**A Chip on Her Shoulder by R. J. Blaine**
Good Morning,
Everyone! So thrilled to see you all today! I am thrilled to be able to share
this author with you all yet again! I have featured Ms. Blaine on the blog so
many times I have lost count. In fact, there should be another post today for
the first book in this very series! I always love getting to find out about new
books from this talented author and especially those that tie together in a
series. Please allow me to re-introduce to the blog R. J. Blaine and her latest
release, A CHIP ON HER SHOULDER … Plus, a GIVEAWAY!
**R. J. BLAINE**
**BIO**
RJ
Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a
terrible tendency to pun without warning.
In her spare time, she daydreams about being a
spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels
and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.
To
find out more about Ms. Blaine, please visit:
**PLAYING WITH FIRE**
Publication
date:
September 1st, 2020
Series:
Magical Romantic Comedies #11
Genres:
Adult, Urban Fantasy
**BLURB**
After a deal with loan sharks sours, Darlene’s brother is
permanently transformed into a chipmunk. Not one to accept impossibility as a
good excuse for failure, she’s determined to rescue her brother and secure
revenge against those who’d poisoned him with grade-a transformatives.
If
she wants to perform a miracle, she’ll need to join forces with a divine, but
the man upstairs and his angels refuse to help.
None
of the other so-called benevolent divines are willing to help her, either.
Running
out of time and options, Darlene prepares to storm the gates of hell for her
brother.
She
never expected to fall in love with the Devil.
Warning: this novel contains a woman with a
chip on her shoulder, humor, and one hell of a hero. Proceed with caution.
**EXCERPT**
Rather than try to talk my brother out of the
money he rightfully owed them, the local mafia’s loan sharks opted for a more
permanent solution to their problem. They transformed my asshole brother,
Jonas, into a chipmunk and saddled me with the bill.
My brother had lost his human life for five
thousand dollars.
What a waste.
Since that wasn’t bad enough, the goons my
brother had pissed off forced me to watch the entire process, which involved
forcing him to drink a vial of clear fluid. The transformation took a matter of
minutes, and he started screaming within seconds of consuming their concoction.
It took until he’d shrunk to half his true size
to stop screaming, and he squealed instead.
Shapeshifting hurt like hell; I went through the
gruesome process every few days, when my thin, human skin drove me to the brink
of madness. Some days, I took on my more hybrid form, sporting a tail and my
feline ears. Sometimes, I tossed in a light coat of spotted fur to ease my
discomfort. Sometimes, I kept the thin, human skin to pretend I fit in with the
rest of the neighborhood, hiding my tail and ears beneath my clothes. One day
I’d give up on hiding my true nature. Every rare now and again, my hybrid
transformation came with a full coat of fur, my ears, and my beautiful tail,
something I loved.
My light coat was a mockery of my full glory,
and one day, I’d master my magic so I decided which parts of me had light fur,
no fur, or a thick coat best suited for wintry mountains.
My spots were my best assets, and I loved each
and every one of them. Life would be so much better when I could wear my spots
whenever I wanted.
When the mood struck me, the night was young,
and the weather was cool, I ran as a snow leopard, displaying every one of my
spots and hunting through suburbia for prey, typically one of the more annoying
squirrels or rabbits to menace my garden.
I’d be hunting for bigger prey soon enough, and
I kept my expression cold and calm. Warning my prey I would be coming for them
wouldn’t do.
A wise huntress gave no warning before the
ambush, and I would use every opportunity to crush the entire mafia. Unlike the
local law enforcement, who played by civilized rules, there would be nothing
civilized about me.
They had destroyed my family, so I would destroy
their family. No, I would do far worse than merely destroy their family. I
would destroy their ambition while I was at it. When I finished with them, ruin
and suffering would be all I left in my wake.
Sometimes, I was not a very good person.
Actually, no. Most of the time I was not a very good person.
I’d learned early on being good left me taken
advantage of, alone, and miserable. When I did good, I did it because I wanted
to, expecting nothing in return, for I’d learned that lesson well enough.
What went around rarely came around, and I’d
gained nothing from any of the good I’d done in my life.
I kept my breaths slow and even, waiting while
doing my best to detach myself from the reality of my situation. Panic would
win me nothing, neither would fear. Patience might win me a lot, depending on
what I learned in the next few minutes.
One of the thugs, someone who’d gotten into a
fight with a fire and lost, held a rather nasty gun to my head to make sure I
behaved.
