Terrible Angels: January Morrison Files, Psychic Series 5

By Eden Laroux

From the Publisher that brought you popular short story series Witching Call, Hostile Hearts, Earthbound Angels, The January Morrison Files Psychic Series, Ralph's Gift, Children of Time, Chains of Darkness, Song of Teeth, Tropical Storms and Friend Zone...

January and Ash go separate ways...
BUT LIFE AND DEATH HAVE OTHER PLANS

Before long they are forced together again by a series of bizarre murders in which the killer turns his victims into shocking works of human art. Eager to distract himself, Ash tackles the case with his usual determination, but it’s no use. The facts of the case inevitably lead him back to January, forcing the two of them to a painful confrontation.

Things take an eerie turn as January’s psychic abilities once again pull her into the middle of the investigation, and force her to take an unflinching look at her love for Ash and her own unique destiny.

Soon, she and Ash are at the center of the killer’s deadly game. January finds herself the lone keeper of information that can save Ash from a danger he doesn’t even know exists. Can she get to him before she loses everything she loves?

Once again, January must search herself for the strength to face what she alone can do – act as a link between life and death.

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READER ADVISORY: This story contains contents that some reader may find objectionable, including sex and erotic themes.
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EXCERPT

He lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. She could feel him getting hard against her backside. “I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of drunk women, if that’s what you mean.”

“How about painfully hung-over women?”

“That I have no problem with.”

“Thank God.”

She started to turn to him but he held her down. “I want you like this,” he said, his voice low and rough. Her headache melted away and her body awoke in a slow, fiery wave. She looked back at him and reached under her dress to slip off her panties, watching his face as she exposed herself to him.

His eyes narrowed. He turned her on her stomach and pulled her up to her knees, lifting her dress and letting one hand play over her breasts as the other slipped between her legs. He unbuckled his pants and moved against her. She reached down to rub him against her waiting body.

He moaned and squeezed her shoulders. She put her head down on the pillow and bit her lips as he took her in one quick thrust. He reached over to touch her in front, between her legs and she gasped, her body opening up to him even further. She moaned and ground herself back against him, pushing him in deeper.

He moved harder and faster and she met his thrusts as he teased her with his fingers. Suddenly, she was at the top of the cliff. It had come upon her so quickly she was afraid she would miss it, that it would come and go too soon.

He must have felt the same thing, because he stopped. “Don’t move,” he growled, his breathing ragged.

“It’s okay, I’m right there with you,” she whispered, and then her body shook and she came over and over, squeezing him inside her until he moaned and gave one final, violent thrust, gathering her up in a tight embrace and holding her still.

He rolled over on his side, taking her with him, their bodies fitting together as feeling returned to them. He stroked her hair and kissed the back of her neck. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

She smiled and turned her body toward him. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Ross
• Release date: Aug 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301947041

Eden Laroux

Eden Laroux was born on November 27, 1978, in New Orleans, Louisiana, to a father who was a butcher and a mother who was a florist.Her mother, originally from Saint-Emilion in France, migrated to the US to become a textile worker.Eden Laroux was born as Emilia Domini. She had an elder brother, Calvin, and has a sister named Philomena.Her father, a second-generation Italian immigrant, left Emilia’s mother for a laundrywoman, who was also of Italian descent. He was a gambler and an alcoholic. It was learned later that he not only stole money from his employer, but also left the family with gambling debts to settle.Eden was 14 at the time, and the experience of being abandoned and deceived seared into her memory – a theme which showed up in most of her early literary works – sad poems and essays--and in her college years, short stories for various creative writing classes.Eden's brother Calvin chose to leave his own studies and worked odd jobs to supplement their mother’s income, which was obscenely meager, after their father left.Despite financial difficulties, Calvin pushed Eden to work for a degree, and through his and other people’s help, she was able to get a scholarship to attend college and study English Literature.Three weeks after Eden's graduation, Calvin - a closeted homosexual - was killed in a freak accident at work (stabbed by his partner in the middle of a long drive for an out-of-town furniture delivery). He had “come out” only to Eden. He and Eden had been very close, owing to their father’s leaving and their mother becoming undone and distraught.Philomena, Eden's younger sister, is the family’s joy and the family’s artist. While her formal training is in business (she is currently studying for a degree in finance and strategic management), she nevertheless finds time to also dabble in the visual arts – as a potter, painter, and, of late, as a furniture designer.Emilia chose to write under her mother’s name, Eden, as a tribute both to her mother's unconditional love and for her strength to overcome an enormous challenge of raising a family – all on her own.

