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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
I’m going to kill her.
Parker liked the feel of the gun in her hand. It was heavy, powerful. She loved the control she had when her finger was on the trigger, and the rush of pure adrenaline that was required to pull it.
She was ready to fire it, now. Click, whoosh, smack; target drops dead. With skill and precision, anyway, and that was something she was not lacking.
Her only problem seemed to be, her would-be target had an almost constant human shield.
Cold eyes tracked the path of the stick-thin blonde as she moved across the foyer floor. Target, commonly known as Brigitte, was close enough in age to Parker to be her sister and yet was now her stepmother; she was also ‘mommy’ to a child that was supposed to be Parker’s father’s but could possibly be her brother’s. There was also the small fact that Daddy may have never been her daddy in the first place (just to fuck up the family tree a little more, why not, Miss Parker mused) but she’d gotten over that relatively quickly. Daddy was dead, anyway, and she’d given up any hopes she’d once harbored of gaining his love and affection, if he indeed had any to share. It had been mission: impossible right from the word go.
Shot in the back (though she’d yet to prove it) by the sorry excuse for a human being they called Doctor Raines over five years ago, just about the only thing Daddy Parker had left behind was bad memories. Brigitte had played the part of the grieving widow well, Parker had given her that. Lapped up the sympathy because she’d been left with an unborn child and a murdered husband. Not to mention the fact that the delightful bundle of joy had turned out to be the biggest spoilt brat this side of the equator.
Little Miss Catherine Parker, nicknamed Angel (fancy that), was a slap in the face in more ways than one.
A tribute to a wonderful woman, Brigitte had said, though later pointing out to Miss Parker that she intended to be a better mother to her than her daughter’s namesake had been to her allegedly adored child. If you put aside the fact that Catherine was Dennis the Menace after surgery and Brigitte wouldn’t be nominated for mother of the fucking year if she were the last woman on earth.
People thought the Osbournes were whacked, but when it came to dysfunctional, the Parkers and all their marital relations took the cake, hands down, no explanation needed.
Miss Parker was ultimately the evil stepsister in the equation. Cat the brat - which was what she liked to call the enfant terrible when no one was listening and sometimes when they were - took delight in driving her half sibling mad, but she was an Angel and incapable of anything callous or underhanded.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Parker snarled, snatching a file from the annoyingly precocious five year old’s fingers.
‘Nothing,’ Catherine replied in a sing-song voice; and she was the only person capable of making the ice queen lose her cool.
She was pretty, and it made Parker hate her all the more. She looked nothing like the woman she was named after, but she had shoulder-length hair the colour of dark honey and eyes of chocolate.
Just like Jarod’s.
‘What are you doing in my office?’
‘Nothing.’
Innocently, batting her eyelashes and flashing dazzling brown that took her places she didn’t want to go.
She knows it, too. The little shit knows every time I look at her I’m either thinking of her or him. She knows she’s got his eyes and her name and she knows her existence outdoes mine. She knows the only reason I don’t care that Daddy’s dead is because I know just as well as she does; if he were still here, he’d have a new Angel, and he wouldn’t need the old one anymore.
‘Shouldn’t you go find somewhere else to play house?’ she sneered. ‘You know what mommy thinks about your big bad sister.’
‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ came the snooty reply, and Catherine didn’t move from the desk, her small legs swinging over the side as her eyes traveled to the photograph of Parker and her father resting nearby.
Suffer, you little minx. He’s one thing you can’t take away from me, even if I maybe never had him to begin with. It annoys you like hell, but there’s nothing you can do about it.
At that moment in time the phone decided to ring; Parker had more than a good idea who it was but she had better make sure so she picked it up regardless.
‘What?’
‘Miss Parker.’
Not in the mood for the mind fuck, Jarod, so take your freaking pity act somewhere else.
‘What do you want?’ she growled.
‘I wanted to see if you were okay,’ he replied quietly, and the concern in his voice made her want to put a bullet through his left temple.
‘You know, Wonderboy, it’s generally more considerate and sounds more sincere when you ask in person.’
‘I’ve tried that, Miss Parker. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what happened the last time we tried to talk this over like normal human beings.’
‘We’re not normal human beings, Jarod,’ she said dryly. ‘Never have been, never will be, and the sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better.’
There was a silence on the other end, and she wasn’t sure if she had detected hurt in his tone. She couldn’t care less. She wished he’d just disappear. A stab in the back – a major one, this time, what she had thought would be a mortal wound – and still he continued to wind up on her doorstep. Not quite in the literal sense, because he’d been smart enough to abandon that idea, but always a phone call away nonetheless.
Across the room, Catherine’s eyes widened slightly.
‘You’re talking to Jarod. I’m going to tell my mommy -’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Parker informed her. ‘Mommy would have your hide for entering my ten mile radius, so either get the hell out of here or shut your pretty little mouth.’
