OUR AMAZING TEAM MEMBER, AUTHOR LORRAINE CAREY MET THE FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE. TODAY SHE IS SHARING HER SHOCKING SHORT STORY, 'DEAD MATCHES'
- Eva Bielby
- Aug 25
- 3 min read

Dead Matches
Cape Coral, Florida
The evening air was thick with heat and secrets. Inside the chilled sanctuary of Elise Duval’s luxurious home, the Wine and Words Book Club met once more—but their pages held no prose. Their name was only a clever disguise. Among the white leather cushions and clinking glasses of rosé, “Dead Matches” was plotting once again.
Each woman bore her own hidden wounds, scars etched by betrayal, fists, or cruel words. The legal system had failed them all, but together, they had built something far more powerful than justice: retribution.
Elise, graceful and poised in a linen short set, raised her glass with a practiced smile. The room’s glossy surfaces reflected not just light, but purpose.
Jenna, the social media whiz, still bore the emotional residue of her alcoholic ex. Tessa, the cool-headed nurse, masked years of physical torment with a well-trained calm. Maya, sharp as a razor in her tech job, used her skills to peel back the public mask of any man. And Elise—their magnetic leader—had transformed from real estate darling to orchestrator of quiet revenge after enduring years of sexual coercion and bruises hidden beneath Chanel scarves.
They weren’t meeting to discuss chapter themes. They were selecting their next predator.
Tonight’s target? Jack Spencer. Late fifties. A hint of danger in his dark profile photo. His online charm concealed a rap sheet that never made it past HR departments: domestic violence, pending harassment suit, and still, somehow, gainfully employed.
Elise swiped right.
Thanks to Maya’s digital digging and Jenna’s online sleuthing, Jack’s secrets unraveled before them like a threadbare sweater. He was perfect. And, as fate would have it, he matched with Elise.
They set the plan. A seduction, a drugged drink at dinner, a short trip to Elise’s boat at the marina, and finally—silence beneath the sea.
Saturday night arrived. The Grand Harbor Yacht Club restaurant glowed like a beacon of elegance. Elise, in a form-fitting white knit dress, sat at the bar, nerves hidden beneath mascara and practiced charm.
Then—Jack. A vision straight from his profile: white Caribbean shirt, confident smirk. But as he approached and set a warm hand on her shoulder, something shifted.
“You must be the stunning Elise Duval,” he said, his voice low and deliberate.
Elise’s breath caught. Something about him—his presence—unsettled her. She smiled, but her heart stuttered. “Yes, I am. It’s… nice to meet you.”
Dinner unfolded like a dream. Shrimp Scampi, Sauvignon Blanc, smooth laughter. Jack was attentive, charming—too charming. Elise felt an ache she hadn’t felt in years. Attraction. But the golden rule echoed in her mind like a siren: never fall for a mark.
As he excused himself to the restroom, Elise reached into her purse for the bottle of Flurazepam.
Gone.
Panic clutched her chest. She rummaged faster, but Jack was already walking back. She smiled, slid the bottle out of reach, and topped off his wine, hoping the alcohol would dull him just enough.
He asked for a photo—wanted to show off, he said. Elise handed him the glass, her nerves twitching. She shot a quick text to Tessa to make sure all the ladies were set to action out in the parking lot.
No reply.
Her pulse spiked. Tessa always replied.
They left the restaurant. Jack’s hand rested lightly on her back, possessively. At the entrance, his phone buzzed.
“I’ll be right behind you,” he said, stepping away.
Elise walked into the parking lot and froze.
Red and blue lights flashed like a warning. Police cars. Doors ajar. Shadows moving.
She turned. Jack was walking toward her, not with lust in his eyes, but with duty.
“What’s going on?” she asked, voice cracking.
Jack nodded to an officer. “That’s her.”
Handcuffs clicked around her wrists like a steel exclamation point.
“Why are you doing this?” she gasped.
Jack’s voice was devoid of warmth now. “Because the justice system may have failed you once, but you don’t get to become the executioner. You and your friends are under arrest for multiple counts of murder.”
Elise’s world blurred as she was pushed into the back seat of a patrol car. Her ears rang with the sound of police radios and her own pounding heartbeat.
As the cruisers pulled away, Jack stood silently in the lot, watching the fading taillights. He had seen this before. There would be others—more “clubs,” more “cleansings.”
And still, far too many men were missing in Florida.
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COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 24th September, our guest author is Elke Feuer,
Oh wow! I got to read more. That was amazing.