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EMBERS OF TEMPTATION by Eve Rabi (Book Release) Excerpt 2

Second Instalment Blog image 2 wordpress Wrath of Temptation 14 April 2018

SCARLETT
The question that plagues me – is Colin aware of Love the imposter’s real identity? (Well, other than where is my money, bitch?) Has Clover confessed to Colin that she has done a Lazarus and risen from the dead? If Clover has, then why hasn’t Colin approached me about it? Demanded his freedom? If Colin knows the truth, why duck and dive and keep the truth away from me? Surely he’d want to run off with his real wife and child and live as happily as Kanye and Kim? After all, this is the wife he’s spent days searching for, remember? Moping around like a pussy over her. Why is he still around? It’s not like he’s ill or something – earlier on he looked in peak shape when he was fucking my nemeses in the water. Tanned, fit and sexy – better looking that Shane the crooked cop for sure. Better looking than those Hemsworth brothers by far.
Considering the packed suitcases I found contained stuff for just Angel and Clover, considering that the documents I’ve discovered in Clover’s possession were mainly hers and Angel’s, I suspect that Colin may not know who Clover really is. In fact, as I stand in front of the window, taking swigs out of my quad-distilled, overpriced, imported vodka, I conclude that Colin has yet to discover the volunteer’s real identity.Being the gambler that I am, I’d say that Clover was probably getting around to the big reveal. Liz, with her man’s shoes, her plastic packet and her greedy self, popped up her balding head to dart a spoke Clover’s wheel of fortune, causing it to wobble. In time, I showed up and blew it to smithereens.
When I hear the chopper, I take a giant swig, then quickly put away the bottle of vodka. I rinse out my mouth with Listerine, pop a breath mint and prepare for battle. Will I be in combat with just the phoenix from the ashes, or will I be taking on both Colin and the phoenix?
Well, it’s best I prepare for my worst-case scenario, so I seek out my backup – a 9 mm. I stick it into a thigh holster. Bring it on.
From the window, I watch the helicopter hover, then slowly descend.
With folded arms, I watch Colin alight from the chopper, then help the slut out of it.
I tilt my head at the sight of Clover – it’s amazing how similar we now look. That bitch has been ’jacking my style quietly. Bit by bit, she’s been morphing into me, artfully blurring the lines in Colin’s muddled mind. Sneaky bitch. And that bikini she’s wearing – only a seductress would wear something so inappropriate. Sure, she’s wearing a beach robe, but you can still see most of her arse, half of her breasts through it. Maybe that’s why my man is holding onto her hand, despite the fact that he’s returning home to his FUCKING WIFE! With my eyes blazing and my mouth twisted in fury, I watch the cheats advance toward my house.
As if she remembers where she’s heading, that I might be watching, Clover snatches her hand out of Colin’s, her eyes darting nervously around. Hiding the affair from me, are you? Too late, I’m onto you and it’s game on!
With her head bowed, the slut walks fast, almost running ahead of Colin.
The walk of a person afraid. Terrified.
Good, be afraid. Be very afraid of your master and commander, the person you made the cardinal mistake of betraying.
As the conniving couple near the front door of my house, I prepare for battle – six deep breaths … exhale loudly. Three slow shoulder rolls, shake arms till loose, kick out legs to loosen up the muscles, exhale. I’m now ready for a punch-up of a lifetime. Watch how I handle myself. Watch carefully, for you are going to learn something here. Watch.

