Fat Girl Running

By Amarinda Jones

She couldn't breathe, her hands pushed at the weight of the sand that was pouring down upon her body. It was rapidly filling the pit she had been thrown into. As she opened her mouth to scream, sand poured in choking any sound she tried to make. She spat out what she could and closed her mouth tight, gagging on the rest caught in her throat. She knew breathing would soon become impossible. She could only clear away so much from her nose before the weight of sand made it impossible. The feeling of doom tore through her body. Her legs were crushed under the dense weight. Soon she would not have the use of her hands to fight her way out as they too would become trapped by the volume of sand dragging her under. This was the end. She knew it and yet she wouldn't allow death to take her so easy. She would fight death's grip to the end.
She struck out once more, connecting this time not with sand but with human flesh. Who was doing this to her? Why? She sunk her fingernails deep in the skin of the hands that held her. My enemy. Who are they? She raked her nails down, pleased when she heard a bark of pain.
"Lowry!"
She knew that voice. It was as familiar to her as her own. But it couldn't be him. There had to be a mistake. She thought he loved her. Hands slapped away hers and lifted her up, crushing her against a warm, male body. "Leave me alone!" She roared, trying to pull away but his hold was too firm. "Get away from me!" Once more she dug her nails into his skin, this time his arm. She was pleased when he yelped in pain and swore.
"Stop it, Lowry!"
She wasn't about to do any such thing. This was her life she was fighting for. Once more nails sunk into the man's flesh.
"Lowry!" The man pulled back and slapped her.
Lowry Proctor cried out in surprise more than in pain, blinking back tears as her bleary gaze settled on Edward Bain. Edward? "You slapped me." She was shocked. He had never lifted a hand to her before. Her face was on fire from the blow. She pushed back from him taking in the short, ash blond hair and denim blue of his eyes. He looked worried.
"You scratched me."
Her gaze dropped to the ragged, bloody scrapes on his flesh then back into his eyes. Oh, right. Jeez, that had to hurt. "Sorry, I, um—" Lowry shook her head as if to clear it. "How did you get in here?" She looked around. There was no sand. She was in her own bedroom.
"I have a spare key, remember?"
Yes, she did. It was to be used in an emergency. “I thought I was being buried in sand." That would be an emergency.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scarlet Harlot Publishing
• Release date: Dec 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311741509

Amarinda Jones

Amarinda Jones believes anything is possible and sometimes just asking for the impossible will surprise someone enough that they will give it to you. Writing is like that. Put it out there and wait for a response. There is always the possibility you may fall on your arse, but after all, that's what cellulite is for. Amarinda believes in taking chances, speaking her mind and aging disgracefully. Twenty years from now she plans on being the neighborhood witch that all the kids are scared of. But then, everyone has to have a hobby.

Book preview

Fat Girl Running

By Amarinda Jones

Published by Amarinda Jones at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Amarinda Jones

Smashwords Edition 

Prologue

He swore with relief as the woman's body rolled awkwardly into the deep, sandy hole he had dug. He watched her land in an heap, arms and legs settling in an undignified mess.

I hate fat women. And this one had been. Any woman over a size eight was grotesque to him. While he enjoyed using these women's obese bodies for punishing, brutal, degrading sex he loathed dealing with them for anything else. They were offensive in his eyes and only good to be fucked hard and without mercy.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around him. It was dark, only a quarter moon showed in the sky. The darkness was both a benefit and a problem. No one could see him, but the problem? It also meant he couldn't see any of the saltwater crocodiles that might be lurking on the tropical shores of Kewarra Beach. He worked a little harder in covering the body.

Thirty sweaty minutes later he was done. The only thing left to do was to kick at the sand, mussing it up so it didn't look like anyone had done anything unusual in that particular in that area. He was careful about what he did. And smart, he murmured, pleased with himself as he took one last one last look around him before he walked off. Everything looked as it did when he arrived with the woman. There was nothing to indicate that he disposed of yet another problem.

