Posted by Eve Rabi Author
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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Posted by Eve Rabi Author
(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 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 tequila, vodka, light rum, triple sec, gin, 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.
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!
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.
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.
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!
Release Date: 01 July 2017
My editor, Missy (short for ‘Mistake’), taking a power nap between programs 🙂
“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!
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