Feather Dancer

An excerpt from Feather Dancer

Colette raised the revolver and aimed it straight at Vera's heart. "I told you to keep your mitts off my man."

"Jesus!" Vera gasped, backing into the dressing room wall. "Put down the heater, Col. Y-you don't wanna do something crazy...."

"You think I'm crazy?!" Colette growled. She marched up close and took Vera by the hair and jerked her head back. "You ain't seen crazy yet, Vera—not by a mile."

"Please don't kill me, honey," the little doll whimpered.

Colette bent slowly and touched her lips to Vera's. She let the pistol fall away as the kiss deepened, their mouths open and hungry. After a long moment, wet mouths mashing, tongues lashing, she gave in to Vera's hot, sensual lips and breathed a sigh.

Then, Colette felt the hard steel of her own revolver pressing against her breast. "Fuck," she breathed.

But before the girl could even get an arm's length away, Vera coldly pulled the trigger and put a hole the size of Times Square in the other dancer's chest.

"You b-bitch," Colette gurgled, the blood already choking her throat.

"Nobody tells me me what man to stay away from," the little viper spat.