*an excerpt from Slaughterhouse Stories,  coming in October 2016*

Airports.  A concrete pen full of rules and fragrant with the scent of human animals.  It is certainly not the place Abbegael Clermont wants to be.  She was supposed to be on a tropical beach with a drink in her hand, but her employers disagreed, as usual. Instead she is stuck in the middle of nowhere in this box, drowning in a sea of humanity and she is already bored.  Everything about these places rubs her the wrong way and having to face spending half a day on a flying hunk of metal over some vast ocean was not Abbee’s idea of fun.  In fact, she is quite irritated about being forced to blow off some much-needed fun for this job. “Right now, I could be lying on my back being serviced by a local stud,” she grouses under her breath, “I need that lay worse than the paycheck.” Thankfully, flying First Class has its benefits and before long she is comfortably seated and in the air.

She should be at ease, but something feels off and Abbegael takes note of the seemingly empty cabin.  It may appear that way but a pair of eyes is watching her intently, and she surreptitiously pats her left side, feeling for the familiar weight of her weapon and immediately whispers, “Fuck,” before dropping her hands to her lap again.  “I can use my hands, if need be.” There is no way to ascertain who was doing the observing without being obvious, an annoying issue but easily solved.  Rising to her feet, Abbee walks slowly  up the aisle to the lavatory, adding a little extra stagger in her step, and  hoping that the lavatory would be occupied so that she could look around while waiting.

Sometimes Abbee wants to wring Lady Luck’s scrawny neck, “Bitch never has my back,” she growls, pulling open the narrow door and stepping inside.  Engaging the lock immediately, she glances in the mirror.   Her reflection looks haggard, the critical eye harping on the fine lines that etched the corners of her eyes and the dark circles under them. “At least my hair looks good. Silver linings do exist ” she shrugs while washing her hands.

Her cool fingertips ease the burn of her fever flush that have risen on her cheeks and the redness dissipates lightly. “What the hell is wrong with me? It’s the damned plane. I hate planes.”   Abbee open the door abruptly and steps  out into the galley, her eyes scanning the cabin for any sign of another passenger.  That intent stare is back and it is crawling all over her body in a predatory manner and she wishes absently again for her weapon.  She feels preyed upon;  it makes her nervous and still, she likes it well enough to feel that familiar flutter gush between her thighs.  It’d been a while. In her  line of work,  romance and relationships are not the best of bedfellows. on the left side of the first class cabin, her eyes meet a pair of dark glittering ones,  frankly staring back with hunger, causing her to startle and stumble backwards.  Attempting to catch her balance as the flying tin can she is trapped in rumbles down the dirt road of the surprise storm.

He was on his feet in a blink;  truly, she  misses it, and  then he was at Abbee’s side, steadying her with his hands firmly on her ass as the plane bounces up and down, making them rock together in some sort of strange dance.  She thanks him, unable to move away.    He holds her tighter, surprising her into a momentary flutter of panic thrill when she looks up at him, choreographing her next action when the stranger  places a kiss gently on the corner of her mouth.  “I’ve been waiting for you.” Abbee struggles, her nails sliding against the slick material of his shirt; she hitches in a breath to scream when his next words freeze them solid.  “There’s no one else on board.  Only you, Me and a very small, discreet and loyal flight crew. But go ahead. I love it when my meals scream.”

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©MelanieMcCurdie2016

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