"Oh, sure, rub it in," I said.
She laughed. "You've got your own Cary Grant"
"And he'll be home soon. I'd better run."
She clicked off after making me promise to call if I needed anything. But for once, I actually had it under control. Amazing. I tucked the dust mop in the utility closet, then headed back to take a final look at the living room. Comfortable and presentable. Some might even say it had a casual elegance. The dancing dinosaur on the television screen really didn't add to the ambience, but I'd close up the entertainment center as soon as Timmy went to bed.
I was running through my mental checklist as I headed back into the kitchen. A flash of movement outside the kitchen window caught my attention, and I realized I'd forgotten to feed Kabit, our cat.
I considered waiting until after the party, decided that wasn't fair, then crossed to the breakfast area where we keep the cat food bowl on a little mat next to the table. I'd just bent to pick up the water dish when the sound of shattering glass filled the room.
I was upright almost instantly, but that wasn't good enough. The old man from Wal-Mart bounded through the wrecked window, surprisingly agile for an octogenarian, and launched himself at me. We tumbled to the ground, rolling across the floor and into the actual kitchen, until we finally came to a stop by the stove. He was on top of me, his bony hands pinning down my wrists, and his face over mine. His breath reeked of rancid meat and cooked cauliflower, and I made a vow to never, ever ignore my instincts again.
"Time to die, Hunter," he said, his voice low and breathy and not the least bit old-sounding.
A little riffle of panic shot through my chest. He shouldn't know I used to be a Hunter. I was retired. New last name. New hometown. This was bad. And his words concerned me a heck of a lot more than the kill-fever I saw in his eyes.
I didn't have time to worry about it, though, because the guy was shifting his hands from my wrists to my neck, and I had absolutely no intention of getting caught in a death grip.
As he shifted his weight, I pulled to the side, managing to free up my leg. I brought it up, catching his groin with my knee. He howled, but didn't let go. That's the trouble with demons; kneeing them in the balls just doesn't have the effect it should. Which meant I was still under him, smelling his foul breath, and frustrated as hell because I didn't need this shit. I had a dinner to fix.
From the living room, I heard Timmy yelling, "Momma! Momma! Big noise! Big noise!" and I knew he was abandoning the video to come find out where the big noise came from.
I couldn't remember if I'd closed the baby gate, and there was no way my two-year-old was going to see his mom fighting a demon. I might be out of practice, but right then, I was motivated. "I'll be right there!" I yelled, then pulled on every resource in my body and flipped over, managing to hop on Pops. I scraped at his face, aiming for his eyes, but only scratched his skin.
He let out a wail that sounded as if it came straight from the depths of hell, and lurched toward me. I sprang back and up, surprised and at the same time thrilled that I was in better shape than I realized. I made a mental note to go to the gym more often even as I kicked out and caught him in the chin. My thigh screamed in pain, and I knew I'd pay for this in the morning.
Another screech from the demon, this time harmonized by Timmy's cries and the rattle of the baby gate that was, thank God, locked. Pops rushed me, and I howled as he slammed me back against the granite countertops. One hand was tight around my throat, and I struggled to breathe, lashing out to absolutely no effect.
The demon laughed, his eyes filled with so much pleasure that it pissed me off even more. "Useless bitch," he said, his foul breath on my face. "You may as well die, Hunter. You surely will when my master's army rises to claim victory in his name."
That didn't sound good, but I couldn't think about it right then. The lack of oxygen was getting to me. I was confused, my head swimming, everything starting to fade to a blackish purple. But then Timmy's howls dissolved into whimpers. A renewed burst of anger and fear gave me strength. My hand groped along the counter until I found a wineglass. My fingers closed around it, and I slammed it down, managing to break off the base.
The room was starting to swim, and I needed to breathe desperately. I had one chance, and one chance only. With all the strength I could muster I slammed the stem of the wineglass toward his face, then sagged in relief when I felt it hit home, slipping through the soft tissue of his eyeball with very little resistance.
I heard a whoosh and saw the familiar shimmer as the demon was sucked out of the old man, and then the body collapsed to my floor. I sagged against my counter, drawing gallons of air into my lungs. As soon as I felt steady again, I focused on the corpse on my newly cleaned floor and sighed. Unlike in the movies, demons don't dissolve in a puff of smoke or ash, and right as I was staring down at the body, wondering how the heck I was going to get rid of it before the party, I heard the familiar squeak of the patio door, and then Allie's frantic voice in the living room. "Mom! Mom!"
Timmy's yelps joined my daughter's, and I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.
"Don't come in here, sweetie. I broke some glass and it's all over the floor." As I talked, I hoisted my dead foe by the underarms and dragged him to the pantry. I slid him inside and slammed the door.
