense that, and soon, she will no longer mention Rival’s success as an author. Rival will have a problem with that too – why has Arena stopped talking about my success as an author? Is she no longer proud of me? Is she talking behind my back?

The tension between these women will have a ripple effect. Bear and Ritchie, they work together, remember? Friction will form between the two husbands. Irritability and anger will lurk beneath the surface, ready to rear their ugly heads. The men will snap and argue over trivial things, and soon, work will be as unpleasant and tense home. All because of the suspicion and doubt engineered by Clover Callan.
Nothing will be the same, because of …? That’s right, moi!
A round of applause, please!




Beautiful blonde girl on beach, summertime

Release Date: 01 July 2017



0641 (2)

My editor, Missy (short for ‘Mistake’), taking a power nap between programs 🙂


Facebook sabotage 4 7 april 16 3

“Lock out your husband, put out your pets, order take-out for dinner even, because once you start reading this book, you won’t want to be interrupted, trust me.” Amazon reviewer


A mild-mannered wife awakes one day to find that she has been replaced by a cunning seductress.
Helplessly, she watches the other woman help herself to her husband, her children and her life.
Then one day, she snaps. With nothing to lose, she sets out to destroy the other woman and win back her family.
Her techniques are dirty and underhanded, causing untold misery to her nemeses, rocking the foundations of her ex-husband’s new marriage.
Trouble is, the other woman does not believe in losing and has no intention of backing down. The wife and mistress collide, and mayhem and murder follow.


If you’ve enjoyed Gone Girl, HBO’s The Affair, Fatal Attraction and Big Little Lies, you will enjoy this fast-paced, action-packed thriller about revenge and retribution.


A #RomanticCrime #RomanticSuspense novel about #love #lust and #revenge. Big revenge. Huge!

Amazon UK:

Amazon US:

Amazon Aus:



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The Whisper of Temptation -Teaser 1

Beautiful blonde girl on beach, summertime

Book 8 in The Girl on Fire Series coming soon!


Teaser 1

Well, well, well! Look what we have here. An email from Arena Shaw to Clover. Remember Arena, the uptight, holier-than-thou bitch who turned down my friendship because of her loyalty to her sister-in-law, Rival MacBitch? The Arena Shaw who spent time in prison because of child neglect? (Arena ShawShank Redemption.) That Arena. I can’t wait to read what she has to say to Clover. It’s like I’m spying on them – delicious! If this is how it feels to be a peeping tom, then I can understand why some of those sickos are prepared to go to jail for peeping. It’s quite a thrill. Anyway, let’s see what Arena ShawShank has to say, shall we?

From: Arena Shaw <>
Sent: Friday 30/06/16, 10:58 AM
To: Clover Callan <
Subject: Hi from Arena Shaw

Hi, Clover. (Smiley face) It’s been awhile since we chatted. I’ve texted you several times, but I got no reply. When I called your number, I got a disconnected message. Now I’m really concerned. Are you okay, Clover? Is Pastor Colin okay? How is your new home? Did the move go smoothly? Was the trip okay? Made any new friends? If you did, that’s just great, but please don’t forget your friends in Sydney. (Smiley face) Let us know that you’re okay, and please, keep in touch. You and Pastor Colin are always in our thoughts. (Smiley face)
Arena (Smiley face)

Four smiley faces in one paragraph. Mm. So ShawShank wants Clover to keep in touch and continue their friendship? Well, I’ve got news for her – that’s not going to happen. Now, watch how Clover reduces this snooty bitch in the sweetest of ways. Well, maybe not in the sweetest of ways, but … it’s going to be entertaining, trust me.