*****

THE OTHERS
As Clover approaches the house, her steps suddenly falter, her throat constricts, and her mouth becomes dry. This is not a house, this is a lion’s den. Above her the sky, now dark and ominous, concurs with a rumble of thunder. Colin catches up with her, and with his hand on her back, propels her forward. This time, she does not shrug him off. She needs his hand on her back. She needs him to have her back, because evil lurks ahead.
The front door is flung open with such force, both Colin and Clover cease walking.
Scarlett steps out of the house, stands on the patio and glares at the errant couple.Clover braces herself, while Colin stiffens.
“Sweetheart, what a lovely surprise!” Scarlett says, breaking into a smile and rushing up to throw her arms around Colin. “Sister Naomi and Brother Ezekiel told me how badly you wanted to surprise me with your recovery, and there I had to go and ruin it all by showing up unannounced. I wanted to spring a surprise visit on you guys and I … ruined it all.” She laughs and hugs Colin again. “My bad, my bad!”
Colin stands rigid in Scarlett’s embrace, arms dangling at his side, his eyes wide with surprise. Next to him, Clover sports a confused look.
As their shoulders slowly drop from around their ears, Clover and Colin look at each other behind Scarlett’s back. While he looks somewhat relieved, she doesn’t. Her eyes dart around for Angel. When she doesn’t see her, that feeling of dread that plagues her since Angel disappeared, once again pours into her stomach. Please let my baby be okay. Please! Please! Please!
“You look so well, I can’t believe it,” Scarlett gushes, touching Colin’s face, then stepping back and checking him out. “So tanned and fit …” She runs her hand slowly down his arms, then over his back and squeezes his butt. “Sexy, I have to say.” She laughs when he turns crimson.
Scarlett releases Colin and walks over to Clover. Clover holds her breath.
Taking Clover’s hand in both of hers, she says, “Dear Sister Love, you’ve done a … sterling job, bringing Pastor Colin to life. It’s nothing short of a miracle, a joy … a real joy.”
Clover flinches at the blast of peppermint in her face, at the choice of words (sterling, joy), and even more at her murderer’s touch.
“What you have done for Pastor Colin, Sister Love, is nothing short of a miracle. Comparable to… to … “she raises her arms to the sky, “resurrecting Lazarus from the dead. The Church of Light is ever so grateful to you. Ever since we’ve heard about Pastor Colin’s recuperation, the question on our minds are; How do we ever thank our wonderful Sister Love for doing such a … sterling job? She is such a … joy!
Clover glances at Colin. He turns out his palms, a see-I-told-you-there’s-nothing-to-worry-about look on his face.
Clover is in no way feeling reassured. Nothing the sadistic killer says or does will ever allay her anxiety, until she finds Angel and sees that she is safe. To Clover, all this is simply a strategy, a big game that the wicked woman is playing, and clearly, she is enjoying it.
“Come, let us go inside,” Scarlett says, holding firmly onto Clover’s hand.
Not knowing what to do, Clover follows Scarlett into the house, ahead of Colin.
Memories of the missing suitcases that were hidden in the back of the house, the sinister drawing on the whiteboard – the one with the child buried alive, flood her. Repulsed by evil personified, she involuntarily snatches back her hand.
Scarlett stares at her. Clover holds her gaze and the tension between the two Mrs. Callans is palpable.
Scarlett suddenly throws her arms around Clover again. Clover tenses – the last person you want to hug you is your murderer. Like scenes from the mafia movies – hug, kiss, kill.
“So happy to have you back,” Scarlett says in a spritely, voice. She follows this with a whispered warning, “Behave, if you want her back, understand? If you don’t want her to disappear. I’m not joking.”
Clover’s head lolls as her worst fears are confirmed. Awash with dread, she raises her head to look at the cold-blooded killer. Up close, her eyes glisten like diamonds, her lips are tightly fused and her nostrils flare. Clover literally feels the heat of her silent rage. Having no choice, Clover nods.
Pleased with the naked fear in Clover’s eyes, Scarlett smiles sweetly and continues her charade.

*****

SCARLETT
How did I do? Good? Of course!
Look, it isn’t easy for me to smile and feign pleasantness when I’m facing betrayal by multiple members of my household – my husband, the man I’ve given my all to – he could hoodwink me to such a degree? My staff, the trusted and loyal servants – they could have their loyalty so easily swayed by a Trojan horse-styled intruder? Then the intruder herself – a crafty, scheming manipulator who artfully stole my husband, my brat, my staff’s loyalty, my money – all my money stolen by the psychopath who is clearly after my life?
My perfect world, one that I’ve created with blood, sweat and vodka, has been rocked by a thug who needs to be strangled with a garrotte until she lies in a heap on the floor. Until a medical doctor declares her deceased. Then for added measure, I should burn her corpse. Douse it with flammable vodka, then throw a lit match on it. Watch the cremation with a bottle of overpriced champagne at hand (or two), while I wait for the fire to burn out, until all that remain are ash, charred bones and the stench of no-return. Have an AK-47 at hand in case a phoenix rises from the ashes – another added measure. Blast it to smithereens to ensure no comebacks.
Yes, that’s what needs to be done. However, I’m not doing that just yet. Why? Well, it’s all about strategy, because … the money; I have to think about the money. If I ranted and raved at the deceitful duo, hurled accusations like some cuckold wife, made threats, knifed them even, I would risk losing my money. Where would that leave me if I couldn’t get my money back? The money is of paramount importance and should be considered above all else. Therefore, a clear head is necessary. Along with an artful strategy, of course.
The situation calls for a game. Play the bitch at her own game and win. That is the most important things about games; you have to win. You must. Or, what’s the purpose of playing in the first place? Luckily, I am brilliant at games, and … I like to win. In fact, finishing second is not an option, never was. Winning is. Winning in my books is everything.
So far, I am winning. Think about it – I have the betrayers in my clutches, Colin is charmed and Angel is back in my care and out of sight, and Clover is cowering in terror like the coward she is. Now, all I have to do is implement the next step.
Impressed? Well, you ought to be. Hold your applause, though. For now.

