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Books by Sheila Roy
A romantic adventure, and the first in a series of novels, about a petite assassin named Miranda. Some readers are comparing this novel with Showtime's "Dexter". Other readers call it literary justice for victims of sexual predators.
Miranda is an assassin for a secret society headed by a woman called the Judge. The Judge’s clients come from every walk of life; maybe their child was molested or their daughter was raped. Whatever the case, Miranda’s face is the last face the target will ever see. Driven by hatred for her own rapist, Miranda seeks justice for those who cannot find it on their own. She uses her petite size and auburn curls to appear innocent, which allows her to approach her targets. She is a one-woman crew; trained in martial arts by the Judge’s teachers and deadly with most weapons. She uses unorthodox methods and she lives by her own set of rules dubbed Miranda’s Laws, which keep her alive and out of jail. She gives her clients peace of mind but can she obtain the same peace by finding her own rapist?
When Miranda meets Nash Shapiro, a gorgeous sword dealer, the heart she’s been trying to hide decides to ride her sleeve. Caught between two men and surrounded by her handsome colleagues, Miranda feels like a lady slipper in a dark forest!
Just Deserts: An Assassin’s Tale proves that you can love after being hurt, you can move on after loss, and you can trust after being betrayed.
**Author's Note: There are no graphic rape descriptions in this novel.
Tony Wallace arrived on schedule and, as planned, I made myself scarce. He made a fucking ruckus coming in, mumbling to himself and rattling his keys. Finally, he dropped the keys unceremoniously on the table’s top.
Peeking around the side of the couch, I could see that he’d left his work jacket draped over a chair. Then I heard him crack open a thirst-quencher.
He was in the kitchen for all of five minutes before I heard, “What the fuck?” His words were clear as a bell, and I could feel his mood change from my hiding place. “What the fuck?” I heard again. Then I heard a plate or glass being smashed, followed by the kitchen door hitting the wall as he threw it open in his anger.
A few seconds later he came stomping into the living room. “I can smell you!” he raged menacingly.
The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood up like the great, big tattlers they were – telling the whole world that I was spooked! He could SMELL me?
“You smell like lavender, bitch! I smelled it in my kitchen, but it’s stronger in here.” He was walking toward my couch refuge like a bloodhound on a scent. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he called in a singsong.
I crawled out from my spot and stood to face him.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked me, practically growling the words.
“I’m the last person you’ll ever see,” I explained to him, calm as could be.
“That a fact?” he growled back. He managed to look surprised but spoiled it with the laughter that followed the expression. “Little thing like you is gonna’ kill me?” he asked, laughing some more.
“That’s the plan,” I told him confidently, slipping my hand over my manriki chain. “That’s why I’m here, Tony.”
Before he could even react, my manriki chain was in the air headed right for him! It hit its mark. The chain wrapped around his face and the stray weighted end hit him in the temple! He looked dazed but he didn’t go down as I’d hoped he would.
If looks could kill, Tony would have been armed, too!
I pulled an 8-inch blade out of my black, calf-high boot. My hand fit easily over the top and my four fingers slipped straight into the holes on the bottom side of the hilt – my fighting-knife. This was a knife I was very practiced with and it was one of my favorites. Once the blade found flesh, you had the leverage to twist the blade and do serious damage.
I approached him in a run. When he tried to punch me, I ducked to come up behind him. Then I promptly stabbed him in the back of the shoulder. I pulled the blade right back out and tried to step away. He was faster than he looked, though! He caught me with a left uppercut and I went flying across the room to land on my back by the grandfather clock!
When I landed, I slapped out with my hands to help ease the impact on my back. I also tucked my chin against my chest so I wouldn’t hit my head.
I sheathed my baby blade and reached behind the clock for its daddy. I stood and pulled the naginata out of its casing seconds before he rushed at me, clawing the chain around his face. “You bitch!” he spat.
I jabbed him in his remaining healthy shoulder, twice in rapid succession, effectively ending his mad charge at me. He screamed and crumpled to the floor clutching his newest wounds.
He was on his knees, his head hanging heavy, looking down at the floor. I threw a reverse crescent kick, catching him square on one cheek. His head snapped to one side and he glared at me angrily with quite a bit of stubborn left in him!
This time, I aimed a front-ball kick directly at his face – with enough power in it to knock him off his knees and onto his back. Oddly enough, he began to roll from side to side as if he was on fire. He was laughing uncontrollably. I kicked him in the ribs a few times, and then I landed another kick to his face.