From: Clover Callan <>
Sent: Friday, 30/06/16 11:55 AM.
To: Arena Shaw <>
 Hi from Arena ShawShawShank

Dear Arena ShawShank,

My move went really well. Pastor Colin is well, very happy, and loving our new home. We’ve made some great friends here. Classy, sincere, responsible folk who display the kind of values we appreciate – among others, integrity, decency and honesty, qualities we’ve failed to find in Sydney. Alas!
I have changed my phone number, hence you weren’t able to reach me. Deliberately.
I will explain why. There is no easy way to say this, Arena, and since I am a busy person with important things to do, I’m going to just blurt it out. Pastor Colin and I have decided to terminate our friendship with you. You have heard right, Arena – we are simply unable to continue being friends with you and Bear and wish to sever all ties with you.
You see, after we heard about your baby, and how you abandoned her in a boiling car, causing her to die a slow, painful and torturous death, we were utterly appalled and seriously sickened.
How can you expect us to be friends with a murderer? A murdering mother, at that?
How anyone can do that to a child, let alone its own mother, is simply beyond us.
How a negligent, heartless mother can be allowed to keep her other children, and even be allowed to give birth to a third child, leaves us baffled. Leaves us questioning the system – why isn’t it protecting children from the likes of you?

With regards to WIN; it is highly disconcerting to know that you run an organization like this, Arena. To my husband and me, and just about everyone else (yes, people around talk about you all the time, and I’m sorry to say, it’s not in a flattering way), it is quite evident you are merely running this kind of charity organization as a ruse, to distract from the heinous crime you have committed (like the way Angelina adopted all those colourful children to distract from the fact that Brad was married when they began their affair). Some say it’s guilt that causes you to display an altruistic persona, while others vehemently disagree. They argue that sociopaths do not experience guilt. These discussions and debates, Arena, let me tell you, although distressing, are somewhat lively and interesting. Entertaining even. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not implying that they laugh about you. No, they are most concerned about your poor children.
So, as you can imagine, being friends and keeping in touch with you, is not a possibility, now or in the future.
Please do not regard this email as an attack on your persona. I am merely being honest and upfront. I would be failing in my duties as a pastor’s wife if I wasn’t.
We wish your remaining children the best of luck, as we are sure they are going to need every bit of luck with you as a mother and a role model.

Clover Callan (Smiley face) 

How did I do? Good? Of course. Take my word for it; Arena is going to be gutted by this scathing and accusing email. Let’s wait and see what her response is, shall we?

From: Arena Shaw <>
Sent: Saturday, 2/07/16, 5:05 AM
To: Clover Callan <>
Subject: Judge not, lest you be judged’

Since we are being honest and upfront, Clover, I will say, I am gobsmacked by your lack of understanding, and stupefied by your harshness. I am no Christian, but I understand that the Bible, whose principals you profess to live by, being the devout Christian you portray, clearly cautions about judging. You should look up that scripture sometimes, perhaps you have missed it?
Sadly, you have changed, Clover. It’s almost like I am speaking to another person, someone embittered by loss and disappointment. Someone hostile, and seething with resent. An unfulfilled, hollow soul, angry at the world and thirsting for vengeance. It’s all so confusing to me, the change in your personality and the blatant accusations when you know so little about me. However, adhering to another Biblical scripture – “Don’t give what is holy to the dogs, nor throw your pearls before swine,” I chose not to explain myself, not to spend any more time on this subject and will end this conversation here.
I wish your new-found friends the best of luck, as I believe from first-hand experience, they are going to need it in a little while.
PS: ShawShank? I don’t get it.

Mm. Let me count the smiley faces. Nada. Not a single one. Four paragraphs and not a single smiley face. Mm.
I expected a lengthy lament in response, an essay of heartfelt explanations, but, I all I got is a brief and dismissive email alluding to me being a dog. A bitch. Woof.
Well, I take comfort in the fact that my words have sliced through that hardened heart of hers, slashed at her self-confidence and had her scouring her Bible, which is the internet, of course, for Biblical verses to fire back. She may act cool and unperturbed, but make no mistake, my words, especially, ‘yes, people around talk about you all the time, and I’m sorry to say, it’s not in a flattering way,’ will cause her to regard peers, family and friends with quiet and not so quiet distrust. They will cause her sleepless night and pursed lips.
Don’t believe me? Well, take a look at the time she fired back. 5:05 AM. That’s right, she’s at her laptop in the middle of winter, on a Saturday morning, emailing me at such a dank hour. ShawShank has probably not got her eight hours of beauty sleep last night. Expect her mood to be similar to that of this winter’s day – grey, cloudy and with the threat of tears.
Poor Arena ShawShank – not only have I abruptly ended her friendship with the dreary Clover Callan, I have stirred up painful memories that she has probably stowed away in the attic of her mind, with absolutely no intention of revisiting and reliving. I have robbed her of her peace of mind and, and she will never know who to trust again. All through one vengeful email. Can I get an amen!?