*****

THE OTHERS
Colin looks around. “Where’s baby?”
Scarlett lets go of Clover and turns to look at Colin. “Oh, she’s gone into town with Sister Naomi, Brother Ezekiel and a few other congregation members, darling. She was so excited to see all the kids, she badgered me to allow her to go with.”
Colin frowns. “Badgered you?”
Scarlett nods. “I think she misses having kids around, Colin. Besides, I thought it would be nice to give Sister Love some time to herself.” Scarlett smiles sweetly at Clover again. “God knows she’s earned it.”
Colin concurs with a nod.
“I’m thinking, Sister Love could take the car, go visit her husband and darling children for a few days if she likes, catch up with them …” As she talks, Scarlett walks back to Colin and takes his arm. “You come with me, darling, we’ve got some … some … catching up to do.” She winks at him. Then, leaving Clover staring after them, she leads him into their bedroom and shuts the door.
Clover remains where she is. She doesn’t care about Scarlett’s lascivious wink, she doesn’t care about them being alone in the bedroom – all she cares about is her baby. Where in town is Angel?
The moment, they are out of sight, Clover hurries over to the key rack and picks out the keys to an SUV. It’s a small town, she knows that she will eventually find Angel. Then she will run. Just get into the SUV with Angel and drive. She will only stop until she reaches her safe haven in Sydney.
Suddenly, she feels a sharp sting on the back of her neck. She swings around to look into Shane’s face. In his hand is a needle and syringe.
“Going somewhere, sexy?”
Clover rubs her neck. “Did you just –?”
“I sure did, sexy.”
Shane suddenly starts to tilt and everything goes black.
End of second excerpt. More coming soon!

Release date: Coming soon!

Follow this blog to avoid missing out on the next excerpt. You want to keep up with Scarlett’s underhandedness, believe me!

This is one of the books in the Girl on Fire Series. Read The Other Woman (an epic and jaw-dropping collision between a betrayed wife and a cunning seductress),  which is available on #KindleUnlimited, Please read before you read this book. 
Fans of Girl on the Train and Gone Girl, The Affair,  will love Eve Rabi’s tale of love, lust and revenge.
#RomanticCrime #RomanticSuspense #StoriesofRevenge #VigilanteJustice #FreeonKindleUnlimited #LoveTriangles#TheOtherWoman

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EMBERS OF TEMPTATION by Eve Rabi (Book Release)

EMBERS OF TEMPTATION  (Excerpt One) 

 

Blog image 1 wordpress Wrath of Temptation 09 Jan 18

SCARLETT 

Pumping with adrenaline, I look out of the window, my ears cocked for the sound of the chopper. Where are you? Liars, cheats – where the hell are you? Better hurry, I don’t have all day.
Nearby, three technicians quietly comb my home for bugs. “It’s an emergency, the Church of Light is in grave danger!” I declared when I called them. “Pastor Colin needs your help.” The suckers dropped everything and rushed to protect their church and their pastor.
I figured, first things first – before I deliver any kind of retribution, I need to rid the place of all surveillance equipment installed by that psychopath called Clover. Or Love. Or Whatever the fuck she’s calling herself these days. Before more damage is done.
Joy Sterling indeed – I can hardly believe how dumb Sister Grace was for not checking this so-called volunteer out thoroughly. By not doing her job, she has allowed Clover to believe that she can take me on. Me, Scarlett Smyth-Murdoch-Callan, manipulator and criminal extraordinaire, probably one of the finest Svengalis to tread the Earth. She has no idea who she’s dealing with. How dangerous I am. That she is tangling with someone with an IQ higher than that of Einstein.

Such a fraud, pretending to be so helpful and supportive and reliable – coming up with the sparkling pacifier, the convenient playground – God, I feel like screaming right now!
Before you call me dumb (someone like me could be duped by an  unremarkable, unimpressionable, thrift-shopper in long skirts, vintage cardigans and sensible shoes), just remember that I have an empire to run, so I was distracted. It happens, okay? Distraction is an occupational hazard for moguls like me, so don’t even think of berating me. And … just keep in mind how quickly I derailed her locomotive of deceit.
Clover’s biggest mistake was thinking she could take me on. Her second biggest mistake is that she forgot about that greedy hillbilly named Liz. That beanpole who also, God knows why, thought that she could take on someone like me. “Give me ten thousand dollars today and two hundred thousand dollars in three days.” Yeah?

