(a brief teaser from the beginning of "Insecticide" by Ron Warren, published by Third Coast Publishing.)
Days and nights blur together. What's it been? Four days, five? His complexion gray and sunken, his flesh loose, dry, lacking spring, flexibility. Hunger gnaws at him but thirst screams dry razors along his throat, turns his every organ into a begging, suckling sponge. His tongue bloats pasty, parched, glues to his cracked lips.***
Helen knew the noises. She'd made them herself countless times. Well, maybe not countless. But certainly enough to recognize the husky moans, the pre-orgasmic squeal.
She did not have to look, but the fact that the noises were coming from her bedroom without her piqued her curiosity. Walking quietly, she approached the open doorway, determined to see but far too dignified to tip-toe.
The scent hit her first. Humid, cloistering muskiness eclipsing all but a hint of lily-of-the valley. The blend was not immediately repulsive; the image it elicited was. Stepping forward placed her slender profile before the doorway. She did not want to be seen. But after all, she had nothing to hide. She wasn't the one...
Find out what happens next via Kindle.