I behaved, but only because we had one rule in
our household of two: survival came first. Once I survived my current mess, I
would add a new rule to our household of one and a rodent: revenge would come
eventually.
I couldn’t win against eight men who’d cut their
teeth on violence, not even if I transformed and put my sharp claws to good
use. Not yet. I’d keep my claws a secret for a little while longer, and when I
brought them out, I would shred their entire outfit.
Revenge would be mine, and I would enjoy
obtaining it.
Revenge wouldn’t save my brother. If I had
fought against the mafia he’d tangoed with, I couldn’t have saved him anyway.
They likely would have killed us both. I’d find some way to do the impossible
and restore my brother somehow. The man my brother had been was gone, replaced
by a chipmunk with a rodent’s puny little brain.
No, he was still my brother, but he possessed a
rodent’s puny little brain. He might remember me. He might even be able to
understand English and allow me to keep him outside of a cage.
Maybe.
That stung.
My brother was an asshole. He probably deserved
some form of punishment at the hands of the mafia, but he was my asshole
brother, and nobody beat him other than me.
I would make that our third household rule, and
I would adhere to it.
I took my time memorizing the faces of those
who’d pay for their crimes. Their scars would make them easy to identify. I
wouldn’t forget their scars, I wouldn’t forget their faces, and I gave it a
week for me to learn their names.
Then the fun would truly begin.
They weren’t the only ones who could get their
hands on transformative drugs. It just cost a little money or having the right
ingredients available. I could get the money, and I could go where the rare
ingredients grew.
So hellbent on revenge, I barely remembered the
conversation leading up to my brother’s transformation into a rather small
rodent. I remembered the part about the money, where they wanted me to bring it
and when, but the rest remained a blur.
I needed to memorize their scarred faces so I
could do what an Esmaranda woman did when she got mad.
I’d get even, and I’d charge interest.
My mother, may her soul rest in peace, had
taught me that from the day I’d busted out of maternal prison and escaped her
womb.
Picking my brother up by his furry little tail,
the lead asshole, who had a rather ugly scar over his nose where someone had
failed to slice his skull in half, tossed him my way. I forgot about the gun
pointed at me, scrambling to catch my brother so he wouldn’t escape. He
squealed and squeaked protests before biting the hell out of my hand.
What an utter asshole. I prevented him from
running away and losing all chance of becoming human again, and he bit me? When
I refused to let my brother go, he took another chomp out of the fleshy part of
my hand connecting my index finger and thumb.
I bled.
The mafia goons laughed, and then they left.
They’d pay for that, too.
Come hell or high water, they’d pay.
* * *
As there was no way in hell I could afford my
brother’s debts without selling off the shit he’d spent borrowed money to buy,
I stuffed the asshole into a shoebox until I could get him into a
chipmunk-proof cage. Earning the money back would take a few days, and I’d have
to play the game just right.
To get revenge would require I play dumb and act
like I didn’t have all the money, but some of it; I’d need to give them enough
of it for them to lure me into the cycle. They’d then charge me extra interest
to profit on the situation.
I’d gather information, and once I was ready, I
would destroy them.
Jonas squeaked and scraped his tiny claws
against the cardboard, which warned me I’d have a limited amount of time to get
a cage before I would need to find some other container for him.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” I complained, taping
the box closed before I transformed my hand enough I could stab holes into the
lid with my claws. Jonas squeaked. “Oh, shut up. I didn’t hurt you.”
While my brother was a pain in the ass, I’d
never hurt him. Well, permanently. If he ever became human again, I’d be
beating common sense into his thick skull so he’d never cut a deal with the
mafia ever again.
He deserved a sound beating, one that’d teach
him not to be so infernally stupid.
Spewing curses that would’ve had my mother
either beating the sin out of me or laughing at my creativity, I grabbed my
purse, which contained the spare keys to my brother’s car. I marched for the
street, where the source of my brother’s misfortune waited. The mafia could’ve
taken the sporty vehicle and gotten more than they’d ordered me to give them
without an issue, but no. That would’ve been too easy.
That wouldn’t have sent any messages to anyone.
It wouldn’t have forced me to play their game.
Thugs like them, pasty white trash who thrived
on suffering, never wanted the easy way out. They liked the hunt.
Well, they picked on the wrong woman. Not only
did I get mad, I would get even, and I would bring ruin to their empire in so
violent a fashion even the Devil feared me.
My brother was damned lucky I loved him. “I
swear, once you’re back to human, you’re going to be licking my feet and
begging for my forgiveness, you furry little shit.”