“Fetch me cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows.”

Really? Bitch, I am the director of the Church of Light, not a volunteer. And FYI, never in my whole life had I ever fetched anything for anyone.

Well, I hope she enjoyed that steak sandwich and that cup of hot chocolate, her last feast before she was deposited where she belongs – three feet under (six is not necessary). May the maggots enjoy feasting on her wiry body.

Bristling with fury, I look at the three wise men, roaming the place with their selfie sticks. Or detectors – they look like selfie sticks to me. My ears are cocked and ready for that, Found one! For that, beep! beep! beep! followed by ‘gotcha!’
More than an hour passes, and not a squeak from the men. Absentmindedly, I inspect my nails – I’ve ruined a good manicure by constantly tapping of my fingernails on the table.
As I wait, I think about Townsend, the sleaze bag. Thanks to Shane, he will soon be accompanying Liz. No one will come calling for Townsend – he’s a mere unemployed British actor working illegally in Australia, and doesn’t have any family around who will miss the creep in ridiculous red briefs. The nerve of him thinking I’d fall into bed with him. The nerve of him demanding a Maserati. The nerve of him thinking he could blackmail me. That’s always been the problem in my life – everyone around wants a piece of me. Love, Liz, Townsend, Shane – yes, even Shane the cokehead is expecting a piece of the pie I so lovingly and so painstakingly baked. Why? I’ll tell you why they demand a piece of me – it’s because I’m a woman. A powerful woman at that. If were a man, not even an authoritative one, even if I were a Weasel like Woody Allen, everyone would laud me, not blackmail me. They would expect nothing from me and be too scared to even think of asking. You think people can go up to Donald Trump and shake him down? Picture it – Trump, can you fetch me a steak sandwich? Trump, go fetch me a hot chocolate with marshmallows. Trump, buy me a Maserati.
Can you picture the look on Donald’s face? He’d stare at them with puckered lips, before he makes a call – not to 911, not to the Secret Service, not to the FBI, not even to Ivanka – no, he’d place a call to the Russians. That’s right – they’d be there in fifteen seconds to douse the person in mob-strength, flammable Vodka, light a match and throw it on them – Nostrovia! (now you know why mobsters light their cigarettes with matches. You can’t throw a lit cigarette lighter at a body, can you?).
“Sister Callan?”
I spin around to look at the men. “Yes?”
“All done,” the head of the bug-finding team says. “Nothing to report.”
“What? That can’t be right!”
The man shakes his head, his comb-over causing a breeze in the process. “Not a single one.” He waves the selfie stick like a flag.
“Are you sure? There must be surveillance devices.”
“Nah. We’ve combed the place for them. Nothing. Checked, doubled checked – nothing. Not even one of those cheap nanny cams.”
“And you’re certain of that?”
“Positive. We would have caught them by now. The place is clean.”
“Mm.”
“Luckily for everyone, right?”
No, not luckily. If there aren’t any camera’s around, just how did the bitch gain access to my computer files and my money? She’s gained access to just about everything and everywhere in the house, except the basement. It’s startling to think of the damage she’s done without the use of old fashion surveillance cameras.
“Ah, well, okay then.”
The men stare at me.
What? Surely, they’re not expecting to get paid? It’s the friggin’ church, for crying out loud! Have some goddamn respect!
“The Church of Light thanks you,” I say in a dismissive voice, before I turn away from them.
The men look at each other, shrug, before they slowly shuffle out of the house.
The moment they leave, I log onto my laptop, and holding my breath, I double-check my off-shore bank account. Maybe, just maybe, the money is still there. Please, please, please, let my money be there!
As I look at the screen, a feeling of utter devastation follows – the money, the one I’ve worked so hard for, has definitely vanished. My heart shatters and the pain is physical. Clover … I’m going to slice her up if I don’t get my money back. She has it. There’s no way someone can spend sixteen million dollars in such a short space of time. My guess is that she’s stashed it somewhere. In another bank account in Switzerland. (When did she get to Switzerland? How did I not notice her absence?) If she does not want to die a painful, prolonged death, she will return my money.
With my ear cocked and listening out for the sound of the chopper, I walk over to the bar, fetch a bottle of vodka (which is the only fetching I do, by the way), and take a couple of swigs from it.
What? Like you don’t drink from the bottle?

