TODAY, WE ARE THRILLED TO WELCOME OUR GUEST AUTHOR, AMY MARIE, WHO IS SHARING EXCERPTS FROM HER NOVEL, 'THE KARMA' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
- 9 hours ago
- 8 min read
PROLOGUE
EMBYR
My skin flinches from the cold tile of the bathroom floor. My neck aches from the pull of it falling forrward in disgust. My stomach is twisted in knots, and my chest is ocnstricted. Black tears fall to my bare legs, and I lift my handss to wipe them away, but it's no use. The flow of them will never stop.
What the hell have I done?
CHAPTER ONE
EMBYR
From the outside looking in, it may seem like I'm any normal twenty-eight-year-old woman who has her shit togethr. I have a job that allows me my own condo. I pay my bills on time, work out almost every day, and drive a red Mercedes C-Class Coupe. But looks can be deceiving, and I'm as deceitfu; as they come. Each and every move I've made in my adult life has been meticuloudly planned out to bring me where I am today - bent over my boss's desk at three o'clock on a Friday afternoon.
"Goddamn it, Embyr," he grunts behind me, sweating profusely. "You have to stop wearing these fucking skirts to work."
He relentlessly pounds into me, his front meeting my asss, and I moan his name, faking my way through each thrust"Yes, Patrick. Yes. Pull my hair," I command. I prefer the pain of him grasping my tresses because it takes away from being present for another lousy fuck.
My body will never succumb to him. I won't allow him tjhe privilege of making me come. I never do. I just moan and scream, allowing him to believe that his amateur screwing can make me fall apart.
Fucking asshole.
His head falls to my bare shoulder, and \i cccccan fee the digusting slime that is radiating out of his pores. When he grips my hair hard, I rear back on him, egging him on, so he can hurry up and get the fuck out of me.
I push my ass against him harder. The sounds coming out of his mouth can be closely described as what, I assume, an elephant sounds like when he finally shoots his load. I call out his name, huffing and puffing, making it seem as though this is the best lay I have ever had.
When he finally pulls his micro penis out of me and walks to his personal adjoining bathroom, slamming the door behind him, I slip my skirt back over my ass and rush to his computer. My fingers type rapidly as I bring up his bank website and type in his password to move just a little bit more of his client’s money into the secret Swiss bank account he thought he’d hidden. But not from me; I’d come across this bad boy months ago.
The toilet flushes, and my fingers ache as I furiously finish up the transaction and jump away just in time. He walks back into the office, eyeing me as I sweetly sit on the couch along the large glass windows looking out toward the Chicago skyline. It makes me sick to look at him with his early balding and graying brown hair, which is why I always make him fuck me from behind. “You can go back to work now,” Patrick says, fidgeting with his belt, dismissing me.
I don’t get upset like some lovesick girl who wants her married boss to leave his wife.
No.
I pick myself up and stride confidently out of the room, smirking to myself at how easily he is played.
Bypassing my desk, I take the long, bland hallway of Strickland Consulting to the ladies bathroom. After using the toilet, attempting to wipe the stickiness off my thighs, I wash my hands and take a long look in the mirror.
Not a hair out of place. That man couldn’t rough up a paper bag.
I shake my head and pull my lip gloss out of my bra. As I glide the light pink over my lips and rub it in, I can’t help but laugh at how easy this all has been so far.
He hasn’t recognized me. Not from the moment he interviewed me. It’s amazing how dropping thirty pounds and dying your hair from a mousey-blonde to auburn can fool one of your high school tormentors into allowing you to pull his strings like a tiny, little puppet. It was a constant battle to keep my mouth shut in high school about their hazing; the threat of them ruining my life, altogether, loomed over me. I’ll have them all by the balls soon, and they don’t even know it yet.
Well, my lousy fuck of a boss will by the end of the day.
Patrick Strickland was the ring leader in high school. He controlled the PITCREW, as they so lovingly called themselves. The letters stood for each of their names.
Patrick.
Ian.
Thad.
Casen.
Reece.
Evan.
Wesley.
Their sole purpose in high school was to work on the cars that their mommies and daddies paid for every chance they got. All of them—rich. All of them—good looking. All of them—popular. All of them...complete and total assholes.
Each of the seven could have any girl they wanted in school, and they did, but in their free time, they chose to torture me every day for what they had done...what I had done. Holding it over my head to keep my mouth shut.
They knew my mother was mentally unstable and could slit her wrists at any moment. They also knew I would never want my daddy’s career ruined because of his daughter: the “slut.” I spent the rest of my high school career catering to them and their “needs.” Whatever they wanted, I got for them or gave to them. They drained me physically and emotionally.
