Alice in the Shallow Grave

By Mia Kingsley

For years, I've kept secrets for a living. Everything went smoothly—until now. Suddenly, three pushy men want information from me—information I neither can nor want to give them. But my new admirers don't seem to know the meaning of the word "no"...
 
A dark reverse harem romance with juicy secrets, gruesome murder, and bittersweet revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Umbrella Publishing
• Release date: Sep 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9783910412927

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Have you spoken to Flynn? I asked, looking up from my notes.

Number 46 frowned. He exhaled noisily and ran both hands through his hair. His physical discomfort hung palpably in the space between us because he hated talking about his feelings. However, it was desperately necessary in order to avoid another debacle like the bloodbath in April. With a snort, Number 46 stood up and paced the expensive hotel room. Yes, he finally grumbled.

And how did that make you feel?

With his back to me, he stopped and looked at his reflection in the large mirror that hung above the dressing table. Good.

Number 46 was normally prone to chatter. The curt answer told me all I needed to know. I made a quick note, and except for the faint scratching of the fountain pen on the paper, there was silence in the suite of the White Court Hotel. After setting the pen down again, I said, From your reply, I gather that while you felt fine, the conversation itself did not go pleasantly.

He laughed bitterly. You could say that. I had to kill Flynn.

I quickly made a mental note not to mention Flynn again. It was progress that Number 46 had at least considered trying to talk to his henchman before killing him in one of the choleric fits he was known for. Number 46 was finding it increasingly difficult to control his people, which was why he had come to me.

After making a few more rounds of the room, he sat back down and propped his elbows on his thighs. What do you want me to do now, Dr. Grayson?

Have you tried keeping a diary?

To my great astonishment, he nodded and pulled a small black notebook from his pocket, which he handed to me without hesitation. It's not much, but I did at least try.

That's good, I praised. Very good. I flipped through the pages, skimmed a few lines, and reached to give it back to him.

You can keep it and read it. Maybe you'll get a few more tips for me, Doc. Anyway, in case I get shot in the spur of the moment, it's better no one finds that thing in my pocket. Besides, I bought a ten-pack right off the bat. He shrugged his shoulders. I'm telling my men I'm going out for a smoke if I want to write something down.

A good tactic. Out of the corner of my eye, I squinted at my wristwatch. Our time is almost up. Do you have anything else you want to talk about?

Number 46 eyed my legs a touch too thoroughly.

I'd known him long enough to know what he was thinking. He thought it was exceedingly unfair to have to spend an hour with me in a hotel room every week and not be allowed to fuck me. It had taken me almost two months to get him off the question.

Number 46 was quite attractive and only a few years older than me. But it would have been completely unprofessional to sleep with him.

I understood the impulse on his part, though. My skirt was a touch too short, my heels a few inches too high, my blouse too tight, and my bra too visible. Anyone who saw me in a hotel with one of my patients would be led to believe I was a prostitute. It was the perfect disguise.

That's why I had the luxury of not running a practice and instead taking $1,500 an hour. My clients couldn't go to just any therapist, and I wasn't willing to take on every patient that walked through the door for a pittance. I had no business card and no fixed address. My patients came to me by referral, and other than that, no one talked about my existence.

Number 46 had come to me through Number 25. Number 25 was a high-ranking politician who regularly took bribes from Number 46. Since number 46 had been a thorn in the side of number 25 because of his choleric fits, he had sent him to me.

I only treated men. Both professionally and personally, I'd never gotten along very well with women. Men were easier to control, especially when it came to emotions. Any one of them would have died before voluntarily admitting to seeing a psychiatrist once a week to get the stress and murders off their chest.

Just as I would have died before I divulged any of the secrets my patients entrusted to me. If only because I had a very good idea of what they would do to me if they learned of my betrayal.

Number 46, for example, had cut off the testicles of the last traitor, forced him to eat them, and then skinned him alive. He still had blood under his nails when he came to me. Since then, I started charging him $1,750 an hour.

I haven't had sex in two years, he said completely out of nowhere.

Me too, I almost replied. In fact, it's been almost four years for me. But I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut. At least on that subject. Instead, I flipped my notepad closed, screwed the cap on my fountain pen, and set both on the table that stood between the couches. I'd been doing my job long enough to know at what point to stop taking notes.

Number 46 visibly relaxed after I leaned back again.

Is the reason physical? I asked in the same neutral voice as usual.

No. Yes. Not exactly. He fell silent and bobbed the toe of his shoe.

I take it you're emotionally blocked, and that's why you can't get an erection?

Something like that. I had such trouble controlling my aggression before I came to you, Doc, that I was afraid to have one of my lapses in the presence of a woman. I had this mistress, her name was Jeannie. Jeannie looked a bit like you, dark hair too, though not as long as yours, bright green eyes, and the prettiest mouth I've seen in my life. Unfortunately, she often used her mouth to say stupid things. When my tantrums got really bad, I worried too much that Jeannie would say something that would set me off, and I'd kill her... or worse.

I wasn't sure I wanted to know what he thought worse meant. Probably not. So I merely crossed my legs and nodded in understanding, while in truth, looking at my shiny black pumps. Impotence was one of the leading reasons why men came to me, and I was largely unconcerned about the fact