*****

CLOVER

In the chopper, Clover shifts about in her seat. Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up! Questions zip through her mind:
What’s happening to Angel?
What will happen to her and Colin?
Will the evil witch shoot them on sight? Has she already shot Angel? Buried her …
At the thought of her baby being hurt, at the recollection of the drawing of the child on the fridge, the cold hand of dread squeezes her heart. Please God …
Colin reaches over and slowly removes her hands from her head. She looks at him, unaware that she was holding her head. He nods – Relax, it’s going to be okay.
Clover squeezes her eyes shut, before she opens it again and looks out the window. She whiles away the time tallying her deceptions: among others … the secret DNA test of Colin and Angel, the hidden suitcases, Colin’s secret recovery, stealing Joy’s identity to worm her way into the church and hiding her real identity, stealing back Colin’s love and affections, and the grand prize – stealing millions of dollars from the wicked witch of darkness. People who steal that kind of money usually goes to prison or ends up having their throats slit. There are more crimes that she committed, too many to name, that make her believe she should run, that she should never have boarded the chopper. If it wasn’t for her baby in the clutches of that psychopath, she would never return to the Church of Light. No, she’d run and hide, leave Colin and bolt for her life.
At the sight of the church, her anxiety soars.

*****

Release date: Coming soon!

More excerpts to follow soon! Follow this blog to avoid missing out. You want to keep up with Scarlett’s underhandedness, believe me!

This is one of the books in the Girl on Fire Series. Read The Other Woman (an epic and jaw-dropping collision between a betrayed wife and a cunning seductress),  which is available on #KindleUnlimited, Please read before you read this book. 
Fans of Girl on the Train and Gone Girl, The Affair,  will love Eve Rabi’s tale of love, lust and revenge.
#RomanticCrime #RomanticSuspense #StoriesofRevenge #VigilanteJustice #FreeonKindleUnlimited #LoveTriangles#TheOtherWoman

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WRATH OF TEMPTATION – Hell Hath No Fury …

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 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)

SCARLETT

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 RivalMacmillanAuthor@Authors.com
Sent: Friday, 4 June 2016, 11: 25 AM
To: Clover Callan Clover.Callan@hotmail.com
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 <Clover.Callan@hotmail.com>
Sent: Friday 4 June, 5:26 PM
To: Rival MacMillan RivalMacmillanAuthor@Authors.com
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.

Sincerely

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 RivalMacmillanAuthor@Authors.com
Sent: Friday, 5 June 2016, 06:03 AM
To: Clover Callan Clover.Callan@hotmail.com
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

 

 

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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:
http://amzn.to/1E3KGa7

Amazon US:
http://amzn.to/1BeLcB5

Amazon Aus:
http://bit.ly/1IXc5up

 

*****

Romance contemporary, romance suspense, romantic thrillers, romance mystery, books in kindle, romance with strong alpha males, romantic comedy, romance humor, romance humour, contemporary romance legal action, books by Eve Rabi, free fiction, fiction romance, multiracial and interracial romance, romance, multiracial and interracial, kindle books romance, books for sale, Great romantic crime books, romantic crime fiction books,
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Now available on Amazon!

https://www.amazon.in/dp/B01NCK6186

 

 

 

That’sphone-number-blog-image https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N598LIN

Reviews:

“OMG!!! Yet another amazing book by Eve. From the moment you start reading, you are gripped. I have recommended Eve to friends and family.” Smashwords reviewer

“I just finished the book. All I have to say is, HOLY SHIT, EVE! You wrote a killer story that grabs the reader’s attention and keeps it.” Smashwords Reviewer

“OMG Eve! You are absolutely BRILLIANT! I never saw that ending coming!” Smashwords Reviewer

“Forget those well manicured nails. Eve Rabi’s latest book Lead me into Temptation will have you nibbling on your delicate French tips from start to finish. Brilliant!” Smashwords Reviewer

“Wow! I loved this story! My suggestion, do what I did: find a quiet hiding spot, turn off your phone and escape into Scarlet’s world for a few hours. I promise you will not be disappointed.” Smashwords Reviewer

“Be warned: if you start reading this book you won’t want to put it down
until it’s over…then you feel a bit disappointed because you want more.” Smashwords Reviewer

“Prepare to sacrifice several hours of sleep and walk around with panda eyes because that’s what happened to me. But hey the adrenaline rush from this fast paced and exciting story was so worth it.” Smashwords Reviewer

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“Wow! People are going to have to clear the schedules for this one, Eve. It’s a winner for sure! I’ve never read anything like this before. Where the hell do you get your ideas from? Never mind, just keep ’em coming.” Smashwords reviewer

cover-temptation-1-9-nov-16-medium

Eve Rabi’s 27th romantic crime & Suspense

thriller coming late November 2016!

