About the book

If you were told to jump off of a bridge would you?

Perhaps it would depend on who was doing the asking. Our heroine has spunk and a sense of humor, however suffers from an extreme case of inappropriate clothing. When things take a turn from dangerous to worse what will she do when fantasy becomes reality? Warning: May include hot leather clad men, singing and demons.

An excerpt from the book

“Jump.”

My mother’s voice popped into my head; “Would you jump off a bridge if so-and-so asked you too?”

I would of course reward her with my classic eye roll and a dragged out, “M-o-o-o-m!”

But there I stood on a bridge being asked to jump. Well, more like told to jump. The knife poking, none too gently, into my lower back clearly indicated the asking part wasn’t really applicable.

I pursed my lips together tightly, as a very childish, Don’t wanna, threatened to escape them.

Being a smart ass right now probably wouldn’t make my situation any better. My cheek still stung from the backhanded slap Mr. So-and-so had given me when we'd first met, as he tried to pick me up on my way home from Avery’s Bar. He hadn't appreciated my witty negative comment then, and I doubt he’d like one now.

“I told you to jump.” His voice growled low in my ear as the knife pushed harder against the center of my back. He leaned into me from behind and I shivered at the his closeness to me.

His sanity level couldn't be very high. What a piece of work, this slimeball. I decided Slimeball would be the perfect name for him. His dark greasy hair, smelly clothes and the filthy hands he had used to grab me off the street, and drag me up here with.

“Why?” I suddenly asked, staring down into the darkness below the bridge. It was an old abandoned railway bridge, not even overly high. The likelihood of me splattering to my death wasn’t very large. I’d probably just end up breaking a whole lot of bones.

I didn’t get why he wanted me to do this. Other than smacking me around a little, and some gentle prodding with the large nasty knife, he hadn’t tried anything with me. I’d expected to be dragged off and raped, or murdered, or at least robbed, but not told to jump of a little bridge.

Slimeball didn’t answer my question; he just poked me with the knife again. “Jump.”

“You are seriously demented,” I muttered and winced as pain suddenly erupted in my back. Guess he heard me.

He poked again, more like jabbed harder, and I spread my arms slightly as I wobbled, trying to maintain my balance. I stood a good foot away from the edge, but I had my favorite black bar boots on and the stupid things had three-inch spiked heels. They’re great for showing off my legs, but not so great for balance, or running. I'd tried running when I saw he wasn’t just some ass following me home. I knew he was serious trouble. I hadn't gotten far when I pulled the classic “lady in distress” trip and fall bit. I’d been seriously surprised, and pissed, when I fell to the ground. I’d always scowled at the stupid chicks who always fell down in my favorite fantasy books. Scenes like that had always seemed extremely unrealistic to me, but apparently it does happen, especially when you're wearing three inch heels. The black mini skirt didn’t help much either.

The knife dug into my back again and I unconsciously shuffled a step forward to get away from it. Pain had never been my thing. Paper cuts make my eyes tear up.

I stared down into the darkness again as I worried my lower lip. A few distant, old street lights partially lit the area, but down below all I could see was seething blackness.