An Early Look at: Wrath of Furies Book One

Wrath of Furies, book one, is set to launch around May of 2026, earlier if I can. But since you’ve joined my newsletter, or picked up a card from my table, you get a little look at an exclusive chapter! Follow me for more here.

(Please note, this is an UNEDITED chapter of a book still being drafted. Thank you for not judging the rough edges.)

Nothing on Earth compares to the tingly rush of watching the light go out in another person’s eyes. Knowing you’re the last person they’ll see when they draw their last, gurgling breath as they force out the word why has a stronger kick than any drug. Although, sometimes I’m too wrapped up in my own orgasm to remember to keep my eyes on theirs. The thrill doesn’t last long, though, and before I’ve finished cleaning the blood from my skin, I’m already longing for the next victim.

Victim. That’s how these men would describe themselves. Innocent as the babes they rob of actual innocence. Besides, the press hates the word rape. They like it even less when a minor is involved. People prefer the much less offensive assaulted and underaged woman to lessen the blow and keep the audience from becoming too uncomfortable and changing the channel. 

Then there’s what they’ve said about me. Seduction comes up far too often to describe someone who’s only been eighteen for two weeks. After I die, and someone looking for a quick paycheck sits down to write my villain origin story, they’ll censor out the truth and replace it with flowery language and bullshit.

Seductress with a rough upbringing. A black widow, using her feminine ways to trade her body for their lives.

The truth? Every one of these sick fucks stole something from me and from other girls, and I was done letting them. At first, I thought people would see me as a hero, a brave kid who stood up for herself and others. But the news lead off with headline keyed in on the terms murder, horrific, and evil. They used the right words, but they used them about the wrong person. Me. The one out there slaying the demons that tried to make me into a demon.

Each death followed the same pattern in the media, glowing remembrances of kind, god-fearing men with loving families. Men who volunteered with the local youth center, coached little league, tutored at the library. Next I’ll hear about the one with years worth of glowing reviews as a music teacher. Each time I heard the stories, I’d remember the monsters hiding behind a kind smile. Instead of deterring me, it reinforced what I was doing, proving time and again that everyone in power was either just as rotten as the men I killed, or oblivious to their true nature.

I glance down at the bastard beneath me, watching the vein in his neck throbs with panic and what’s left of his blood. I’ve hunted him since I was sixteen, when he campaigned to pass a bill lowering the legal age of consent to fourteen. A year after it passed, his twenty-eight year old son walked a round bellied fourteen year old down the aisle. Since then, I’ve stalked him, learning his schedule and what made him tick. Noting each time he laughed and joked with his family around the dinner table. I’m not one to blame the sins of the son on the father, but when the son learns those sins from his father?

When I’m done, I’ll burn this cute little house of pain, lies, and trafficking to the ground with him inside. He might as well get used to the flames of hell, since that’s where I’m sending him.

He squirms and writhes between my legs, bucking out of natural reaction rather than arousal. Or it could be from the knife I’m dragging through his chest. The fire department has yet to put the flames out fast enough for anyone to find these messages I leave. Labels for each one of them to call out their crimes. Mr. Politician and Music Man has only let me get through the P-E-D-O, and already his pale face signals his end drawing near.

“Hold on just a little longer, Congressman Reynolds,” I moan, rocking my body against him and using the handle of the knife to edge myself closer. I don’t care that it’s causing the blade to press into his stomach. “Aww, come on, baby. I thought you wanted this? An hour ago you begged to put that pathetic excuse for a cock inside me.”

My bloody hand slides over his chest before climbing up my belly to squeeze my nipple. If he’s not going to do the work to get me off, I sure as hell will. 

The release stares me in the face, flashing red then blue, then red again. Shit. Leave it to the cops to snatch an orgasm away. Pricks.

“Well, looks like I have to cut our session short, love.” I climb off the man, grinning when his half-limp cock flops against the blood pooling on his stomach. As much as I crave sticking around to make more of a mess, I still have a few things to do before I can run.

The fucker on the floor tries to worm crawl away from me when I pull the can of gas out of the closet where I stashed it earlier that day. There’s a thrill in my veins when the red can reflects in his wide eyes. Burning him alive would be too good for him, and slitting his throat would end him too fast. But I’ve done this before, and done my research. He needs to be well beyond saving before I walk out the door, or I run the rink of leaving a witness behind, no matter how much pain or damage I’ve caused. 

Pouring the gas around his body, I tick down my mental checklist of items I’ve brought with me. I travel light, which means leaving the frivolous pieces like identification or clothes behind doesn’t happen. I may not like the cops, and they may hate me, but I can’t risk leaving evidence behind or getting sloppy no matter how stupid I think they are.

“P—p—please?” The useless lump of flesh in the middle of the floor begs, blood spitting from his mouth on each p. 

“P—p—pathetic,” I taunt him before sliding the blade across his throat and plunging it into his heart for added insurance. He gurgles and spurts as I gather my things and light the match, holding it in front of my face to let him see the wicked grin as he chokes on his last breath.

The light goes out in his eyes and the content rush floods through me knowing I’ve added another guest to Hell’s eternal guest list.

The flashing lights grow brighter, but they won’t be here in time to save him. I drop the match and walk out the side door, letting the whoosh of the flames warm my back as I slip away into the darkness.