‘Sweet Revenge’ by Guest Author Bobbi Carducci

Bobbi Carducci

Author Bobbi Carducci

Her name was Sara Lee, so of course he called her Cupcake. Turns out the only sweet thing about her was the way she lured her victims.

Sara Lee O’Brien was born mean and grew into it, choosing her victims as if they were ripe peaches gone soft and juicy on the tree. She liked the syrupy feel of blood; the sticky residue that clung to her hands even after she wiped her fingers clean.

She knew if she got caught folks would wonder about her childhood, speculate about the depraved acts hillbilly men are known to visit on their kids.  She’d use such stories to her advantage but there’d be no truth to them.  She just likes to kill is all.

“C’mere baby,” she whispered, in the sultry little girl voice he liked to hear.  She knew that about him without even asking.  Doughy men with squinty eyes always hunger for the little girl in a woman, no matter how nice they seem to be.

“I got somethin’ for ya,” she lisped, running her baby pink tongue across full lips hinting of sweet release far into the night.

Later when he lay spent and sweaty, he’d say he loved her. Men always lie that way, and if every now and then, one of ‘em would mean it, that would be OK.  It made her feel good to know she eased the loneliness out of them just before they died.

“Where ya goin’?” he asked reaching for her as she rose from the bed.

“To get a little snack,” she answered. “I need some sugar.  You want somethin’?”

“No thanks.”

“You sure?  It’s your last chance.”

Something in her tone made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“I’m sure, Cupcake,” he yawned, shaking off the sudden chill running down his spine to admire the view as she walked away.

Moments later, he lay sprawled on the sweat-soaked sheet watching her eat her snack of milk and cookies. This one’s special, he thought.  Underneath her soft girly façade is a nest of dirty little secrets she uses to drive a man to extremes.

“Whatcha thinking?” she whispered, getting ready to pounce.

“That we’re two of a kind,” he told her, rising up, grabbing a fistful of her hair, and slitting her throat.

Before she knew what hit her, Cupcake had been iced.

Funny thing was, even though he’d told her his name, she’d always called him Killer.

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