Book preview

Terrible Angels

By Eden Laroux

Published by Publications Circulations LLC.

SmashWords Edition

All contents copyright (C) 2013 by Publications Circulations LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, companies and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

The following story is for entertainment purposes only. This book contains sexually graphic scenes depicting consenting adults above the age of 18 engaging in passionate sexual acts. This story is intended only for persons over the legal adult age. By downloading and opening this document, you are stating that you are of legal age to access and view this work of fiction. Mature readers only. Reader discretion is advised.

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The publisher has used its best efforts in preparing this book, and the information provided herein is provided as is. Publications Circulations LLC makes no representation or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaims any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose and shall in no event be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.

~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter One

YOU HAVE...twenty-two...messages, said the robot voice on the answering machine.

My goodness, said Mrs. Fitzgerald, taking a bite of croissant. Persistent, isn't he?

To say the least, January said. There were eight voice mail messages from Ash on her cellphone when she got off the plane at LaGuardia on Sunday, three more on her answering machine when she got home that night and at least three every day since then.

How long are you going to torture him, Doll?

I'm not trying to torture him, January bristled. I just need a little time to think. We don't see each other for weeks at a time, then suddenly he asks me to move to LA with him. I can't make a decision like that on the spot.

What's to decide, Doll? Mrs. Fitzgerald refilled her coffee mug. You know, Mr. Fitzgerald proposed to me eight times before I finally said yes.

Now, that's a cheerful way to start a life together.

Listen. What I'm telling you is my answer was always yes. From the first time, all the way to the eighth. My stupid pride kept me from saying yes the first time. She flipped her hand in the air, dismissing her younger, sillier self. I was young, I thought everything needed to be perfect. He was on his way to propose to me for the eighth time when he hit a goat in the road.

Oh my God! He ran into it with his car?

No, he actually hit it. It wouldn't move out of the way, so he got out of the car and smacked it in the nose. Pow! Needless to say, it got mad. Bit up his ass something terrible. He had to get eight stitches.

January stared at her, trying not to defame Mr. Fitzgerald's memory by laughing out loud. Why are you telling me this?

I'm telling you because I knew I loved him, but I dawdled. What if something had happened to him? I mean, something worse than a goat with a death wish? He could have been hit by a bus. He could have gotten tired of waiting and went with some other girl. That goat gave me the kick in the ass I needed to get off my high horse and take the bull by the horns.

Did you grow up on a farm, Mrs. Fitzgerald?

Farm? What farm? You're not listening. Look, you know you love this poor kid. What are you waiting for? Give me one good reason you shouldn't be on a plane to Los Angeles right now.

January smiled. Well, for one thing, that would end our Wednesday morning coffee dates.

Mrs. Fitzgerald blew a juicy razzberry. I will send you a Bundt cake every Wednesday, and we can talk on the, the...whosiwhatsis...Scoop? Scrape?

Skype.

Right. That, too. What else you got?

I don't like the idea of being that far from my parents.

You're a big girl. You can wipe your own nose. She looked in her eyes. Come on, Doll. What's really bothering you?

January didn't know how to answer that question, even to herself. She missed Ash terribly but that was nothing new. Maybe that was the problem.

I don't want to miss him anymore, she mumbled. I don't want to share him with his job. I don't want to be afraid. I just want to love him. But I don't think it will ever be that simple.

Mrs. Fitzgerald was quiet for a long time, Oh, Doll, she finally said, looking at January with a sad smile. It is never, ever that simple.

After Mrs. Fitzgerald left, January listened through all the messages again -- every single one. Some were sweet, some sad, some impatient. A few made her laugh out loud. She closed her