My Wife’s Li’l Secret (A book by Eve Rabi Coming soon)

Love and Seduction

Synopsis

She called me the miracle in her life, I called her my little treasure. Sounds corny, I know, but I really believed I was the luckiest bastard on earth. I had the loving and supportive wife, a nurturing mother to our two precious girls, a thriving business and the future looked rosy. I was a contented man.

But overnight everything changed. My wife withdrew from me, ignored our children, and made it clear she was no longer interested in playing the role of wife and mother.

We had two children under five, they needed her. I needed her.

When her dressing began to change and she disappeared for hours, I suspected I was not enough for her.

Thinking she was having an affair, I placed my wife of five years under surveillance.

What my surveillance revealed shook my world, broke my heart and exposed a web of lies and deceit.

My Wife’s lil Secret

Coming soon!

 

Excerpt from My Wife’s Li’l Secret:

Since my wife was out partying again, bedtime routine for our girls was left to me. Again.  I tucked Ally and Becky into bed and began to read a story to them. “Once upon a time…”

“Dadda?” Ally said placing her hand on the storybook and stopping me from continuing.

I paused and looked at my daughter. “Yes, Alleycat?”

“Dadda, what’s a hooka?”

“Whaaaat?” I peered at my daughter wondering if I had heard correctly.

“The teacher at preschool, she said, ‘Here comes the hooka,’ when she saw Mummy.”

Slowly, I lowered the book and stared at my daughter. “It’s …it’s …”

How do I explain what a hooker is to a four-year-old? I shouldn’t even be in a position where I had to.

“The lady shouldn’t have said that, Ally,” I muttered.

“But, Dadda …”

Two-year-old Becky spun around and clamped her hand over Ally’s mouth. “Shhh! Let Daddy read the story, Ally!”

Becky hated anyone interrupting a story, so to prevent her from getting mad with us, both Ally and I fell silent. I continued reading even though I was terribly distracted by Ally’s words.

“Talk about it tomorrow, Ally,” I muttered when the opportunity arose.

Ally nodded.

After the kids fell asleep, I sat in my lounge in the dark and pondered Ally’s teacher’s comment.

Liefie had great legs, a great figure and I had no problem with her wearing whatever she liked, but people were talking and clearly her dressing needed to be …addressed.

Of course I expected Liefie to become angry when I confronted her about it, accuse me of controlling her and after the number of arguments we had had, I was reluctant to talk to her about it.

But when I saw her the following evening, all dolled up and ready to party without her family again, hooker was the word, alright.

Her red skirt was the size of a large belt, her white top strained across her breasts and ended above her belly button, her fake tan looked like she’d dipped herself in food coloring and that garish, face paint with that dominating electric-blue eye shadow…reminded me of Braveheart.

She didn’t look pretty; she looked like an aging prostitute. Harsh words, I know, but they weren’t out of malice, they were simply an observation. (People were talking, remember?)

Tarty make-up aside, to my absolute surprise, she sported two piercings above her left eyebrows. My jaw fell.

When did that happen, I wondered? How could that happen? Why hadn’t she told me about it?

Of course it was her body and she was free to do what she liked to it, but facial piercings weren’t something I liked. She knew that.

She could have at least mentioned it to me before she pieced her face. We were husband and wife; it was reasonable to expect her to talk to me about something like that before she did it.

“What’s with the piercing?” I asked, both mesmerized and irritated by them.

She shrugged, flashed me a deal-with-it look and turned away.

With a weary sigh, I walked around to face her. “We need to talk.”

A guarded look flashed in her eyes before they hardened.

“Liefie, you need to dress more like a mother,” I said in a quiet voice. “You have two children and …”

“What?! You want to tell me how to dress now? You want to CONTROL ME?”

Just as I had expected.

“Hey, keep you voice down, will you? I’m talking to you, that’s all.”

“There is nothing wrong with my dressing, okay?! Nothing!”

“Yes, there is, Liefie. Your skirts are too short, your tops are way too tight and the people at Ally’s school are talking about it. You need to …”

“Ally’s school?” Her heavily-lined eyes slanted.

“Yes!”

Her painted, pillar-box-red mouth twisted into a sneer. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I swear!”

She cocked her head and looked at me. “Who told you that?”

