Free How to Kill Your Boss by Krissy Daniels

black mask into place, covering my face from nose to forehead. I didn’t have a mirror to check myself, but who wouldn’t look sexy and mysterious in a get-up like this?
    I flattened myself against the wall and waited for my prey. Footsteps grew louder, bounced off the old brick buildings. One set. Good, he was alone. Made my job so much easier.
    My heart raced with nervous excitement as he drew closer. I took one last deep breath, squatted, and performed a swinging, side-sweep kick as he passed. Caught him an inch above his ankles. He fell face-first at my side with a grunt.
    The heel of my boot found a nice little resting spot at the base of his neck.
    “Good evening, Mr. Cruse.” I’d lowered my voice to make it sound dangerous and sultry.
    He tried to rise. I held him in place with my stiletto spike.
    “What are you doing?” He struggled to speak and fought to keep his open mouth away from the dirty ground.
    “Tell me, Mr. Cruse. Are you even the slightest bit sorry for the terrible things you’ve done?”
    Wallace squirmed underneath the weight of my foot. I pressed harder. He grunted and blew a puff of air.
    “Do you suffer any remorse for the lives you’ve ruined on your journey to the top?”
    Shrill laughter rose from the ground. “Never.”
    “I was hoping you’d say that.” His flesh strained under the pressure of my heel. I angled my foot. Pushed harder. His skin popped, breaking under the strain.
    “Is that Italian leather?” he asked with a whimper.
    “Oh yes, Mr. Cruse. I knew you’d appreciate the outfit. Paid an arm and a leg for these boots. They’re worth every penny though. Wanna know why?”
    Wallace blinked and nodded.
    With a slight twist, the spring-loaded blade in the heel of my thigh-highs pierced his neck and made a soft ding when it dug into the stone beneath him.
    “Who are you?” Blood spurted between his lips, dribbled down his chin.
    “I’m payback and I’m a bitch.”
     
    Morning hung over me like a layer of oily fog, heavy and suffocating.
    I struggled to rise and haul myself to the shower. Barely mustered the energy to wash my hair. Getting dressed posed a challenge. Each article of clothing I tried on rubbed my skin like a scouring pad. The AM hours were usually my favorite time of day. That was no longer the case.
    Franklin Reed and his damn panty-melting smile, his unexpected, yet timely injection into my life, had the gears in my brain grinding off kilter. Made it difficult to accomplish the smallest of tasks. I gave up hope of kick-starting my day with coffee when I’d brewed a whole pot of nothing but hot water.
    I wasn’t nervous about facing him at the office. Maybe I was too angry. Confused. In shock? Couldn’t be certain. I was damn sure, though, I didn’t want to sit in my house the entire day and sulk or worry over the horrors of the past forty-eight hours. Work was a much needed distraction. I could ignore Franklin if need be. Like I could ignore a toothpick jammed under my fingernail.
    A young police officer, obviously new gauging by the spring in his step and the cock in his voice, escorted me to my car. By some miracle, I managed to make it to the office ten minutes early. I’d even taken a detour to pick up a venti caramel macchiato. Breakfast of champions.
    I fought the urge to buy a morning drink for my new, now ex, sex buddy. A thank-you for rocking my world, for giving me crippling orgasms. On a normal day, I would’ve. Bastard wasn’t getting any nicey-nice from me. Not until he explained why there was a picture of me in his pants, and why every conversation via cell was treated as top secret.
    I greeted Nan with a fake smile as I passed. The gesture wasn’t returned, which was out of character for her. In her defense, she was on the phone, and held a cup of tea to her lips. Seemed to be chin-deep in an intense exchange by the glower she wore.
    When I rounded the corner to my office, I wobbled in my platform pumps. The space reeked of