Jarod sighed into her left ear.
‘Don’t even start with me,’ she told him before he could say anything. ‘Not even you could play happy families with this one. Her mother has taught her well.’
Another Parker, another lost cause.
‘She’s your sister,’ he chided softly.
‘Yeah. And Lyle’s my brother. How did such a tragic innocent like me end up with them, huh? You know, this martyr thing is really getting old.’
‘Your mother wouldn’t have given up on her.’
He’d gone from troubled to pretty freaking pissed in a matter of words and she was tempted to push disconnect, but her mouth reacted faster.
‘Don’t bring her into this,’ she hissed. ‘I’m not her, Jarod, and neither is she. My mother is dead. So is the Miss Parker you knew when you were a boy. They both died in an elevator years ago, and they’re not coming back.’
Catherine, capable of being quiet and attentive when it suited her, immediately perked up. She didn’t often hear much about the woman whose name was now hers, and when she did, it was usually in amongst a jumbled string of expletives tumbling from Miss Parker’s lips.
Unfortunately for her, Miss Parker happened to notice her sudden interest and narrowed her eyes.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said shortly, though her tone said otherwise, ‘we’ll have to continue this another time. The walls around here have big ears and doubly big mouths.’
‘You might think that little girl is dead, Miss Parker, but I don’t give up so easily.’
‘Then learn the hard way.’
She terminated the call and fired a glare at her sister.
‘What are you still doing here?’
‘I can stay here if I want.’
‘Don’t push me,’ Parker warned, words of ice as she moved her face very close to the little girl’s before stepping back.
She moved over towards the window, wearily sweeping a hand over her tired face. After a minute spent massaging the bridge of her nose, she glanced back to Catherine, a predatory smile creeping onto her lips.
‘Let’s play a game, shall we? It’s not often we have these sisterly bonding sessions. Would you like that, Catherine?’
There was a pause, then a small nod.
You may be too smart for your own good but you’re still naïve and you’re still incredibly stupid.
‘Do you know what this is?’
Another nod.
‘What is it?’
‘A gun.’
‘Very good. Have you ever used a gun, Catherine? Ever wanted to? Ever seen one of those nine millimeters that your mother carries around and dreamed of having a go? Would you like to learn how to use a gun?’
Warily, but still; another nod, and it was echoed by another from the woman with the weapon.
‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll play a game.’
Oh, yes; Parker liked the feel of the gun in her hand.
Parker liked the feel of the gun in her hand. It was heavy, powerful. She loved the control she had when her finger was on the trigger, and the rush of pure adrenaline that was required to pull it.
She was ready to fire it, now. Click, whoosh, smack; target drops dead. With skill and precision, anyway, and that was something she was not lacking.
Her only problem seemed to be, her would-be target had an almost constant human shield.
Cold eyes tracked the path of the stick-thin blonde as she moved across the foyer floor. Target, commonly known as Brigitte, was close enough in age to Parker to be her sister and yet was now her stepmother; she was also ‘mommy’ to a child that was supposed to be Parker’s father’s but could possibly be her brother’s. There was also the small fact that Daddy may have never been her daddy in the first place (just to fuck up the family tree a little more, why not, Miss Parker mused) but she’d gotten over that relatively quickly. Daddy was dead, anyway, and she’d given up any hopes she’d once harbored of gaining his love and affection, if he indeed had any to share. It had been mission: impossible right from the word go.
Shot in the back (though she’d yet to prove it) by the sorry excuse for a human being they called Doctor Raines over five years ago, just about the only thing Daddy Parker had left behind was bad memories. Brigitte had played the part of the grieving widow well, Parker had given her that. Lapped up the sympathy because she’d been left with an unborn child and a murdered husband. Not to mention the fact that the delightful bundle of joy had turned out to be the biggest spoilt brat this side of the equator.
Little Miss Catherine Parker, nicknamed Angel (fancy that), was a slap in the face in more ways than one.
A tribute to a wonderful woman, Brigitte had said, though later pointing out to Miss Parker that she intended to be a better mother to her than her daughter’s namesake had been to her allegedly adored child. If you put aside the fact that Catherine was Dennis the Menace after surgery and Brigitte wouldn’t be nominated for mother of the fucking year if she were the last woman on earth.
People thought the Osbournes were whacked, but when it came to dysfunctional, the Parkers and all their marital relations took the cake, hands down, no explanation needed.
Miss Parker was ultimately the evil stepsister in the equation. Cat the brat - which was what she liked to call the enfant terrible when no one was listening and sometimes when they were - took delight in driving her half sibling mad, but she was an Angel and incapable of anything callous or underhanded.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Parker snarled, snatching a file from the annoyingly precocious five year old’s fingers.
‘Nothing,’ Catherine replied in a sing-song voice; and she was the only person capable of making the ice queen lose her cool.
