Read Gina Takes Bangkok (The Femme Vendettas) Online
Authors: S. M. Stelmack
Gina Takes Bangkok (The Femme Vendettas)
by
S. M. Stelmack
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Amazon Edition
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Gina Takes Bangkok
The Femme Vendettas
Copyright © 2013 by S. M. Stelmack
Editing by
Alyssa Palmer
Cover Art by
CrocoDesigns
ISBN-13: 978-0991869831
All rights reserved. This e-book is licensed for enjoyment only. Where such permission is applicable, S. M. Stelmack grants the right to detach any DRM which may be applied to this work. This work is free to share. This work is entirely fictional. All references to actual people, places, events and entities is solely intended to create a fictional world, with no ulterior purpose beyond that. Any mistakes belong to the authors, and were unintentional and non-malicious.
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To Carol,
Your enthusiasm for life is matched only by Gina’s
(Authors Moira and Serge Stelmack)
http://www.smstelmackauthor.com
A Note from Moira:
Dear Reader,
This is a story about family, as the tagline states, and within the myriad families that populate the story are two very special father-daughter relationships, each of which involves either Gina or Kannon. Serge can relate to Kannon’s relationship. Both are fathers with precocious daughters. But for me, it was all about Gina and her father, Vincenzo Zaffini. You see, during the writing of this novel, my father died. He was ninety-one, and had lived his days. He tidied up loose ends, got the story of his life straight, said his goodbyes and went on his way. His death was, as he used to say of so much of the serendipitous, the unfortunate and the tragic, “one of those things”.
Yet, I mourned him and still do. He was my dad, after all. My love for him is lodged in the small memories. In the roll of Lifesavers we shared on the Tuesday drive home from my piano lessons, the razz berries to the back of his neck and later the massages I gave there. It was me playing his favorite waltz on the piano right when he came in from chores. It was the quiet pride in his blue eyes as my baby daughter, his one grand-daughter sat on his knee, his big hand like a chair back to hold her steady.
He didn’t want a funeral. He wasn’t much concerned what the rest of us did with his remains. As nurses and family fussed around him on his last day, he whispered, “Too much.” It wasn’t but he would see it that way. He’d probably be mortified to have me speak of him this way before strangers. But insofar as it’s possible to teach something without knowing it yourself, what I learned from my father is that you don’t have to be remarkable to be loved or, upon your passing, to be missed.
And the other thing is to know how to bring your story, including that of your life, to a good conclusion.
Best,
Moira
Action-packed with a dry sense of humor and a few good one-liners that eases the intensity, this story is easy to get caught up in.
“Crowned Heart” distinction,
InD’Tale Magazine
.
A high octane, pedal-to-the-metal, adrenaline-fueled read.
Jill, GoodReads reviewer
PRAISE FOR UNDERTOW
(THE UNDERCITY CHRONICLES #1)
The writing duo of S. M. Stelmack have mashed their creative talents and imaginative minds together to create this sci-fi, romantic suspense which has the ability to appeal to horror and paranormal fans alike.” -
InD’Tale Magazine.
“...well-written and atmospheric, incorporating a steamy romance between Jack and Lindsay. The underground cultures are interesting and well thought-out. ...a very enjoyable and thoroughly entertaining read with some nice touches of humour to lighten the often dark tone and setting.”
-Jill, GoodReads reviewer
GINA THWACKED THROUGH the racks at her favorite store in all of Los Angeles. She came here often, so often that the owner had slipped off to do some banking, leaving her alone to mind the place. Small, simple, and filled with retro clothing, it was her number one hunting ground when she needed A Find.
Most people, and all men, entered a store with something particular in mind. She preferred to think of shopping as an experience in which she would let the universe guide her purchases, so she only shopped when she felt the urge. Never mind that the urges came with nymphomaniac regularity.
A slight cosmic shudder passed through her as her hand brushed a hanger. She tugged it out. A mid-thigh creation in red with gold slashes. Wowza. She had shoes, bags, bracelets and boas to accessorize this beauty. Then—whoosh—the feeling vanished.
What the—? Seemed like she and the universe were out of sync, the second time in as many days. Yesterday, on the other side of the world, her father had celebrated sixty-five years of staying alive, and being a dutiful and loving daughter, she’d phoned to wish him a happy birthday. Her stepmother had answered, saying that he’d gone fishing. Her father had spent nearly a quarter-century in Thai waters and had never fished. The millisecond the call ended she was in the grips of a mega-urge. So today, right after work, she’d hit the store.
Now, a solid hour later and nothing. She should go but leaving empty-handed was not the way things worked. She wove through the spinners, her wanderings edging her to the front. That’s when the tingles started again, hot and heavy, pulling her to a rack close to the window. The tingles swelled into a near orgasmic sensation of A Truly Amazing Find aimed at one G-spot on a rack. There. She swept it out and held it aloft.
A black dress with elbow-length sleeves, a hemline at the knee and a neckline at the collar bone. No slits and no buttons.
The universe wanted her to buy a boardroom basic?
She looked at the price tag on the destiny dress. One hundred and twenty bucks! That was all her cash. Really?
Her body thrummed and warmed in a kind of afterglow. Okay, something was seriously out-of-whack.
Tossing the dress over her shoulder in a fireman’s hold, she slipped her pink bag from her arm, rummaging for her money clip. Where was it? She shouldn’t carry all this crap. After all, it had been months since she’d used the mace. Tucking a shank of her black-and-purple locks behind her ear, she set the purse on the floor to better get at it. Engrossed, she didn’t notice the car hurtling toward the store until it smashed through the front window.
The explosion of masonry, glass and ceiling tiles threw Gina against a rack, and she fell to the floor in a tangle of clothing. She laid there, stunned. Not five feet away, the mangled hood of the car sizzled and steamed. Whoever was inside had to be hurting. She struggled to her feet, secured her purse and wobbled to the driver’s door, just in time to get smacked hard across the chest as it swung open, knocking her back on her butt.
A young Asian female, blood zigzagging from a gash on her forehead, staggered out and, eyes full of fear, looked over her shoulder. Picking herself up for a second time, Gina followed the girl’s gaze outside to where an unmarked van had screeched to a stop in the center of the street. The driver, clearly not cop material, drew a powerful handgun from his jacket as he got out.
This would be a good time to run.