Dirty Laundry by J.D. Monroe

Author:J.D. Monroe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mighty Fine Books
Published: 2015-09-21T04:00:00+00:00

WHAT NOW?

If you enjoyed this little outing with Charity Pierson, then keep reading for a sneak peek at the full-length novel, SWEET CHERRY PIE, featuring Charity and more of her misadventures. It's out now, so check it out!

In addition to checking out the sneak peek, please share the love by telling your friends and leaving a review on Amazon if you liked this little short.

Thank you for being a reader!

SWEET CHERRY PIE

Hell's Belles - Book 1

1. FROM BAD TO WORSE

IT’S ONLY WHEN SHE’S IN FREEFALL, somewhere between the rust-eaten RV roof and a patch of muddy gravel, that she realizes the shotgun was a terrible idea. Her daddy—God rest his soul—had warned her from day one about the recoil. It kicks like a sonofabitch, Charity Lee, so put your shoulder into it, girl.

Then her ass meets ground, skull to dirt, and her jaws clack together. Air puffs out of her flattened lungs. Her head lolls in the gravel, bringing the worn, clay-caked treads of her truck tires into sharp focus. Firefly spots swim in her vision as she watches the revenant peer over the edge of the roof. She can’t remember how to breathe.

The walking corpse lurches forward and stumbles off the RV. It lands flat-footed and staggers, milky eyes gleaming as it examines the shot-out shoulder of its suit. A dandelion cloud of fine white hair stands out around its face. Dark fault lines appear in its furrowed brow, spreading under a disintegrating layer of thick funeral makeup.

The revenant’s left arm hangs by one stubborn navy blue seam and a finger-thick tangle of tendon and sinew. The rest of its sleeve is shredded by buckshot. A handful of the flattened pellets shimmer against the dark fabric. The revenant tests its injured arm, dirty fingers twitching faintly. It growls with a low, wet sound. Then it looks up at her, dead white eyes narrowing at the sight of the delivery snack that just landed at its feet.

She would curse, but she’s missing a step somewhere between the inspiration and the satisfying taste of profanity spilling over her tongue.

Inhale, dammit.

Her back arches up as she sucks in a cold breath that reeks so badly of putrefied meat that she can actually taste it, oily and foul like curdled milk in her mouth. She coughs violently, fingers fumbling at the machete hanging from her belt. The folding blade is still stuck when the revenant lunges for her, uninjured arm clawed and swinging wildly. “Oh, shit,” she wheezes. She pistons her feet out to catch it. Battered leather boots sink into its bloated gut, leaking greenish-yellow under the ragged white shirt. “Get off!”

The revenant roars as she kicks it hard, trying to shove it away from her. It barely budges and comes back with a vengeance, swiping at her with its bloodied hand. Ruined fingers dig painfully into her left thigh, and her legs tremble as she strains to hold it back.

Her shotgun is lying five feet away, which might as well be a mile.

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