Cassie and the Whisper of Temptation

The Other Woman, a scandalous read about love, lust and revenge!
Click on the link below to read it:

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The Whisper of TEMPTATION – Book 8 in the Girl on Fire Series

Beautiful blonde girl on beach, summertime

Remember: hearing is thought to be the last sense to
go in the dying process, so never assume the person
unable to hear you. Talk as if they can hear you,|even if
they appear to 
be unconscious or restless.” (Unknown) 

 Fingers press firmly but gently against my wrist. “Well, I have a pulse. Feeble, but it’s there.”
“Whew! That’s a relief, doc. Whew!”
“So … what happened here, Davo?”
“Know my sister Liz, doc?”
“Yeah, yeah…?”
“Well, she’s got this boy, Johno, big as an ox, strong too, but he’s like, not all there in the head. Bit of a weirdo. Doesn’t leave the house much. But at night, he goes walkabout with this metal detector thing, combs the place for treasure.”
“Combing this place for treasure?” Chuckles. “Right!”
“Yeah, well, he does. Anyway, he tells Liz, ‘Mum, I got me a new pet.’ Liz goes to check it out, comes out screaming, ‘She’s dead! She’s dead!’ Screams for me. Asks me to get rid of the body. The corpse. Okay, I think, I gotta do something here. But when I see this … this … this thing – shit doc, she looks like she was from a horror movie. Covered in…I dunno – dirt and blood. Even her hair, blood and dirt, her mouth – blood and dirt. So, I check her pulse, I dunno why, but I check it, and I feel something. Faint, but it’s there. I’m gobsmacked. What do I do? Can’t call the cops – the boy will be arrested. So, I heard that you used to be a doctor a long time ago and all that. That’s why I called you, hoping you can, like help us with her. But we gotta keep this quiet? You know what I mean?”
“Mm. She needs a hospital, though. She’s probably not going to survive, Davo. The boy’s done a good job on her, alright.”
“Yeah … I was hoping you can fix her up here. There’ll be too many questions if we take her to the hospital. Know what I mean?”
“Mm. But … what is she doing around here?”
“Dunno. Reckon she some sort of backpacker. Some foreigner. Exploring, got drunk, got lost …”
“You find any ID on her?”
“Nah, nothing. Just her. No bags, no camera, no nothing. Liz think she’s from some boat. Some illegal. Refugee. The place is crawling with boat people.”
“Reckon we can fix her?”
“Gotta take a proper look, Davo.” I get a whiff of stale beer on my face. “How long has she been here?”
“Not sure, doc. Liz discovered her this morning and I called you right away.”
“Pretty banged up, she is. Looks like Johno tried to slit her throat.”
“Shit! Bloody boy is nuts. Should be in the madhouse. I warned my sister about him, but she don’t never listen. Now look what’s happened.”
“Mm. Got a good few blows to the head too. Must have used a knife or something.”
“Shit! Shit! Shit! That kid …man…”
“Yeah …”
There is a long silence as the hand probes my body, causing me to wince from the pain.
“So … what you think?
Another silence before the man with the beer breath speaks. “Davo, I’ll do my best for … what do you call her again?”
“Love.” A short chuckle.
“Yep, that’s what Johno named her. Named his pet, doc. His pet.”
A short chuckle from the man with the beer breath. “It’s going to take a while to fix her. Plenty stitches all around, shave her head…”
“Truth be told, she’s probably not going to make it.”
“Yes. All you can do is make her comfortable, do what you can and hope for the best in cases like these.”
“Yep. I’ll do my best, though. Can’t guarantee anything. You understand?”
“Yeah, sure I understand. Sure.”
“Gotta any grog? This sure is thirsty work.”
“Yeah. Been brewing heaps of it.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah. Heaps, doc!”