But things changed. I’ve changed.
I was never a sweet girl. I never claimed to be, but someone, somewhere, labeled me as nice with a fucking cherry on top. If they only knew the thoughts that ran through my mind, they would run screaming from their cozy spots on Oblivious Island. A decade ago, they hurt me. A decade later, they will pay.
I no longer have any family. My mom lived up to the rumors and took her life a month before I graduated high school, and my father was killed in the line of duty two months later. I have no friends from back then, and even if I did, I left them all to put myself through a metamorphosis any butterfly would be jealous of.
I went on a diet, worked out like a mad woman, dyed my hair, and got green colored contacts to hide the old, brown irises. All in the name of retribution. There is no one I love left who can get hurt if my revenge plot on all seven of them goes wrong. They ruined me. Ruined my body. Ruined my mind. Ruined my life. Now, it’s my turn to take from them all that they took from me...and more.
Straightening my shoulders, I walk back toward my desk only to hear the phone alerting me to a new call. I rush over in my three-inch, red heels, sitting down to answer it.
“Strickland Consulting. Embyr, speaking. How may I assist you?”
Embyr.
Yes, I changed my name, too. No more Annie from Arlington Heights. That doormat is long gone.
“Embyr, this is Roxie from check in. I thought I should warn you that the police are on their way up.” Her frantic voice comes through the receiver.
I smirk.
This is it.
“Thank you, Rox,” I say calmly, placing the phone in its cradle. I cross one leg over the other, fixing my skirt that has ridden up my thigh. I glance at the elevators, patiently waiting for the end of Patrick’s career.
I take pleasure in thinking about him bent over in the shower, taking it in the ass from another inmate. For all the times he screwed me over in high school, I don’t feel a shred of remorse over what I’ve done to him.
The ding of the elevators arriving at the twenty-third floor causes me to sit up straight. Four police officers come barreling out, one by one, bypassing me completely, and barging into his office. I hear a small scuffle, and then Patrick yells, “What the fuck is this?”
“Patrick Strickland?” one of the men in uniform asks.
A moment later, I hear another officer’s voice, “You’re under arrest for theft and misappropriation of funds.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he roars, angrier than I’ve ever heard him before.
I stifle a chuckle but quickly stand to my feet, my eyebrows scrunching in fake concern and confusion when they pull a handcuffed Patrick out of his office. “What’s going on?” I ask, my hand going over my heart like the good, little, worried secretary I must play.
Patrick’s face is red with anger and laced with terror.
He looks scared.
So was I, fucker. I was scared every fucking day in high school, wondering what would happen with me next. Well, now it’s his turn.
“Call my lawyer, Embyr. Call him now!” he yells as they drag him into the elevator. His tone would scare anyone, but not me. I’m made of fucking steel, thanks to him and his cronies.
I reach for the phone, hitting speed dial number three, andgive his lawyer all the information I have...or supposedly have, and hang up. I glance at the clock on the bottom of my computer screen, noting it’s just after four o’clock, and start to gather the few belongings of mine into my bag. I figure he won’t mind if I leave a little early. I’m never coming back here again anyways.
I set up the answering service for the weekend—not that I believe Patrick will be back on Monday—and walk with confidence to the elevator, hitting the down button. The doors open, and I step in, turning around to take one final look at the office I’ve spent the past six months at.
Fuck this place.
I reach the ground floor, ignoring Roxie’s rapid fire questions, and quickly push my way through the revolving doors, letting the cool fall breeze wash over me. I fill my lungs with fresh air and allow it to soothe me. A sense of accomplishment washes over me. The tension I’ve carried in my body for the past ten years releases just a little bit.
Fucking him over is like a drug. I need more, and I know where to get it.
One PITCREW member down. Six to go.
Patrick
Ian
Thad
Casen
Reece
Evan
Wesley
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AUTHOR BIO
Amy Marie is the author of The Unexpected Series, The Karma Series Duet, and multiple novellas. Although born and raised in the suburbs of Chicago, she now resides in Virginia Beach with her fantastically crazy husband, two kids, four cats and her beloved Mini Australian Shepard Ozzy!
As an avid reader, she never dreamed of writing her own novel until the characters started haunting her at night and in her daydreams! Wanting to get it down on paper she set off on the journey that is more than she could have ever dreamed.
When not writing she can be found cuddling Ozzy, planning the Sexy and SaSSy Signing, cleaning up messes, wishing she was writing, or reading.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authoramymarie
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/author_amy_marie/
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COMING SOON: On Sunday, 9th August, we are delighted to welcome back, author Lucinda Race, who is sharing
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