Wicked
Exposure
Wicked
Exposure # 1
By:
Katana
Collins
Releasing
April 28th, 2015
Aphrodisia,
an imprint from Kensington
Nothing
left to hide…
A
forensic photographer with the NYPD, Jessica is devastated to receive
word of her sister’s death in a robbery gone awry. But when she
arrives home in Portland and the local PD asks her to take pictures,
she finds more than she bargained for. With each new photo she
exposes more of her sister’s secret erotic life. And when she
shares her discoveries with Sam, the super sexy local detective, she
experiences passion she never knew possible. But Jessica soon learns
she’s merely a pawn in a deadly game of betrayal and revenge and
begins to wonder if her next picture could be her last…
I
pressed the binoculars to my eyes, watching from the other end of the
street as she moved gracefully up the front steps despite the bulky
luggage dragging behind her. Her sunglasses, shifted to the top of
her head, pulled her silky brown hair back from her forehead, acting
as a headband. She craned her neck back and looked up at the house.
Cassandra’s
house. The house that I needed more than anything. Using the
binoculars, I scanned Jessica’s body. A camera bag was strapped
over one shoulder and bounced off the small of her back as she cocked
a hip, examining the stoop. A wry grin crossed my lips and the weight
of my own Nikon pressed into my lap. I lifted it, dropping the
binoculars down, and with several swift clicks, I captured the moment
in time. A moment that was seemingly uneventful. A moment that within
Jessica Walters’s life probably wasn’t even a blip on her radar.
But
that’s the thing with photography. It takes nothing moments and
immortalizes them, suddenly creating more than there ever was before.
When—and if—Jessica ever sees this photograph, she’ll be thrust
back into the smells, the thoughts, the emotions of today . . . right
now. Even though in the moment, it meant nothing to her.
If
Jessica was a good girl—if she did exactly as she should— these
photos would never need to see the light of day. She’d never need
to know just how close I’ve been all this time. Just how close she
is to falling into the same fate as her sister. But in case she
decides to be a hero, I’d be here . . . watching. And waiting.
Because if there’s one thing I had to guess that the Walters
sisters had in common, it was martyrdom.
A
shudder rolled through my body. The weight of my gun pressed into the
clip at my ankle, its warm steel an easy reminder of how simple it
would be to end this right here and now. Kill Jessica and the house
would go into an estate auction, easily swept up by me. A thrill
rushed through my body; an excitement at the memory of pulling the
trigger. The feeling of a gun pulsing in your hands as a bullet
careens toward your victim. There was no feeling quite like taking a
life. But no. I had to remain under the radar until Cass’s death
had blown over.
Sweat
gathered at the nape of my neck and rolled down my spine, getting
caught in a musky puddle between my shoulder blades. I cracked the
driver’s-side window, and orange light sprang through the split,
illuminating the otherwise dark, tinted sedan.
I
sucked in a breath of the crisp afternoon air. This had to be a clean
kill. Shooting in cold blood right now defeated the purpose of how
carefully we had murdered Cass. Last minute? Yes. But calculated and
tidy. The way I liked things in life. Organized. Clean. We had the
plan in place for that night and were ready to kill, if needed. And
oh, how it was needed.
But
still, a small part of me trembled, excitement pulsing in my veins.
Would Jessica run? Fight back like Cass? Or would she beg for her
life, falling to her knees in tears? I closed my eyes imagining
Jessica submitting to me—to death—while I stood above her.
Powerful. What would her screams sound like? A breeze rushed through
the open window and across my dampened brow. The screams were the
best part.
My
heart hammered as I jerked the camera back to my face and zoomed in
as closely as I could to her neck.
Click.
Strong,
lean shoulders tensed from beneath her shirt and I nibbled the inside
of my cheek as she pulled out a set of keys, opening the door.
I
shouldn’t want to kill her as much as I did. But death was the
ultimate form of control.
Link
to Follow Tour: Here
Katana
Collins splits her time evenly between photographing boudoir
portraits and writing steam-your-glasses romances. In addition to
navigating life as a small business owner, a first-time homeowner,
and a newlywed, she is the author of the Soul Stripper trilogy and
the graphic novel Cafe Racer, co-written with her husband Sean
Murphy. She and her comic book artist husband commute back and forth
as they please between Brooklyn and Portland, Maine, with their
ever-growing family of rescue animals. She can usually be found
hunched over her laptop in a cafe, guzzling gallons of coffee, and
wearing fabulous (albeit sometimes impractical) shoes. Visit her on
the web at katanacollins.com
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