“Good. Run along and fetch me some, then.”
A short while later, I get a fresh blast of booze on my face, before something sharp pieces into me,  again and again. I scream in agony, yet not a sound escapes my lips. Why?
“She’s moving. Hold onto her, Davo. Gotta stitch her up.”
“Okay, got it, doc.” My arms are held down tightly as the piercing continues.
The pain is so intense, I drift in and out of consciousness. The thing that remains throughout this ordeal is my hearing. I hear every word they say.
“See what your boy’s done, Liz?”
“She’s got no business being here in the first place, Davo. No business at all.” The woman’s voice is mature and nervous. “This is private property. She got no business being here, unless … she wanted to steal something and –”
“Steal something? Here? Like what, Liz, what? Look ’round you. This place is a dump. Nothing to steal here. Nothing.”
“Well …”
“Bottom line, Liz – the boy, he’s dangerous. He tried to kill her, then he brought the body here to like, finish her off. Slice her up and who know – maybe eat her.”
“Aw, shaddup, Davo. Johno’s not going to eat her up.”
“Liz, I’m telling ya over and over again – your boy, you gotta get him some help, man.”
“You did that Johno? You tried to kill the girl? Huh? You did what Davo say you do?”
“No, mum, I find her like that,” another voice says. A younger voice, more like that of a boy. “I find her in the dark, mum. Her phone, it make ring! Ring! and I hear it, mum. I put my metal detector on the ground and it go beep! Beep! Beep! I hear it mum.”
“That’s a lie, boy! She doesn’t have a phone. Where’s the phone? Huh?”
“See?  There’s no phone, boy. You killed—”
“Shh! Davo, I’ll handle him, okay? I know my boy – he’s harmless. Wouldn’t even kill a cockroach.”
“Oh, please!”
“He’s my boy and I will handle him, not you. Johno, I need you to tell me the truth, son, did you hurt this … this …?”
“Her name is Love, Mum. She my pet. Where’s her hair, mum? What you do with all her hair?”
“I’m telling ya, Liz; better do something or they are going to lock him up forever.”
“Johno, son, listen to me, you have to be honest with me, tell me everything, the truth, now, okay?”
“Okay, Johno?”
“I hear her phone mum. I dig and dig and dig and I find them.”
“Yeah, mum.”
“Two women? Did you find two women?”
“Nah. Love and a man, mum.”
“A man? Where’s the man now, son?”
“He crawl away mum. He’s gone in the dark. He’s scary, mum. But Love, she not scary, so I bring her here. I wash her face, mum. Look.”
“He killed the man, Liz. He killed him and he’s lying about taking care of Love.”
“Is true. I take care of my pet. I feed it water and I give it a blanket. Keep it warm. And sometimes I sing happy birthday to it.”
I hear a long sigh.
“Okay, okay. I’ll take him in tomorrow. In the meantime, just see what the doc can do for her. If she dies while I’m gone, bury her on the hill and put some leaves over her grave.”
“Fine. Just take him away before you we all end up in jail because of him.”|
“Yeah, yeah. And keep the shotgun close. That man who crawled out of the grave, he might come back looking for Love. Don’t know what’s gonna happen then.”

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The Whisper of TEMPTATION, part 8 in the Girl on Fire Series is coming soon!

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7 ‘Sensitive’ Men Reveal What They’ve Done to Their Wedding Photos After Their Marriage Dissolved

7 ‘Sensitive’ Men Reveal What They’ve Done to Their Wedding Photos After Their Marriage Dissolved

broken hearts


Ever wondered what men do to their wedding photos once the marriage is over? I’ve interviewed 7 men regarding this question and here’s what they had to say (names have been changed to protect the guilty):


1. John

John: “I’ve thrown all the photos in the garbage bin.”

