Again, this is for those who are skeptical about purchasing DiamonD: Chapter One in it`s entirety or any of the books in the Series. And the good thing about that is that if you don`t like the Sample then you can get a refund for a $1.29! (Now if that doesn`t tickle you pink then I don`t know what the fuck does?!)
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Janie Young-Kasa was dead.
And “DiamonD” was born.
I held the picture of Tina Knight up to my face, noticing that there was a startling resemblance. Suddenly I didn’t feel as worried as I had been when Memo first handed me the ID. Honestly, I felt ready to hit the Tracks running.
It was almost ten, and I was feeling quite restless. And being cooped up in a motel room on the eve of a weekend made me feel choked and conflicted ‘cause I felt I should be out there on the Tracks, searching for Bree, making some money so that we could both get the fuck out of here!
I sat on the bed and reached for the pack of cigarettes sitting on the nightstand next to the empty bottle of whiskey. I lit a cigarette and dragged on it for a minute while the silence around the room whirred in my ears. From a distance, just outside the motel room, I could hear laughing, the slamming of a car door, a baby crying and cars speeding past the motel – I had to get out. I had to see what was out there.
Since I had already dolled-up my face to match the likes of one Tina Knight, all that was left for me to do now was get dressed.
I pulled the bags out from the closet and slipped into the red mini skirt and the black laced halter top. And since I didn’t feel like I was quite ready to step out in the heels I had bought, I instead slipped back into my black ballet flats. My whole goal was to look “casual sexy” and not just “sexy”.
After I was done dressing, I sat back down on the bed and finished smoking my cigarette, at the same time, wishing I was swigging from a bottle to ease my nerves that were literally trying to claw their way out from my beneath my skin.
I put out the cigarette in the ashtray and picked up the empty bottle of whiskey and tossed it into the trash beside the nightstand. I then reached for the top drawer of the nightstand and took out the gun and sat there for a minute; curling and uncurling my fingers around the butt end to get a feel for its trust in case I needed to use it. And once I felt satisfied, I got up from the bed, grabbed my purse, shoved the gun inside and walked out the door.
As soon as my cold feet hit the sidewalk on Sunset Boulevard, my nerves began to settle ‘cause there wasn’t much activity this side of Sunset since I was further east of Hollywood. As a matter of fact, the street looked rather peaceful for being ten-thirty in the evening. I clutched my purse closer to my body the second I began to head west, toward the brighter lights of the city. And since I was unfamiliar with anything north and south of Sunset Boulevard, I kept to what I was most comfortable with.
I passed a couple of bars and grills, beer houses and some clubs for the seven blocks I walked before I decided to turn back around and head back to the motel. I had crossed the street to avoid the same people I passed glancing at me twice. I guess I was trying to make anyone who saw me forget me. But, and of course, it was inevitable.
I had passed a couple of guys as they were drinking in the courtyard to one of the beer houses. One of the guys had looked my way and smiled. And to not be rude, I smiled back. And there must’ve been some sentimental meaning to my polite gesture ‘cause he quickly left the courtyard and began walking my way as I was crossing the street back to the motel. I slowed my pace when he mumbled something in my direction. I quickly glanced over my shoulder ‘cause I was unsure if he was addressing me or not.
“Are you talking to me?” I said coolly to the guy as he continued to approach me.
“Yeah,” the guy said with a smile.
“Um. . .what was your question?” I had lost my train of thought.
“I said: You dyed your hair? And that’s why I didn’t recognize you the first time you passed by,” he chuckled nervously.
“Oh,” I chuckled myself. “Yeah. Trying out a new color, I guess.”
“It suits you. You got a name?”
“How did you know it was me and not some other girl?”
The guy fingered my purse. “The purse,” he said.
“Oh. Um. . .it’s Ti. . .I mean, DiamonD,” I stammered, yet feeling unsure about having introduced myself as that; “DiamonD”. But then again, I had to start somewhere.