He loved being him… he got away with murder.
She loved being her… until she met him.
The steamy roller coaster ride of psychotic David’s obsession with his childhood sweetheart, a skilled mix of fuelled tension, dark humour and pulsating sex scenes.
With the help of her gutsy friends, fun-loving city girl Tara Warr is the only victim to survive David Howard’s death list. Whilst lounging in prison the hypnotic sexual tour de force enlists an eager recruit, seduces a prison warden and relocates to the sunnier climes of Mexico, a freedom short-lived when his charred remains are found in the fire of a plastic surgeon’s clinic. The police cease their search, finally Tara and her friends can relax, David is dead.
Laughter soon turns to fear when he communicates via Tara’s laptop that he is very much alive, knows their every move and is ready to finish what he started. He is among them, but who? He has a brand new face.
Tara has had enough, time to turn the tables and make him suffer. A woman unafraid of death is a dangerous thing. Has David finally met his match?
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Tara’s eclectic gang of friends helped save her from the clutches of evil David Howard. He’d trapped, drugged and held her prisoner for three days. After the rescue, David ended up in prison and Tara in hospital. A year later, their lives slowly getting back to normal, they hear the shocking news that he’d escaped prison.
Franco’s Apartment, Chelsea Harbour, London
The gang; Seb, Franco, his chauffeur Michael and the girls sat around the coffee table in Franco’s stunning penthouse apartment; tasteful, comfortable and understated, not the norm for a footballer. The mother-hen of the group, Anton de Menton, hairdresser extraordinaire, coordinated drinks dispersal, as per normal.
‘The sugar shafting shit,’ grumbled Anton, pinky finger skyward as he poured milk into piping hot cups of tea. ‘I thought we’d heard the last of dissection Dave… good grief, dahling’s, it’s all too much!’
David was the reason they were last huddled around Franco’s coffee table, a year ago, the night they saved Tara’s life. The gang stared quietly into their cups, each reliving their own memories: his evil had affected them all.
‘How the hell did he get away with it, he was banged up for multiple murders, surely he would have been in a secure wing?’ Seb asked Michael, who, due to his time in the SAS and friends in the police force, tended to know more about these things than the others.
‘He did what he always does, he used his cock,’ spat Michael, an unsubtle dig at Seb for being a victim to David’s charms.
Tara flinched, Michael carried on.
‘He persuaded some cock-besotted prison warden to get him out, with promises of a life of luxury, YMCA heaven in Mexico. The police are after the warden as well, Warden Jones… Terence Jones… they’ve been trying to keep the lid on it, he’s an embarrassment to the authorities, he was traced to Mexico, but has gone missing.’
A picture of a uniformed prison guard on his knees pleasuring David jumped into Seb’s mind. He had to smile, he was a jammy bastard and the best ever fuck; shame he had psychotic killer tendencies.
‘With the money David had squirreled away, they could have lived a life of luxury on an island somewhere,’ continued Michael.
‘He would have been mad to come back here, right?’ whispered Tara, white as a sheet, curled on the sofa, nursing her tea cup… fuck, David is dead, no, no, no… he can’t, we haven’t finished.
She couldn’t stop shivering, after passing out in the restaurant, and waving away the ambulance, mortified with embarrassment at the fuss, she and the girls had taken a taxi to Franco’s apartment.
Franco sat beside her, a protective arm around her hunched shoulders; it felt good to be near him, a rush of memories flooded over her. She wanted to cry, but not for the reasons her friends thought, why couldn’t she talk about it?
Franco was also pensive; if only he could tell her how he felt. He adored her, wanted to marry her, the engagement ring still burnt a hole in his safe, but during her three days of captivity, he’d lost her to that bastard. She became distant, reclusive, hated being touched, calling out for David in her sleep, making it clear she didn’t want Franco near her.
It broke his heart; he didn’t know how to handle it. The doctors assured him that she just needed space, her safe little world had been blown apart, and it would take time and patience to get the old Tara back.
He withdrew, giving her space, she took it as him not caring and they drifted apart. But nothing had changed for him; he still adored her. The other women in his life, and there had been a few, were distractions. BiJou, his latest WAG, was great in the sack, lousy on conversation and too self-obsessed to notice where his mind was at, which suited him just fine, no nagging, no questions.
One day he would win Tara back, the bastard David would not win.
He wished David had returned to London. If the police couldn’t handle him, he would. In his book, murdering a killer was justifiable.
‘Yeah, mad, even for him,’ soothed Franco, rubbing Tara’s shoulders, trying to curb the shivering. ‘He was lucky to get out of the country, besides, there’s nothing for him here.’
Michael looked over at Helen.
‘Except maybe his big sister,’ he glared, holding back the venom, he had no time for the selfish bitch, she was David’s blood, he didn’t trust her.
All eyes turned to Helen, nausea waved over her… thanks little bro, getting me in trouble again.
‘Well sis, has he been in touch?’ Michael’s eyes bore into her. ‘You must’ve known he’d escaped, as next of kin the prison authorities would have contacted you.’
He saw Helen as a spoilt rich bitch, needing constant attention. The type that rushed around wanting what everyone else had, too frightened to stand still for fear of seeing how empty her own life was.
‘Leave Hel alone,’ defended Josie. ‘You know she hated him just as much as we did,’ she looked to Helen for confirmation. ‘There’s no way he would’ve come back for her, and there’s no other family, their parents are dead. So stop yer bitchin, the bastards gone and that’s it, good bloody riddance I say.’
Helen smiled, enjoying Josie’s show of support. She turned to Michael looking him hard in the eye.
‘They did contact me, but what was the point in stirring up trouble, he was on the other side of the planet, and Tara didn’t need the grief. There is no way he would have risked coming anywhere near us, he wouldn’t want to go back inside again,’ she ignored Michael’s raised eyebrow and mock laugh.
‘I hated the bastard, I’m glad he’s dead… good riddance… and I may get to inherit his dosh,’ she beamed.
Silence as they took in her words, not the words of a grieving, loving, sister, maybe Michael was mistaken.
‘More tea Vicar?’ camped Anton cheerfully, trying to diffuse the negative energy. ‘Oh well, whatever… bothered?’ he diva posed, hand palmed at arm’s length. ‘He’s the Devil’s little problem now, not ours… or shall we have something stronger… whiskey anyone?’
British Crime Investigator & Crime Writer, Siobhan C Cunningham creates steamy psychological thrillers and kick-ass paranormal romance with a skilled mix of fuelled tension, dark humour, and pulsating sex scenes. Having worked in the very industries she writes about, her novels offer a fresh level of sincerity and authority, rare in fiction.
An ex-model, British born of Irish roots, she married a rock musician and has worked in the exciting worlds of music, film, sports celebrity management and as a Crime Investigator for the British Police (Wanted & Absconder Unit, Major Crime Team, Intelligence Analyst, Investigations Hub).
Abducted as a child, she survived; and every night for months afterward, she prayed to God, asking for a deal. This personal journey sparked the fuse behind the intriguing and riveting fictional world she portrays in The Fallen Angel Series. Twenty years later she crossed paths with a violent serial attacker who haunted the streets of London, the seed for The David Trilogy was sown, book one is The Penance List, and has been adapted to film screenplay.
She is the proud mother to contemporary Artist Scarlett Raven and is owned by three dogs.
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