Free Hell In High Heels --- A Jane Delacroix erotic novel: Sex, Sin, and Slaughter in Southern California by Vixen Wade Page B

seen. They've served me well and I'm inclined to indulge them, unless you can give me a reason not to." He pattered her face in a condescending, paternalistic way. "Do you understand?"
                   Eyes earnest, Jane nodded.
                   "What? I can't understand you?"
                   Terrified, Jane began making croaking sounds, bobbing her head up and down. Hun Sen laughed cruelly at her fear and desperation. His men, on cue, stepped forward and began hooting with mirth. In the weird echo of the wine cellar, it sounded like a troop of monkeys.
                   Hun Sen pointed at one of his gunmen. "Take off her gag," he snapped. "Now!"
                   One of the men, his mouthful of gold teeth scintillating weirdly in the hard yellow light, jumped forward, Swedish K dangling from a strap over his shoulder. Moving quickly, he undid the Sadomasochistic accoutrement from the blonde call girl.
                   Jane turned her head and threw up on the floor, convulsing with the effort to vomit. Her stomach was empty accept for champagne and bile and the mess was clear other than for the blood. It pooled up on the floor of the cellar and splashed onto the warlord's shoes.
                   Hun Sen leaned forward, pulling Jane's head up by the hair. "I want to know who sent you and for what? I am protected by your government. I want to know who you are working for!"
                   Jane's mouth worked, no sound came out. She closed her eyes and swallowed against the tight rawness in her throat. Her lips moved but no sound came out, she started to whisper but then was overcome by a spasm of coughing.
                   She tried to speak again but her voice was faint. Impatient, Hun Sen jerked her head back harder and leaned in closer.
                   "What? Tell me!"             
                  Her voice cracked, too faint to understand. Hun Sen leaned in closer.
                   "Who sent you?"
                   His ear was so close to her mouth he could feel her breath against his skin.
                   "I said," Jane whispered. "Go to hell!"
                   She lunged forward and clamped her teeth down hard on the skin and cartilage of the General's ear. Sharp, white teeth caught hold and bit down hard, splitting skin until blood, hot and salty, rushed out and spread like a lake over Hun Sen's jaw and neck. Blood poured over Jane's lips and chin.
                   Hun Sen screamed in surprise and pain. He tried to jerk free but Jane just bit harder. His cries where high pitched whoops like air raid sirens and his men remained frozen in shock. Jane snatched her head to the side like a lioness yanking meat off a bone.
                   The top of the Cambodian's ear came away in a long, tearing avulsion that left blood smeared across his face. Blood splashed into Jane's platinum blonde hair, turning it strawberry. The fat slug of flesh that had been the top of Hun Sen's ear stuck out of the private investigator's mouth like a piece of escargot at a French restaurant.
                   Grinning like a demoness, Jane turned her head to the side and spat. The flesh struck a wine rack and clung to the porous wood like sputum. She grinned, blood smeared across her teeth like lipstick.
                   "What was the question again?"
                   Hun Sen looked at his ear, stuck like a booger on the wood, his face all incredulous horror. His hands clamped hard to the side of his head but blood spurted freely from between his fingers despite the effort. He staggered back and forth like a drunk, screaming in agony.
                   Boupha moved toward him, confusion on his simian face. He reached out his hands toward the General who slapped them