"What?" Allie said, appearing around the corner with Timmy in her arms.
I counted to five and decided this wasn't the time to lecture my daughter about listening or following directions. "I said don't come in here." I moved quickly toward her, blocking her path. "There's glass all over the place."
"Jeez, Mom." Her eyes were wide as she took in the mess that was now my kitchen. "Guess you can't give me any more grief about my room, huh?"
I rolled my eyes.
She glanced at the big picture window behind our breakfast table. The one that no longer had glass. "What happened?"
"Softball," I said. "Just crashed right through."
"Wow. I guess Brian finally hit a homer, huh?"
"Looks that way." Nine-year-old Brian lived next door and played softball in his backyard constantly. I felt a little guilty blaming the mess on him, but I'd deal with that later.
"I'll get the broom."
She plunked Timmy onto his booster seat, then headed for the pantry. I caught her arm. "I'll take care of it, sweetie."
"But you've got the party!"
"Exactly. And that's why I need to be able to focus." That really made no sense, but she didn't seem to notice. "Listen, just put Timmy to bed for me, then head on back to Mindy's. Really. I'll be fine."
She looked unsure. "You're sure?"
"Absolutely. It's all under control. Why'd you come back, anyway?"
"I forgot my new CD."
I should have guessed. I picked Timmy back up (who, thankfully, was quiet now and watching the whole scene with interest). "Put the munchkin down and you'll be doing me a huge favor."
She frowned, but didn't argue as she took Timmy from me.
"Night, sweetie," I said, then gave both her and Timmy a kiss.
She still looked dubious, but she readjusted her grip on Timmy and headed toward the stairs. I let out a little sigh of relief and glanced at the clock. I had exactly forty-three minutes to clean up the mess in my kitchen, dispose of a dead demon, and pull together a dinner party. After that, I could turn my attention to figuring out what a demon was doing in San Diablo. And, more important, why he had attacked me.
But first, the rigatoni.
Did I have my priorities straight, or what?
Click here to download The Trouble With Demons, a Demon Hunting Soccer Mom anthology containing all five novels! Currently in Kindle Unlimited!
J. Kenner book list
Click here for a printable booklist
The Stark Trilogy:
Release Me
Claim Me
Complete Me
Anchor Me
Stark Ever After:
Take Me
br /> Have Me
Play My Game
Seduce Me
Unwrap Me
Deepest Kiss
Entice Me
Hold Me
The Steele Books/Stark International:
Say My Name
On My Knees
Under My Skin
Take My Dare (includes short story Steal My Heart)
Stark International Novellas:
Tame Me
Tempt Me
S.I.N. Trilogy:
Dirtiest Secret
Hottest Mess
Sweetest Taboo
Stand alone novels:
Most Wanted:
Wanted
Heated
Ignited
Wicked:
Wicked Grind
Wicked Dirty
Wicked Torture
Julie Kenner book list
Click here for a printable book list
The Protector (Superhero) Series:
The Cat's Fancy (prequel)
Aphrodite's Kiss
Aphrodite's Passion
Aphrodite's Secret
Aphrodite's Flame
Aphrodite's Embrace (novella)
Aphrodite's Delight (novella - free download)
Demon Hunting Soccer Mom Series:
Carpe Demon
California Demon
Demons Are Forever
Deja Demon
The Demon You Know (short story)
Demon Ex Machina
Pax Demonica
The Dark Pleasures Series:
Caress of Darkness
Find Me In Darkness
Find Me In Pleasure
Find Me In Passion
Caress of Pleasure
The Blood Lily Chronicles:
Tainted
Torn
Turned
Rising Storm
Rising Storm: Tempest Rising
Rising Storm: Quiet Storm
About the Author
J. Kenner (aka Julie Kenner) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Wall Street Journal and #1 International bestselling author of over eighty novels, novellas and short stories in a variety of genres.
JK has been praised by Publishers Weekly as an author with a "flair for dialogue and eccentric characterizations" and by RT Bookclub for having "cornered the market on sinfully attractive, dominant antiheroes and the women who swoon for them." A five-time finalist for Romance Writers of America's prestigious RITA award, JK took home the first RITA trophy awarded in the category of erotic romance in 2014 for her novel, Claim Me (book 2 of her Stark Trilogy).
In her previous career as an attorney, JK worked as a lawyer in Southern California and Texas. She currently lives in Central Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and two rather spastic cats.
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[email protected] BITCH SLAP
Copyright (c) 2017 by Julie Kenner Cover design: Covers by Rogenna Cover image: Perrywinkle Photography Digital ISBN: 978-1-940673-53-0
Published by Martini & Olive All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-940673-53-0
J. Kenner, Bitch Slap
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