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    No Last Tattoo
    No Last Tattoo
    No Last Tattoo
    Ebook98 pages1 hour

    No Last Tattoo

    By Isabel Chloe

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Paige Steward had met a mystic woman in the antique market on a cold January weekend. What she didn't know was that Tarot card readings would bind them together with ultimate costs.This woman brought her questions that overwhelmed her with pain and led her to a destructive path. This early summer night, Paige and the mystic woman were more than two thousand miles apart and recalling all their meetings on their own terms. Each of their meetings was related to one brutal crime in the past four and half years. However, there were more secrets behind these crimes than anyone involved imagined. Who was truly responsible for these crimes? Who was completely innocent and who was truly guilty? More surprises awaited these two women. Death was preying on them to become new victims. Would they suffer like their victims in the past? Who would be the next sacrifice to the cruelty of fate? Only one thing was certain. A new death was guaranteed very soon. Who would be allowed to survive?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherIsabel Chloe
    Release dateMar 6, 2014
    ISBN9781311740038
    No Last Tattoo
    Author

    Isabel Chloe

    Isabel Chloe is the author of A Blossom(Science Fiction), Besides Naturalization (Middle Grade/ Science Fiction), No Last Tattoo (Thriller, Summer, 2014), and Behind Naturalization (Science Fiction, Fall, 2014). She has worked in teens and tweens book publishing in the past. After living her youth in Los Angeles and Orange County, Isabel Chloe now lives in London to pursue her career in counseling with arts, besides writing.

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      Book preview

      No Last Tattoo - Isabel Chloe

      NO LAST TATTOO

      Isabel Chloe

      Copyright © 2014 Isabel Chloe.

      Self publishing


      


      ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

      Second Edition, July 24th, 2014

      Smashwords Edition

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      PART ONE OF TWO

      I OF PART ONE

      II OF PART ONE

      PART TWO OF TWO

      I OF PART TWO

      II OF PART TWO

      FINALE

      I OF FINALE

      PART ONE

      OF

      TWO

      I

      Anger shouldn’t accompany waiting, but she didn’t realize she was angry until she wanted to punch the thick steel door of the panic room. Animal instinct told her someone was boarding in Los Angeles and heading her way.

      Wind howled outside and stirred chilling memories—ancient muffled screams. Paige stilled her shaking fingers, raised her chin, thrust out her chest, and pulled back her shoulders.

      Back in control, she stared at the man on the screen. He seemed unconscious. He’d collapsed, limp-limbed, on a seventies lounge chair, and some of his curly, brown hair fell over his face. His well-ironed white shirt stretched over toned muscles beneath his beige casual suit.

      She stood, poured herself a coke, then sat on her beanbag again and sipped. The bubbly, icy fluid slid down her throat. Her breathing slowed a little. A voice in her mind tried to persuade her to be gratified by her expertise in getting the man safely locked away. So what caused her fear?

      She glanced at the screen. The man was trapped, and the door securely sealed. Her father’s ferocious face flashed in her mind and triggered an abrupt but brief fright. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, it didn’t make her fear worse. She frowned, despising her anxiety, and ignored her slightly shivering fingers.

      The man groaned. His lack of movement annoyed Paige. A baby in discomfort would at least twitch fingers or arms. This man just moaned like he was saying a lazy prayer. A tiny pain pierced her heart. Baby Paige’s abusive parents, irritated by her cries, had taught her not to express her pain and anguish. Such thoughts and feelings had to be repressed—then and now.

      She drank more Coke. Chilled liquid temporarily brought down the heat of crossness. Caffeine stimulation and a sugar high shuffled agony to a barely reachable place inside and encouraged her desire for more bodily pleasure. She took another sip, indulged in her heightened senses, and considered herself empowered. But her trembling fingers betrayed her declaration of victory over inquietude.

      The man opened his eyes a little, narrowed them, then closed them again and repeated the action while weakly waving his forearms. Horror twisted the man’s features as he realized where he was. He still hadn’t regained full control of his body. Time to start communication,

      You’re right, she said. There is no way to escape. The only possible exit is completely sealed. It’s security protocol.

      The man looked for the source of the voice.

      I am talking to you through the speaker. I have no intention of harming you. You will be let go on one condition.

      The man’s jaw tensed. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. Where are you? Show yourself—where was—he attempted to shout, but only managed to spill his words feebly and hoarsely.

      The other person should be long gone, and we’ll not reveal what you’ve done with her. No one will know, Paige said with a rigid grin. I am behind the panic room door. I guarantee your safety and freedom after—

      After what? Why should I negotiate with you? The man struggled to move his body, but without success.

      What other choice do you have?

      The man carefully observed his environment. His eye fixed on another lounge chair. He strove to blink. After staring at the chair for more than ten seconds, he exerted himself to turn his head. The appearance of blue veins on his neck announced his effort in vain. His eyeballs rigidly rolled to locate the next subject in the room and stopped at a table next to the chair. She watched his eyes lose focus. His shoulders suddenly twitched. She held her breath and strained her eyes toward the screen. The man didn’t move a muscle for four seconds. She exhaled and watched him slowly flutter his eyelids. He regained focus on the table. His chest heaved fast, then slow. His head finally turned left, a little towards one of the dark grey walls. She could only see the back of his head, not his eyes. His fists stiffly clenched, relaxed, and repeated this until they were delicate and smooth moves. Five silent minutes passed. He twisted around towards the direction of her broadcast and glared with a scowl. Paige’s lips twitched involuntarily.

      What do you want? He made no attempt to hide his devastation.

      I want you to listen to my story.

      What?

      I guarantee you’ll leave before dawn. There are a few hours left, Paige said.

      The man turned his head to the left again and gazed at the clock on the wall. A quarter to two. He grimaced. How do I know I can trust you?

      You don’t, unfortunately. The only thing you have is my word.

      The man opened his mouth, but no words came forth. His lips closed sluggishly, and his head unintentionally dropped to nod, but his jaw muscles quickly contracted to withhold the gesture. He clenched his hands, and suddenly his face twisted. Paleness took over his face. He groaned about an abrupt headache. She stayed silent. He wrinkled his brows, closed his eyes in defeat, then opened them and nodded.

      Paige, watching him on the screen, smiled in satisfaction. She cleared her throat. I— she choked, then cleared her throat again. I am going to tell you eight stories of crimes.

      Stories of crimes? the man scoffed. "Crimes are crimes. There is no story of crimes."

      Sergeant Hofmann. Paige paused, annoyed at his cynicism. You can continue to babble, but I will just talk anyway. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Her hands trembled with fear, or perhaps it was just poor time management. Sergeant Hofmann took longer to regain conscious than what she expected.

      Fine. Sergeant Hofmann scanned his environment again. His face crumpled and he moaned.

      Paige frowned. She supposed his cry was for pain. His brain function wouldn’t have returned to normal

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