Jonas squeaked a protest and pawed at the thin
walls of his shoebox prison.
“Break out of there, and I might just eat you.
You’re dumber than a fucking stump. You’re lucky I’m spending a single penny on
you. Tonight, I’m spending at least an hour tearing into you over this
bullshit, and you will sit there and take it like a man even though you’re a
rodent-brained moron now.” I growled, and when that didn’t satisfy my flaring
temper, I hissed. “And the first thing I’m doing is selling this piece of shit
car of yours so I can play their game. That’ll teach you, because yes, you
asshole, you had to have my name on the title because you’re so shit at money
no sane dealership would sell you a car otherwise. I’ll make those goons think
they’ve won, and then I’ll show them the true meaning of fear.”
Making the Devil cringe in sympathy would be my
gold standard.
As I couldn’t sell his car if I damaged it, I
took care with driving to the pet store. Once there, I tucked the shoebox
containing my brother under my arm and strolled inside, heading for the rodent
section to pick his new home. A bored employee wandered over. “Need something?”
Any other day, the country bumpkin accent
might’ve amused me. The kid likely spent more on gas than he earned getting to
work if one of his parents didn’t work nearby. A lot of folks with some money
and little sense spent two or three hours out of their day driving to jobs that
barely paid their bills.
We had an unofficial rule in our household; if
we couldn’t make it to work by public transit or within thirty minutes, we
moved. If we couldn’t afford the rent, we didn’t take the job.
Since we owned our house, we never moved, and we
took jobs close to home to pay the property tax and keep the place from falling
down around our ears.
Considering the supplies, I sighed, bit the
bullet, and replied, “Actually, yes. I have a rescued pet chipmunk that can’t
be released into the wild, and he needs a house. It needs to be a nice house,
and I need everything for him.”
“A chipmunk?” He asked, and according to his
expression, I’d said the best thing he’d ever heard in his life.
“Yes, a chipmunk.” I patted the box under my
arm. “I’ll need a good travel container for him, too. He’ll be coming places
with me often.”
“That’s so cool!”
Great. Not only did he likely spend more on gas
than he earned, he loved animals enough he wouldn’t complain about the drive or
the wasted money. Oh, well. I’d benefit from his enthusiasm even if he tired me
out. “Pick out the best stuff for him, and I’ll need food, treats, and toys,
too.”
The kid started grabbing stuff off the shelf and
adding them to my cart after asking if I liked his choices. As arguing would
only extend the pain, I approved everything, expecting to wipe out most of my
bank account caring for my idiot brother.
After I got his furry ass back to human, proving
the impossible could be possible in the process, I’d make him pay me back
tenfold, and I’d make him quake in fear of my wrath if he screwed around again.
In some ways, I envied the kid and his carefree
delight in helping me shop. I worked as a slave at the neighborhood grocery
store, stocking shelves because the boss didn’t trust me with the customers.
He’d caught me on the street with my ears and tail, and he’d brought the CDC
into it, but their fancy meters hadn’t registered any diseases, barring me from
being fired as I hadn’t done anything wrong.
To keep my job, the CDC sent a damned bureaucrat
over to steal some of my blood to feed to their demonic meter, confirming I
wasn’t infected with lycanthropy or some other nasty disease someone might
catch from coming in contact with me. Usually, they sent some doe-eyed girl to
play to my nicer side, the one who wouldn’t punch her in the face for annoying
me.
The first and last time they’d sent over some
damned baby devil who owed someone a favor, I’d socked him in the nose and told
him to fuck off and tell his master hello. The devil had stuck around long
enough to steal a drop of my blood for the meter, but I’d made him pay for it
tit-for-tat with interest.
Devils pissed me off.
They reminded me of the mafia, and they worked
for an even nastier boss.
“There are better chews for rodents at the cash
register, but if you can give me a few minutes, I’ll ask my manager if I can
use the office computer to check which diet is best for a chipmunk.”
“I don’t mind paying twice, but I’d like to get
him into the carry case while you do that. Help on what to feed him would be
great.”
I lied in more ways than one, as until I got a
chance to vent out my anger over Jonas’s stupidity, I couldn’t care less what
the fucker ate, I did mind paying twice, and I only wanted to put him in a better
carry case so I wouldn’t have to hunt for his ungrateful, selfish ass if he
escaped me.
I did have to give the kid credit; he was as
efficient as he was enthusiastic, and while I did have to ring up my order
twice, it took him less than five minutes to get the information on what my
rodent brother needed to eat. Jonas squeaked his protests and beat on the
smooth plastic of his new carry cage, balling his little paws into fists.
