Hi
I've been slack in blogging for a while now. I'm going to try to correct that. I've also been busy with planning out my next thriller which I hope to release later this year.
Since I last posted, I've published Deeds of Darkness late October 2018.
Here's a chapter from this story.
DEEDS OF DARKNESS
AN AMANDA BLAKE NOVEL
Book 2
O. N. Stefan
© 2018
Published by: Payella Pty. Ltd.
1
Sydney, NSW, Australia
He
liked autumn
because if winter was the death of the year, autumn was the dying. Watching the
dying was his favorite pastime.
His burner cell phone rang. “What?” He sipped a glass of 1998 Penfolds Grange and
enjoyed the Sydney
skyline with its confusion of lights and shadows that hid many sins.
“Just the man and the girl?” the
male voice said.
“All four must die. Don’t you listen?
You stupid or something?
“My fee is double ‘cause I now
count four hits not two, and the disrespect. It’s a difficult job.”
He slammed his glass on the coffee
table and it shattered, spraying red wine over his chinos. It looked like he’d
been stabbed. “What, you now have a maths degree! You knew about that from the
start, so don’t give me any shit over charging
more.”
“We agreed on my fee for each
termination at the start.”
“Okay. You have the photos and the
video link to the GPS tracker.” He pulled a shard of glass from his finger and
sucked the bloom of blood. “Just make sure they’re not found.”
“Consider it done.”
“I want photos sent to the email
address I gave you. Then erase all evidence.” He called off and pulled out the
SIM card from the burner phone, crushed the card under his heel, went to the
marble tiled bathroom and flushed it down the toilet. It never hurt to be too
careful.
He dropped his stained clothes in
the laundry basket, slipped on a pair of jeans, picked up his keys, and let
himself out. He buzzed the elevator and waited for it to arrive. The adrenaline
rush of talking about killing got him in the mood. This was a good night for a
special sort of entertainment. He hummed a song that he had long forgotten the
words to. A song about death and dying.
He rode the elevator down to the
ground floor, left the apartment building and crossed Darlinghurst Road. Walking past the aromas
of Chinese, Italian, and French foods, he continued towards a side street where
some transvestites plied their trade. He lit a cigarette and ignored their
lascivious stares. Two lady boys, more
valuable cargo than the trannies guarded by their pimp, leaned against a wall.
A Thai boy stepped towards him.
“You want lady?”
“Go fuck yourself, you disgusting
piece of arse.”
The boy shrank back.
Then he saw the sort of woman he
was looking for. Drugged, alone, with no scum to protect her, she was ideal.
He approached her. “Are you ready
for a good time?”
“Sure, Mister. BJ will cost $50 and
FL--”
“All night. Name your price.”
The blonde had a false and nervous
laugh. “No funny stuff!”
“I just need to talk.”
“I’m serious. No funny stuff. I’m
not into S & M.”
“I don’t do naughty. I just want to
talk, and some straight sex.” He gave her his best innocent look.
“Okay,
Mister. Just let me text my friend.”
“Sure. You should keep safe.” He
led her to a vehicle he’d parked in a lane a couple of hours ago and opened the door for her.
He slipped inside the cabin and turned to her. “What’s your name?”
Just call me Melanie.” She did up her
seat belt. “Where are we going?”
“Not far away.” He pulled away from
the curb and the vehicle automatically locked the doors. She wouldn’t be able
to escape even if she wanted to.
The devil was smiling on him
tonight.