It's a service. Ridding the planet of fat, ugly women. That they even let themselves get past a size eight was disgusting. He believed they should consider themselves lucky he even touched them let alone fucked them. 'Not like anyone else ever would. He brushed his sandy hands on his upper thighs, picked up his shovel and walked off whistling.

Chapter One

That's her. Mottram Proctor shoved his cell phone at the man he stood with. On the screen was a recording he made yesterday of a woman running along the foreshore of the Cairns Esplanade.

The brunette? His companion questioned.

Yes, the fat girl running. He pulled the phone back and looked at the image on screen. How I loathe you, sister. Just looking at her made him clench his hand into a fist and long to beat her as he did when they were children.

And you want me to kill her? The man said it was no emotion whatsoever, indicating this was just a job like any other to him.

Yes. It had been surprisingly easy to find an assassin. Mottram had sourced this individual through an acquaintance who told him this dark, solid man with piercing black eyes had no conscience whatsoever about how he made money. There was always someone lurking in the dark that would do anything in exchange for wealth. Can you do it without anyone knowing?

Yes.

Slow and painful?

If you want. The dark man assessed him. Is she some sort of a threat to you?

Mottram sighed. He hated explaining himself to minions and this man was just that. But then most men were. Rarely had Mottram Proctor found any man he considered his equal and this one was certainly no different. While he was dark haired, solid and muscular, he was also plain and average and for his purposes that suited him. The less striking someone looked the better they were able to blend in after the kill. All you need to know is I want her dead. The 'why' is of no concern to you. I'm going to pay you a great deal of money to deal with her. That also includes you shutting up. He looked the man up and down. Mottram always assumed criminals had no conscience. He had none himself and was surprised when others, especially men like this, did. He could had explained to the man that life was about looking after yourself first and getting rid of anyone who got in your way and that his sister had been in his way since she was born, but he couldn't be bothered because the man’s needing to know was of no interest to him. Mottram had told him what was required when they met last night in his hotel room. The man had agreed to kill her. And, after a few drinks and paying the man extra to have Mottram shove his dick into his arse—he always enjoyed fucking big men because he liked to let them to know he was in charge —Mottram had mentioned a few things to the man about how he used to torture his sister. That had been an error. But sex always made me talkative. It was a bad habit he knew he had to break. He doubted the man would have taken much of what he said on board as there was no extra money in it. Do you want the job or not? He zipped up his pants and looked at the man's, bare, muscular arse. It was a deep red on the cheeks where Mottram had slammed his thighs against the flesh, penetrating deeply. He grunted in satisfaction as he saw his cum oozing out of the man's anus. To him it was a raw, primal sight that indicated his strength over another. This man may scare others with his muscle and dark, intense eyes and maybe he had more than the thin wisps of sandy hair that barely covered Mottram's pate, but there was no way Mottram would be weak enough to be fucked by another man.

The man nodded. I'll do it. He turned and picked up his jeans that had been thrown on the floor.

Good. Mottram felt his dick jerk. He smiled and was pleased. He liked that he could recover fast from sex to indulge so quickly again.

What did she do to you? The man started to haul up his jeans.

That she's alive and breathing is enough. His gaze dropped to the man's groin. The thick, veined shaft was hard. I could stop and play for a bit. Not that he planned to give the man any satisfaction. This wasn't about his needs. It wouldn't take long until Mottram was once more fully erect. Though he did like to fuck women, he often found them too complex at times. Another man, with no conscience about what he did, was much better to fuck. To see him helpless with need and wanting to come was fun. That he would have to do it under his own hand while Mottram watched on? Humiliating for him but fun for Mottram. If you're a good boy and you suck me nicely, I'll give you another hundred dollars. The man grimaced and nodded once. It's so nice when the desperate have no choice. Come here and open wide…

Chapter Two

She couldn't breathe, her hands pushed at the weight of the sand that was pouring down upon her body. It was rapidly filling the pit she had been thrown