girl/Mistress book five – Prologue
The next book in the girl/Mistress series is here… I’m so happy to be able to share the prologue with my readers.
If you’ve been following along with the series, you’ll remember I ended the story on a very dark note. Justine was… well, brutally attacked in an alleyway in Chicago. Book five starts just a few weeks after that scene.
And what’s happening with Megan and Nikki? Well… Trixi is back!!!
It is now available on Amazon in eBook, paperback, and Kindle Unlimited.
PROLOGUE
Today, we gather to honor and celebrate the life of a remarkable woman, a beloved wife, and an extraordinary artist.
Trixi heard none of it as she stared at the pewter-colored casket sitting in front of her. Inside that metal box was her best friend, a woman she cherished, and a lover who had taught her there was more to dominating than being a mean bitch. Next to her sat Aggie. Her dear, darling Agatha, who had shut down since learning about Justine’s death. They both had, barely speaking to each other or anyone else since the bastards who killed Justine sent them a photo of Justine’s mutilated body. Since then, Trixi leaped out of her skin each time she heard the ding of her cellphone, thinking it was another painful look at Justine’s horror.
Since arriving in Chicago, Justine had made so many friends at the university and the galleries. It felt as if the entire city had come to pay their respects at the graveside service. With so many people around, Trixi couldn’t cry. She hadn’t mourned yet because she had to be strong for Aggie. It had been Aggie who was a disaster. In less than three years, she had lost three people in her life. If it hadn’t been for Trixi, she believed Aggie might have lost it completely and gone with Justine. Hard to see someone so strong become a pile of goo right before her eyes.
With each person standing with a story of Justine, Trixi’s mind raced to her own funeral. Who would come? Who would want to speak? And what would they say about her?
Her best friends were no longer her friends. With the fall of the house of VanPelt, people distanced themselves from her like a plague of locust would taint their world. When allegations of her sexual abuse came out, it was as if she was the molester. No one wanted to take her calls any longer. She had gotten text messages from both April and Megan when her father passed, but she needed to let them be for a while. At that point in her life, Trixi felt they were better off without her. Now she wondered if they’d show up at her funeral service and what they would say about her.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
The entire service had passed before her eyes, though she heard none of it. It hadn’t even registered they had started to lower the casket into the ground until Aggie stood up and dropped a white rose into the hole. Trixi followed behind her, dropping another one, which landed on top of the other in an X. A tear fell.
A couple of months had passed since the service. Life had not been the same without Justine. Quiet couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling in the house. Hostile served as a better word because Aggie had passed the grieving stage and was angry all the time. Tension between Trixi and Aggie was high. No matter what Trixi did, there was an argument, especially when she tried to show any affection to Aggie. At first it was denied because Aggie wasn’t in the mood, which was expected. Soon the protests turned into insinuations that Trixi was to blame for Justine’s death because of her disregard for privacy and discretion.
On one particular night, Trixi came into the bedroom wearing much of nothing and tossed a flogger onto the bed where Aggie read a book. “I think you need to take out that anger on me.”
Aggie tossed it on the floor. “Stop. Just stop.”
“I understand that you miss her. So do I, but Justine is dead, not you,” Trixi said with her fists dug into her waist.
“I don’t want to do this now.”
“Do what? That’s the fucking problem, Aggie. We’re not doing anything. Not fucking. Hell, you won’t even kiss me. I might as well not even be here.”
“Then go. I’m not keeping you here.”
Just then, Trixi’s phone alerted her to a text. It had been more than a month since the last brutal image of Justine had come through, so she grabbed it off the dresser to see a familiar name on her screen. With a swipe, she read the message and cringed. It wasn’t a photo of Justine, but it was her past returning to haunt her. She tossed it back on the dresser. “If you’re not going to use me, then I think we need to find another woman for you to fuck.”
“No. No more. I’m done, Trixi.”
“I’m not!”
“I’m too old for this.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m a widow twice. I’m not about to live through this again. There’s not going to be three strikes, you’re out for me. No.”
“And I’m not about to let you mope all the way to your grave. Whether you like it or not, there will be someone else in this house. Deal with it.” With that, Trixi turned on her heel and exited the bedroom. That night, she spent the night alone, and by the next morning, Trixi was on an airplane to deal with the ghosts from her past.
UPDATE: 2/26/25
This story was originally posted on Substack as WIP. With each story I write, I post the drafts as they are written, which paid subscribers can read before they are published in a finished manuscript.
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