Read Online The Housewife Assassin's Handbook by Josie Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Josie Brown
Tags: thriller, Suspense, Chick lit, Romance, Women Sleuths, Espionage, Mystery, Contemporary Romance, Romantic Comedy, Hardboiled, romantic suspense, funny mystery, love, Romantic Mystery, action and adventure, Brown, espionage books, funny mysteries, guide, handy household tips, household tips, housewife, Janet Evanovich, Josie Brown, love and romance, mom lit, mommy lit, relationship tips, romantic mysteries, thriller mysteries, thrillers mysteries, womens contemporary
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closing the door quietly behind them.
I wait until I hear the click of the knob.
Then I turn to him, and with a shy smile, I give him a sidekick to the solar plexus that lands him flat on his face, gasping for breath.
His pain is doubled when, a second later, I’ve wrenched his arm behind his back, straight up and out.
“So tell me, you audacious son of a bitch,” I whisper, “Who are you, and what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Chapter 4
Recycling
Besides the fact that recycling is eco-friendly and a great lesson for children on how to keep our Earth green and healthy, it is also a creative way to take something you may have felt was no longer of use and give it a second life.
People can be recycled, too.
By that, I don’t mean second chances or second lives. I mean that body parts make great mulch. (What, did you think I was getting soft on you or something?)
“You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re angry.” When, finally, he can speak, his words come out in a husky mutter.
I’m guessing that’s because I’ve got my kitten heel on his jugular.
He’s lucky I’m not wearing my six-inch fuck-me stilettos.
“You think so? You should ask around about that… Oh, sorry, you can’t—because anyone who’s seen me really angry has never lived to tell about it.”
Despite my chokehold, he’s able to mumble out, “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
“Oh yeah? Tell, me, do you love it when I do this?” I press his arm to the breaking point. “And how about this?” I lean down on my heel again, but just enough.
I’m enjoying the sound of him rasping for air when, from the other side of the door, I hear Mary ask, “Mom, is everything okay in there?”
That breaks my concentration, enough for him to grab my ankle. Next thing I know it’s me who’s facedown, on the bed. I can feel his knee in the center of my back. The pressure he’s putting on me is excruciating, but I’m not going to let him know that.
“If you don’t answer her, she’ll walk in here and find us … like this.” This is murmured more as a promise than a threat. I don’t know what makes me angrier: the thought that he thinks he’s scaring me, or the realization that the warmth of his breath on my cheek is turning me on.
Either way, I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
I resist the urge to spit in his face. Instead I collect myself, and then in my best sing-song mommy voice, I answer, “Yes, honey, everything is fine! We’re just moving a few boxes in the closet. Why don’t you go downstairs and check on the chicken? If it’s browned, lower the oven to 275. Oh! And do me a favor, and mash the potatoes.”
“Um … Okay. Just call down if you need anything.” She sounds uncertain, but a moment later I hear all three of my children clomping down the stairs.
He’s listening closely, too. I inch my one free hand up slowly. I’m hoping to punch him in the groin—
As if reading my mind, he grabs my arm and curls it behind my back. “Gee, Mrs. Stone, I didn’t take you for the kind who liked the rough stuff, but whatever turns you on.”
To keep from groaning in pain, I let loose with a litany of words that, had I’d heard them coming from my own kids’ mouths, would have me reaching for a bar of soap.
“You’ve got quite a little potty mouth, now don’t you?” To drive his point home, he gives me a smack on the ass. “You know, I can play like this all night, but the boss man may not be too pleased that we’re keeping him waiting.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I hiss at him. “Just who are you, anyway?”
I guess he realizes that this really isn’t my idea of a meet-and-greet because suddenly he eases his knee off my back. “You mean you really don’t know? And all this time I thought this was just your way of welcoming me to the family. I hadn’t had you pegged for the type who gets into rough foreplay—”
“Foreplay?” I’m
I wait until I hear the click of the knob.
Then I turn to him, and with a shy smile, I give him a sidekick to the solar plexus that lands him flat on his face, gasping for breath.
His pain is doubled when, a second later, I’ve wrenched his arm behind his back, straight up and out.
“So tell me, you audacious son of a bitch,” I whisper, “Who are you, and what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Chapter 4
Recycling
Besides the fact that recycling is eco-friendly and a great lesson for children on how to keep our Earth green and healthy, it is also a creative way to take something you may have felt was no longer of use and give it a second life.
People can be recycled, too.
By that, I don’t mean second chances or second lives. I mean that body parts make great mulch. (What, did you think I was getting soft on you or something?)
“You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re angry.” When, finally, he can speak, his words come out in a husky mutter.
I’m guessing that’s because I’ve got my kitten heel on his jugular.
He’s lucky I’m not wearing my six-inch fuck-me stilettos.
“You think so? You should ask around about that… Oh, sorry, you can’t—because anyone who’s seen me really angry has never lived to tell about it.”
Despite my chokehold, he’s able to mumble out, “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
“Oh yeah? Tell, me, do you love it when I do this?” I press his arm to the breaking point. “And how about this?” I lean down on my heel again, but just enough.
I’m enjoying the sound of him rasping for air when, from the other side of the door, I hear Mary ask, “Mom, is everything okay in there?”
That breaks my concentration, enough for him to grab my ankle. Next thing I know it’s me who’s facedown, on the bed. I can feel his knee in the center of my back. The pressure he’s putting on me is excruciating, but I’m not going to let him know that.
“If you don’t answer her, she’ll walk in here and find us … like this.” This is murmured more as a promise than a threat. I don’t know what makes me angrier: the thought that he thinks he’s scaring me, or the realization that the warmth of his breath on my cheek is turning me on.
Either way, I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
I resist the urge to spit in his face. Instead I collect myself, and then in my best sing-song mommy voice, I answer, “Yes, honey, everything is fine! We’re just moving a few boxes in the closet. Why don’t you go downstairs and check on the chicken? If it’s browned, lower the oven to 275. Oh! And do me a favor, and mash the potatoes.”
“Um … Okay. Just call down if you need anything.” She sounds uncertain, but a moment later I hear all three of my children clomping down the stairs.
He’s listening closely, too. I inch my one free hand up slowly. I’m hoping to punch him in the groin—
As if reading my mind, he grabs my arm and curls it behind my back. “Gee, Mrs. Stone, I didn’t take you for the kind who liked the rough stuff, but whatever turns you on.”
To keep from groaning in pain, I let loose with a litany of words that, had I’d heard them coming from my own kids’ mouths, would have me reaching for a bar of soap.
“You’ve got quite a little potty mouth, now don’t you?” To drive his point home, he gives me a smack on the ass. “You know, I can play like this all night, but the boss man may not be too pleased that we’re keeping him waiting.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I hiss at him. “Just who are you, anyway?”
I guess he realizes that this really isn’t my idea of a meet-and-greet because suddenly he eases his knee off my back. “You mean you really don’t know? And all this time I thought this was just your way of welcoming me to the family. I hadn’t had you pegged for the type who gets into rough foreplay—”
“Foreplay?” I’m
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