Now he wasn’t laughing!
I risked turning my back on him to get my fanny pack behind the sofa. I took a pair of cuffs from the pack and used them on his wrists. I cuffed one wrist, and then I ran the chain and remaining cuff under the sofa to come out the other side of its leg. Then I captured his last wrist with the empty bracelet, making sure it was tightly clamped. Now he wasn’t going anywhere unless he could drag the couch with him or lift the couch despite his wounds.
I worked quickly to the sweet sounds of his bitching and name-calling. I took a roll of duct tape out of my pack and used it to tape his ankles together after removing his boots. Then I placed tape over his mouth until all that was left was a small crack for him to breathe and talk through on the side. I put his boots in the kitchen by the door and returned to strip him. I used my 8-inch blade to make slices down the legs of his jeans until they were gaping open, but I didn’t bother to pull the material out from under him. I sliced his shirt the same way. Then I moved on to his undershirt. Next, were his undies by Hanes.
He was naked before me and the laughter came from my throat this time! His eyes reflected anger and he was trying to curse at me through the tape.
I retrieved my kendo sword from beneath the couch and tapped it on the floor to get his attention. I saw his eyes run the length of my bamboo toy and then they darted back to me. Confusion was toiling in his wide pupils.
No, still not the mood I was aiming for!
I used my weapon like a flyswatter, swatting downward with a quick strike. I slapped him across his withered penis, again and again. I poked at his equipment, making sure it bulged within reach, above his restricted thighs.
After each crack of the bamboo sword, he would try to curl into a ball but I would kick his legs back into place so he’d be on his back again. I slapped him across the throat twice and then I headed back down south.
I put the bamboo sword in my left hand so I could swing outward and hear it swoosh through the air. Each whack caught him under the balls with a sharp crack. He would yell out each time. I knew I was getting much closer to the response I was trying to elicit from this child-molesting freak!
I crossed over to where I’d left my fanny pack on the coffee table. He was swinging his legs now as though he was a merman out of water. I walked back toward his head, easily avoiding his slow attempts to sweep my legs out from under me.
I showed him what I had in my hand. It was the little girl’s spread-eagle picture, which I’d taken from the bottom drawer of his bureau. The same little girl he had ruined for life and left to live out a scared, paranoid existence.
Aahh! Now that was the look I was shooting for!
Fear clouded Tony’s eyes for the first time, as he looked back and forth from the picture to my face.
“That wasn’t you! What do you want?” I heard from the hole in his tape. His voice was more urgent now, more terrified.
“Little girls turn you on?” I asked, clearly disgusted with him.
“Fuck you!” he swore through the tape.
“Ever heard of Betty Logan?” I asked impatiently.
“No,” he lied.
I smacked his pecker again, this time even harder. “You weren’t on trial for the rape of a minor named Betty Logan?” I asked rhetorically. Rhetorically, because I knew that he would tell me more lies.
“My lawyer cleared that up! I didn’t do it,” he claimed, while sweat soaked his brow.
I cracked him twice in the ribs, and then I warned him, “It’s only going to get worse, Tony. I know that you raped that girl, and there were others, too. I’ve seen the treasure you keep in your cellar!”
“No. Fuck you, Tony!” I countered, giving him three more cracks across the balls.
Tears were betraying his show of bravado and he was sweating profusely. Finally, he thought to ask me, “Who are you?”
“I told you already. I’m the last person you’ll ever see.” I let that settle in his craw for a minute, while I savored the complete and utter dread I saw dancing in his eyes.
I set my kendo sword on the coffee table and reclaimed the Japanese naginata. He screeched at me as I moved, foolishly demanding to know my name.
Finally, I held the naginata as far above his chest as I could. I stepped back with my left foot and drove the sword into his chest with both hands, kneeling on my left knee as the blade went deeper. I saw him spasm several times, and then he looked up at me with a mixture of reverence and disbelief.
I watched the show through the windows to his soul as he faded out of them. Finally, all that was left was a cold, empty stare.
I stood and released the sword, stepping back from Tony’s fresh corpse. I set the little girl’s picture down on his belly. I took one last item out of my bag before packing to go – a digital camera.
I took several body shots of his cuffed, naked, dead body. Then I took close-ups of his face and the mortal wound. And just for shits and giggles, I snapped a few shots of his black and blue, swollen balls!
Smile Tony! Your just deserts have been served!
**Read the first two chapters on my website, under "Just Deserts".