Page 1 of Stalked By Pestilence

Chapter One

Emily

“You’re a badass bitch. You make your own choices,” I said to the blonde in the mirror and applied another thick layer of matte red lipstick. Asha called it Boner Red, which was fitting, all things considered. I always wore it on nights like these.

My heterochromia eyes caught the light, beaming blue in one iris and brown in the other. Sometimes I wore a contact in one eye or the other or totally different colors to avoid people pointing them out, but these were some of my best-selling points out on the prowl.

“They don’t have power over you, Ems. You’re the master of your owndamn life.”

I tossed my hair to one side and fixed my cleavage, conveniently pretending I wasn’t having a midlife crisis at twenty-nine. But damn did I love this dress. The little black number clung in all the right places. I’d have no trouble getting what I wanted tonight.

My phone buzzed again for the millionth time since I’d fled my soul-sucking job two days ago. It was Darcy. He’d been less than convinced I’d meant it when I stormed into his office and tendered my resignation. He'd collected the envelope with a quizzical brow, probably laying blame at the doorstep of being a woman. His stare practically screamed,“That time of the month, huh, Emily?”

Asshole.

Unfortunately, it was him and fifteen others at the office who treated me like I was a walking vagina. No matter how many cases I won or how often I proved I was a better attorney than any of those assholes in expensive suits, who, more often than not, forced their work on some no-name paralegal or junior attorney who couldn’t say no so they could relax all day in an office that their daddy bought and paid for, I’d still always be another little woman to them.

Well, fuck ‘em.

My out-of-touch, patriarchy-loving parents had pushed me to go into law, and for what? To be sexually harassed by old farts and talked down to for the rest of my goddamn life? Well, no more. I was New Emily.

If Asha, my man-allergic best friend, could get a hot boyfriend and become a whole new woman in a matter of a few weeks, so could I. I’d take advantage of that lucky bitch being swept away on some grand adventure and become a whole new person by the time she returned.

Mark my words, that Emily that slaved for corporate greed and talentless men was no more. Emily of the future was waiting inside me, and I’d let her out to do—

Well, I wasn’t exactly sure about that just yet, but something way cooler than mindless paperwork and arguments over the best way to get our client out of the bullshit they’d gotten themselves into.

Asha wouldn’t know what hit her when she came home to this newly realized, emotionally stable, not-panicking version of her best friend. New Emily wouldn’t need hookups because she’d be taking life by the balls and giving it hell.

Right after tonight.

Grabbing my purse, I made my way out of the club bathroom. Some might argue it was a little shortsighted to come back to this place after five men got torn apart and left in a street only a short walk from here, but I didn’t plan on staying long. I had me a pretty boy to catch and release.

I’d blow off some steam and start masterminding a plan to become the person I’d always wanted to be—you know, whoever that was—tomorrow. I’d saved enough over the last couple years to have time to figure my shit out. I’d left of my own accord, so no severance pay to collect, but I wouldn’t need to work for a while. This would be my long-deserved vacation.

Eat, pray, love, and all that bullshit.

My heels click-clacked, bypassing the usual locals. The club wasn’t as crowded on a Wednesday night. I wouldn’t have my pick of the brood, but anything was better than nothing.

I’d been itching to try out my new handcuffs. The last asshole broke the ones I’d been using, and these ones had a little more length and bite to them. My bedframe was sturdier than the last, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it breakingtonight.

My last hurrah, so to speak.

My hands ached to wrap around a crop whip and punish a muscular baddie who hadn’t quite unlocked that part of himself. Or maybe he had and it was my lucky fucking night.

Asha called me a Domme Mommy, telling me to “Slay, queen, slay!” but I wouldn’t say I was that far into it. Kinky, yes, but not someone who needed the lifestyle to function. Despite what my bestie claimed, I could—and did—have regular, vanilla sex. I just preferred to punish boys when I was given the chance.

But tonight I needed it.

It’d be the last for a while. New Emily didn’t need that sort of thing. New Emily had vibrators and a new goal in life.

I didn’t like to revisit past hookups, but sometimes I didn’t have any choice when I wanted to blow off steam. Problem was, these queen-lovers didn’t know how to do casual. Submissive men were the worst clingers imaginable. The minute they found a woman who dominated without any questions asked, they had a nasty habit of falling head over heels.

I didn’t do relationships.

New Emily didn’t either.

I swept my eyes over the crowd before landing on a target.