Annabel Lawrence – IN CONTROL – 082513 – Amber Heat/Amber Quill Press
IN CONTROL is due to arrive on the (electronic) shelves August 25th. Weeeee! As such, I’d like to introduce you to Annabel. Many first came to know her within the pages of IN TRAINING. She was the bad, bad girl, the one who challenged the men in the BDSM O/p dynamic–unfortunately to her detriment. Here, she meets the one man who can tame the wildcat and get her to purr.
With your permission: Annabel Lawrence
The blazing red lipstick looked fabulous against her cosmetically lightened complexion. Quite the contrast, she noted, and returned the tube to the nightstand. Annabel Lawrence stood back from the mirror and sent a critical gaze down the image reflected. The leather corset was a bit loose but that couldn’t be helped. She’d barely gotten out of bed those first three months since what she’d termed The Violation.
“So I’ve lost a little weight,” she commented to the girl in the mirror. “Big effing deal. Skinny chicks are in.”
She pulled the corset’s rawhide laces through the grommets making the boned leather so tight that it squeaked when she moved. Then she took up her brush and yanked it through her ink-black hair, not bothering to nurse the tangles. Clumps stuck out from the brush bristles when she was done. And her scalp hurt.
“It’d serve those cruel fucks right if I died.”
The truth was that neither Jeremy nor “Mr.-I’m-just-so-manly” Seth would care. No, an operatic, dramatic death wasn’t the answer. The better settling of scores would be to get into their faces with her fabulous, new life. “The best revenge is living well,” she reminded herself.
The tube of mascara beckoned. She snatched it up then spent long moments applying the lash color to her roots. Finished, she tugged her hair into a severe knot atop her head, affixing it in place with long enameled sticks, then stepped back to examine her reflection again. Not perfect, but doable.
“Remember to stay in the shadows, chick,” she said to herself. “No one needs to see your roots.” A quick touchup of black liquid eyeliner around her eyes and she was armed and ready.
“Bring it on,” she whispered, gave her reflected self a wink, and then headed out of the room. Her five-inch heels crackled against the tiles as she strode for the door.
She envisioned using those boots to crush the heads of her enemies with each bruising step taken. Those that laughed at her troubles; those who became invisible after her break-up; those who nodded and muttered, “about time” regarding The Violation; Seth and that damned weasel Jeremy.
Oh, she knew them, one and all, and they were about to face a reckoning because Annabel was back.
“How do you like me now, fuckers?”
She made sure to slam closed the apartment door and speed down the street.