The Argentine Affair

I was even more enraged when she sprayed the sticky fluid over me in a long, slow spit.

“What the Hell…”

“That,” she snapped. “Is for my sister.” She slapped me hard across the face. “That was for my brother!”

Then she stepped closer, making me cringe from another possible attack. “This,” she whispered softly, “is from me.”

When those gorgeous lips touched mine, in a kiss that sucked my soul from me, I knew I’d be hers forever – whatever the cost.

She stepped back, the usual superior smile on her face.

“Meet me at the Hyatt, Silver Lane, tomorrow night at Midnight,” she said, then grinned. “I’ve got something I think you’d like to see.”

Then she walked away, leaving me lost and confused.

But hang on? Her sister?

Whatever did I do to her sister?

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