“Ally told me. She said one of the mothers or teachers, I can’t remember, after seeing you, used the word hooker.”

Her body stiffened. “Ally said ….THAT?!?”

“Yea…”

“That bitch! Where is she?!” She turned and strode off in search of Ally. Even though she was in heels, she almost ran.

“Liefie stop!” I cried running after her, shocked she would call her little daughter a bitch. “Leave her alone!”

She found Ally playing with Becky in the TV room. “Did you call me a hooker?” she demanded, putting her flaming face in Ally’s.

“Liefie stop this shit!” I warned.

Ally’s eyes flitted between Liefie’s and mine, a terrified look on her face.

“Lief…ie! ” I hissed. “Stop this …”

Liefie suddenly backhanded Ally across the face, sending her crashing into a doll’s house.

Ally lay on the floor so stunned, she didn’t even cry. The only thing that showed her distress was puddle appearing around her waist.

For a moment, I too was stunned. Liefie had never ever hit our kids before.

Then fury overtook me – I grabbed my wife by the hair and slammed her against the wall.

Putting my face in hers, I snarled, “You ever touch my child like that and I will fuck the shit out of you, understand? UNDERSTAND?”

Her attempt to look defiant failed and I saw fear flicker in her eyes.

I had never hit Liefie before, never even called her names, so this wasn’t something she was used to.

“Don’t ever lay a finger on any of my daughters. Understand?” I pushed my face further into hers, resisting the urge to head-butt her.

“Daddy, stop! Daddy!” Ally cried, while Becky started to whimper. I looked over at my two children clinging to each other, terror on their little faces.

What am I doing?!

Quickly, I released Liefie and took a giant step back.

I walked over to Ally and Becky, scooped up both of them and hugged them to me. “It’s okay, it’s okay!”

They looked at their mother who stood holding her head with both hands, but did not try to go to her.

After a few moments, Liefie ran out of the room, shouting, “Your father is an abusive man! He just abused me in front of our children. That’s the kind of man I married!”

I looked at Ally. “Sorry, hon.”

“Why did you tell her, Daddy?” Ally whispered, holding her tear-stained cheek.

“I’m sorry, Al, I was trying to get her to do the right thing. I’m sorry.”

“You knew she’d hit me, Daddy. You shouldn’t have told her.”

I peered at Ally. “What are you talking about? She doesn’t hit you, Ally. Usually. Right?”

No answer.

“ALLY?!”

“I need to change my pants,” Ally muttered, ignoring my questions.

My head jerked to look at little Becky.

Becky’s head bobbed, her eyes opening wide.

You can’t be serious?!

My eyes shifted back to Ally. “This is the first time she hit you, right? Or does she hit you? Tell me, Ally.” I shook her. “Tell me!”

Becky’s head continued to bob.

“All the time, Daddy,” Ally finally muttered. “Yesterday she hit me because I took too long to get Uncle Viggo’s beer. From the fridge.”

“WHAAAT?” She had my four-year-old daughter fetching alcohol for her brother?

Ally nodded.

“Mummy hit Ally here,” Becky said, slapping the top of her head.

I was mortified at what I was hearing.

If Liefie could hit my daughter that way in front of me, backhand her, what would she be doing behind my back? Aghast, I looked at my firstborn who I idolized. “Ally, honey, why didn’t you tell me this?”

“You weren’t here, Dadda. And Mummy said if I carry tales she’ll make me sorry.” Fat tears coursed down little Ally cheeks.

I drew my girls closer, feeling absolutely gutted to know they were being silently abused by their own mother. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Daddy will make it stop. I’m so sorry. This is not going to happen again. I promise.”

End of Excerpt

Release date will be published soon.

Friend me on Facebook for updates.

https://www.facebook.com/eve.rabi

 

 

 

 

 

TOMS LETTERS TO ARENA – Part two from the sequel to You Will Pay.

cover you will pay small 12 nov 13 amazon2 Years Later

13 December

Dear Arena,

I have been really ill recently. I’ve had some severe, blinding headaches and have been subjected to a series of tests. Medical tests, that is

If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably nothing serious. My violent headaches could be the results of the concussion I sustained during a recent fight.

During Exercise Time, two offenders, a serial murderer and an armed robber, for no reason jumped me and tried to kick the crap out of me.

Of course, I work out regularly and if you remember, I am incredibly fit, so I let loose on them.

Still, in spite of that, I received a concussion, a sprained ankle and some severe bruising on my face and chest.

In spite of them looking worse than I do, I’m feeling really low right now, and I’m thinking of Warren. It would be really great if I could see him.

