Her and those damn shoes.
The slow steady pang of stiletto footfalls echoed throughout the darkened remains of what used to be a parking garage.
I clutched my side, wincing at the pain. I could feel the thick warm of blood, oozing between the spaces of my fingers. I couldn’t believe it, the bitch shot me! I gritted my teeth, and started to walk towards the click of heels. Her and those fucking shoes. I don’t know how she managed to walk, let alone saunter in them… but damn if they didn’t make her shapely calves look like a long stretch of curvy highway — that was just begging to be cruised by a slow, firm hand.
That’s the kind of dame she was. She could shoot you point blank, in cold blood… and all you could think about was how good her legs looked in a slinky pair of pumps.
Hell, that was Kecia for you.
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