She was pretty, and it made Parker hate her all the more. She looked nothing like the woman she was named after, but she had shoulder-length hair the colour of dark honey and eyes of chocolate.
Just like Jarod’s.
‘What are you doing in my office?’
‘Nothing.’
Innocently, batting her eyelashes and flashing dazzling brown that took her places she didn’t want to go.
She knows it, too. The little shit knows every time I look at her I’m either thinking of her or him. She knows she’s got his eyes and her name and she knows her existence outdoes mine. She knows the only reason I don’t care that Daddy’s dead is because I know just as well as she does; if he were still here, he’d have a new Angel, and he wouldn’t need the old one anymore.
‘Shouldn’t you go find somewhere else to play house?’ she sneered. ‘You know what mommy thinks about your big bad sister.’
‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ came the snooty reply, and Catherine didn’t move from the desk, her small legs swinging over the side as her eyes traveled to the photograph of Parker and her father resting nearby.
Suffer, you little minx. He’s one thing you can’t take away from me, even if I maybe never had him to begin with. It annoys you like hell, but there’s nothing you can do about it.
At that moment in time the phone decided to ring; Parker had more than a good idea who it was but she had better make sure so she picked it up regardless.
‘What?’
‘Miss Parker.’
Not in the mood for the mind fuck, Jarod, so take your freaking pity act somewhere else.
‘What do you want?’ she growled.
‘I wanted to see if you were okay,’ he replied quietly, and the concern in his voice made her want to put a bullet through his left temple.
‘You know, Wonderboy, it’s generally more considerate and sounds more sincere when you ask in person.’
‘I’ve tried that, Miss Parker. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what happened the last time we tried to talk this over like normal human beings.’
‘We’re not normal human beings, Jarod,’ she said dryly. ‘Never have been, never will be, and the sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better.’
There was a silence on the other end, and she wasn’t sure if she had detected hurt in his tone. She couldn’t care less. She wished he’d just disappear. A stab in the back – a major one, this time, what she had thought would be a mortal wound – and still he continued to wind up on her doorstep. Not quite in the literal sense, because he’d been smart enough to abandon that idea, but always a phone call away nonetheless.
Across the room, Catherine’s eyes widened slightly.
‘You’re talking to Jarod. I’m going to tell my mommy -’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Parker informed her. ‘Mommy would have your hide for entering my ten mile radius, so either get the hell out of here or shut your pretty little mouth.’
Jarod sighed into her left ear.
‘Don’t even start with me,’ she told him before he could say anything. ‘Not even you could play happy families with this one. Her mother has taught her well.’
Another Parker, another lost cause.
‘She’s your sister,’ he chided softly.
‘Yeah. And Lyle’s my brother. How did such a tragic innocent like me end up with them, huh? You know, this martyr thing is really getting old.’
‘Your mother wouldn’t have given up on her.’
He’d gone from troubled to pretty freaking pissed in a matter of words and she was tempted to push disconnect, but her mouth reacted faster.
‘Don’t bring her into this,’ she hissed. ‘I’m not her, Jarod, and neither is she. My mother is dead. So is the Miss Parker you knew when you were a boy. They both died in an elevator years ago, and they’re not coming back.’
Catherine, capable of being quiet and attentive when it suited her, immediately perked up. She didn’t often hear much about the woman whose name was now hers, and when she did, it was usually in amongst a jumbled string of expletives tumbling from Miss Parker’s lips.
Unfortunately for her, Miss Parker happened to notice her sudden interest and narrowed her eyes.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said shortly, though her tone said otherwise, ‘we’ll have to continue this another time. The walls around here have big ears and doubly big mouths.’
‘You might think that little girl is dead, Miss Parker, but I don’t give up so easily.’
‘Then learn the hard way.’
She terminated the call and fired a glare at her sister.
‘What are you still doing here?’
‘I can stay here if I want.’
‘Don’t push me,’ Parker warned, words of ice as she moved her face very close to the little girl’s before stepping back.
She moved over towards the window, wearily sweeping a hand over her tired face. After a minute spent massaging the bridge of her nose, she glanced back to Catherine, a predatory smile creeping onto her lips.
‘Let’s play a game, shall we? It’s not often we have these sisterly bonding sessions. Would you like that, Catherine?’
There was a pause, then a small nod.
You may be too smart for your own good but you’re still naïve and you’re still incredibly stupid.
‘Do you know what this is?’
Another nod.
‘What is it?’
‘A gun.’
‘Very good. Have you ever used a gun, Catherine? Ever wanted to? Ever seen one of those nine millimeters that your mother carries around and dreamed of having a go? Would you like to learn how to use a gun?’
Warily, but still; another nod, and it was echoed by another from the woman with the weapon.
‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll play a game.’
Oh, yes; Parker liked the feel of the gun in her hand.