I know you don’t have to, but I would appreciate if you could be kind enough to bring him to see me.

I miss him so much.

I miss you too. Two-and-half years later, and I still miss you both. In spite of everything.

Guess I’m more forgiving than I thought.

Anyway, I’m sorry for my outbursts in my previous letters.

It’s just prison; it can make a man mad. For a while, I thought I was losing my mind, but I’m okay, just a little blue.

Sincerely  

Tom.

 

13 January

 Dear Arena

Something terrible has happened. I have been diagnosed with cancer. Bowel cancer.

To say I was surprised at the diagnosis is an understatement.

After all, I took good care of myself and always watched my diet. You remember all the healthy foods and antioxidants I consumed, don’t you?

You used to prepare them just the way I liked them.

I smile when I think about those wonderful times. Those marvelous weekends when we would spend family time together.

I remember how you hated Mondays.

Do you still hate Mondays, Arena?

I think about other things too when I think about us, but they’re X-rated if you know what I mean. (Big wink. Really big.)

Anyway, I’m feeling really grim right now, pretty low actually.

I don’t fear the cancer. I don’t fear death.

I just want it to end quickly, that’s all.

But I constantly think about my son. I would really, really, really like to see him.

Is it possible for you to bring Warren to see me, please?

I would really appreciate it if you did.

Regards

Tom

 

13 March 2013

Dear Arena

My cancer treatment is torturous. I am weak and at times I feel like I have died and come back to life.

I have seen the Grim Reaper and he’s soulless, I can tell you that much.

In fact, he never leaves, he just hovers around me like a bat out of hell, waiting for capitulation.  

I’m fighting him, refusing to surrender, because I want to see my son before I die. I want to make peace with Warren before I leave this earth.

I think I will go with a smile on my face if I see my son, if I know that my last words to him were “I love you son and I’m sorry for all I have done.”

If I don’t see my son, I feel my spirit won’t ever be at ease.  

I want to make peace with you too.

There’s nothing like dying to bring on clarity. The kind of lucidness you’ve never experienced before.

Sure, I did wrong, but we all do things because of the way we’re wired. Like everyone else, I can’t help the way I am. (As Lady Gaga puts it; I was born this way.)  

If we could, we would change for the better. (How do you know Warren isn’t wired like me?

Would you stand by him if he’s inherited my demons?)

You’re the type of person who likes to do the right thing so that you can sleep well at night.

Are you, Arena? Are you sleeping well knowing that:

a)   I’m in prison for a crime I did not commit and you put me here.

b)  I am dying of cancer. Dying, Arena, dying!

c)   You are able to grant me one last wish, yet you chose not to for whatever reason(s), even though it is a deathbed wish? (Who does that?)

d)  You have turned into a hardened caricature of your former, loving self, hardened heart, empty soul. Maybe even as soulless as the Grim Reaper.

e)   You lie to our son that his father does not want him or that his father is not interested in him, or whatever – you just lie to your son about me?

The doctors say I have about three months to live. I really think I will go sooner.

 I shall leave you on that note.

Sleep tight and don’t let the conscience bite.

 Respectfully

Tom

 

13 April

Dear Arena,

Excuse me for having someone else write this very personal letter.

I am way too weak to write. It’s the treatment – worse than the disease, I tell you. It makes me shake, my whole body, not just my hands, so writing is difficult. 

But I’m holding on for Warren. Taking comfort in the fact that I will soon see his face.

My faith in you doing the right thing and allowing me to see him, persists.

Please bring my son to visit me before I die.

 

Respectfully and with all my love

 Tom.

PS: You do not have a hardened heart. You do not have an empty soul. You are one of the most balanced individuals I have ever come across – strong and resilient, yet, kind, compassionate and caring.

When I look at the nurses around me, I think to myself: Arena should have been a nurse. She’d be great at it.

 

End of Tom’s letters.

 

So, I’m dying to know, what would you like to see happen to Tom?

Go on now, unleash yourselves and let me have your fantasies about revenge for Tom. The more twisted, the better. After all, he did get away with killing poor baby Sasha.

Though I must hasten to add, my book is already written. I’m simply editing right now. And yes, it has turned out to be a sequel after all.

http://www.amazon.com/You-Will-Pay-For-Leaving-ebook/dp/B00CPSGLEE

 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/You-Will-Pay-For-Leaving-ebook/dp/B00CPSGLEE

 

http://www.amazon.com.au/You-Will-Pay-For-Leaving-ebook/dp/B00CPSGLEE

 

 

 

 

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