Eve Rabi: “You mean in the recycling bin? The paper bin?”

John: Nope. “She was garbage; she didn’t deserve any form of recycling.”

Eve Rabi: “Let me guess – she cheated on you?”

John: “No, I cheated on her.”

Eve Rabi: “You cheated on her and you’re calling her garbage?”

John: “Yup. With her best friend too.”

Eve Rabi: “Christ, John, you are nuts.”

John: “That’s what everyone says.”


2. David

David: “I accidentally got a box of wedding pics when we split up. Six months later she wanted them. I thought sweet, she obviously wants to hang onto the memories. It not so easy to get over me, eh? But then she said, ‘I want to show my new guy how thin I was when we got married.”

Eve Rabi: “Oh, that must have been disappointing to you.”

David: “Nah. I sent them back to her.”

Eve Rabi: “That mighty big of you, David.”

David: “After I sprinkled apple juice all over her in the photos.”

Eve Rabi: “You did not!”

David: “I sure did. And it felt damn good.”


3. Daniel

Daniel: “Why do you want to know?”

Eve Rabi: “For my blog. I won’t mention your name.”

Daniel: “How much am I going to get paid for that kind of info?”

Eve Rabi: “Ten beer nuts.”

Daniel: “Piss off.”


4. Vonny

Vonny: “I have most of them with me because she moved into an apartment and had little space.”

Eve Rabi: “Oh okay.”

Vonny: “But the best ones are damaged now.”

Eve Rabi: “How?”

Vonny: “After she left, I used to look at them and cry. My tears, they ruined the best ones.”

Eve Rabi: “Poor Vonny. It’s great to find a sensitive guy.”

Vonny: “Yeah. Can I get a hug?”

Eve Rabi: “Eh…no.”


5. Eric

Eric: “I’ve given them up for safekeeping. Thought I’ll save them for when our kids grow up. They will want to see how their mum and dad looked in their heyday, right?”

Eve Rabi: “That’s sweet. Where are the photos?”

Eric: “At me mum’s.”

Eve Rabi: “But Eric, didn’t your mum die a couple months ago?”

Eric: “Yeah.”

Eve Rabi: “And didn’t you pay someone to dump everything in her house?”

Eric: “Oh, shit, I forgot about that. Hey, you have some memory.”

Eve Rabi: “You’re a liar Eric.”

Eric: “And? Your point is?”


6. Richard

Richard: “Oh, I have them all over my place.”

Eve Rabi: “That’s refreshing. Why? Your marriage is over, right?”

Richard: “Yeah, but I got hair in those pics. Not like now.”

Eve Rabi: “I see. Kind of vain, isn’t it?”

Richard: “You’re a fine one to talk considering the tonne of make-up you’re wearing.”

Eve Rabi: “Make-up? Tons? What make-up? I woke up like this.”

Richard: “Bullshit!”

Eve Rabi: “Seriously, I woke up like this.”


7. Chris

Chris: “My new girlfriend tore them up.”

Eve Rabi: “She did not.”

Chris: “Oh, yeah. She was so jealous. But I got back at her. I dumped her iPhone into a glass of beer.”

Eve Rabi: “You did not!”

Chris: “Then I called the cops on her.”

Eve Rabi: “You did not!”

Chris : “You say that a lot, don’t ya?”

Eve Rabi: “Say what?”

Chris: “‘You did not.’”

Eve Rabi: “Mm.”


And there it is folks. 7 sensitive men open their hearts out to us about their wedding photos.

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Author Bio:
Eve Rabi
is the best-selling author of 26 romantic crime novels. If you’re bored with vanilla reads, if you long for bold, scandalous, controversial yet romantic stories, you will enjoy reading books by an author who dares to go there. To quote an Amazon reviewer: “When you pick up an Eve Rabi book, forget sleep. She writes gripping page turners that will keep you reading till the very end.”
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