I lifted him up, stared him in his beady little
eyes, and whispered, “Well, it’s your own damned fault you’re like that, so you
just sit your furry ass down and be grateful I didn’t toss you out on the lawn
to fend for yourself.”
My brother sat his furry ass down, which offered
some hope Jonas was still in his chipmunk body somewhere—or at least understood
some English.
Almost two hundred dollars later but with enough
toys, treats, and chews to keep my brother fed for six months, I left the pet
store, loaded my brother’s car with his new habitat, and returned home.
One of the mafia goons waited for me on my
doorstep, and I considered digging out the pistol hidden in my brother’s glove
box. Narrowing my eyes, I leaned over, popped it open, and grabbed the weapon,
checking the magazine that it had been properly loaded with bullets and making
sure a round was in the chamber and ready for duty
I got out with my purse slung over my shoulder,
my brother’s gun in one hand and my brother’s cage in the other. “You sent your
invitation already, so you get the fuck off my lawn, or I’ll send you back to
your family with a new hole. If you’re lucky, I’ll patch it before tossing you
into the street so you don’t make a mess on my grass.”
As I’d expected my brother to get me into shit
one way or another, I stepped so I presented as small a target as possible,
extended the firearm, and waited.
The shock on his face amused me.
Revenge would be far more fun if they offered me
a little challenge while I destroyed them. After all, I needed to achieve my
gold standard and make the Devil cringe.
I smiled for my unwanted guest. “Did you really
expect me to go unarmed after I had a gun held to my head once already today?
Obviously, since you’re on my doorstep probably trying to deliver some new
threat. Deliver it, then you get your ass the fuck off my property. You’ve
finished your business with my brother, you’ve issued your threats, and while
my brother may have broken the law, I haven’t, this is my house, and I will
call the cops.”
“You’ll call the cops?”
“A bunch of men broke into my house, turned my
brother into a chipmunk, and threatened me. Unlike my idiot brother here, I
have a clean record and no association with you cockwombles. So, yes. I fully
intend to call the cops, and if I have to shoot you first for being on my lawn
and trespassing, well, that’s a pity, isn’t it?”
“How did an ass like him have a sister like
you?”
“I’d say ask our ma, but she abandoned ship.”
That was better than saying she’d died and left me the house since she hadn’t
trusted my brother. The way I figured it, she’d been one hell of a smart woman,
and I hoped she was taking over heaven along with our pa.
Nobody believed our pa had been a well-respected
pastor.
He hadn’t taken the emergence well, growing up
with his religious beliefs challenged by the strange and stranger. Some days, I
wished the angel hadn’t come calling. My pa might’ve lived a little longer that
way.
Then again, maybe not. His heart would’ve given
out on him eventually.
While I usually practiced good trigger
discipline, I eased my finger onto the trigger to make it clear I’d shoot if
given a single excuse. “Well, what’ll it be? You going to leave peacefully, or
will I be shooting you before I call the cops?”
“We don’t need to bring the cops into this.”
“You’re a lot dumber than you look. You used a
transformative on him. That’s permanent. Law says I’ve gotta report his new
status as a chipmunk. If you braindead morons wanted to keep the cops out of
it, you should’ve done something else.”
“You’re one of those law-abiding goody-goodies?”
“I get a paycheck for becoming my brother’s
caretaker, and they might be able to help me restore him back to human. If you
didn’t want me calling the cops, you should have picked a different plan. Now
get the fuck off my property. The safety is off, a round is chambered, and
what’s one less one of you thugs out to bother people?”
“I have a message for you.”
“Deliver it by mail, then, and don’t you even
think about making me pay postage.”
“But—”
“I’m about three seconds from shooting you, and
I really don’t give a fuck if I put the round through your forehead. You got
me? If you haven’t figured out I mean business, look really carefully where my
finger is resting.”
He checked, and he had enough sense to blanch.
“I’ll be telling the boss about this, little girl.”
“Tell him if he wants any money out of my
brother, well, you idiots should’ve left him in a form he’s capable of paying
in. Leave. Now.”
He did, and he got into a black car. I made a
show of clearing the chamber, popping out the magazine, replacing the round, and
restoring the firearm to working order before gesturing with the weapon for him
to leave.
While shooting out one of his tires would’ve
appeased my temper, I let him go.
I had enough troubles without doing more than
informing the assholes I wouldn’t go down without a fight.
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