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Authors: M J Rose

The Venus Fix

BOOK: The Venus Fix
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Praise for M. J. Rose’s Dr. Morgan Snow novels

“A creepily elegant and sophisticated novel, with keen psychological insights. M. J. Rose is a bold, unflinching writer and her resolute honesty puts her in a class by herself.”

—Laura Lippman on
The Delilah Complex

“Utterly fascinating!… This is one book that will keep you glued to your seat.”


New York Times
bestselling author Lisa Gardner on
The Delilah Complex


[The Delilah Complex]
is a joy, and I can’t wait for the third Snow book.”

—Theodore Feit

“Potentially explosive…Rose’s latest is not for the squeamish…[Dr. Morgan Snow] is an engaging guide to the world of dysfunction that Rose painstakingly constructs.”


Publishers Weekly
on
The Halo Effect

“Rose has written a steamy and sexy novel that keeps the adrenaline running until the very end. Sex, romance, and murder are artfully combined to produce a page-turning novel that shouldn’t be missed.”


New Mystery Reader
on
The Halo Effect

“Dr. Morgan Snow is a refreshingly vulnerable character whose spunky decision to go undercover in the demimonde is both believable and hair-raising.
The Halo Effect
will have you on the edge of your seat from page one.”

—Katherine Neville,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Eight

Also by M. J. ROSE

Fiction

LYING IN BED
THE DELILAH COMPLEX
THE HALO EFFECT
LIP SERVICE
IN FIDELITY
FLESH TONES
SHEET MUSIC

Nonfiction

HOW TO PUBLISH AND PROMOTE ONLINE
(with Angela Adair-Hoy)

BUZZ YOUR BOOK (with Douglas Clegg)

M.J. R
OSE
THE
V
ENUS
     FIX

THE VENUS FIX

Copyright © 2006 by Melisse Shapiro.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

First published in the US by Mira Books.

It’s about time someone dedicated a book to my dear friend Carol Fitzgerald, a true and tireless book champion.

Carol, for everything you do, this one’s for you.

 

 

Venus

Mythol
. The ancient Roman goddess of beauty and love, especially sensual love.

Fix

slang
(orig. U.S.). A dose of a narcotic drug. Also short for fixation—
Psychol.
In Freudian theory, the arresting of the development of a libidinal component at a pregenital stage, so that psychosexual emotions are “fixed” at that point. Also, loosely, an obsession, an
idée fixe.

 

 

 

 

Mine Enemy is growing old—

I have at last Revenge

The Palate of the Hate departs

If any would avenge—

Let him be quick—the Viand flits

It is a faded Meat

Anger as soon as fed is dead

’Tis starving makes it fat

—Emily Dickinson

Contents
 

Copyright

 

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Nine

Sixty

Sixty-One

Sixty-Two

Sixty-Three

Sixty-Four

Sixty-Five

Sixty-Six

Sixty-Seven

Sixty-Eight

Sixty-Nine

Seventy

Seventy-One

Seventy-Two

Seventy-Three

Seventy-Four

Seventy-Five

Seventy-Six

Seventy-Seven

Seventy-Eight

Seventy-Nine

Eighty

Eighty-One

Eighty-Two

Eighty-Three

Eighty-Four

Eighty-Five

Eighty-Six

Eighty-Seven

Eighty-Eight

Eighty-Nine

Ninety

Ninety-One

Ninety-Two

Ninety-Three

Ninety-Four

Ninety-Five

 

Acknowledgments

One
 

D
earest,

After all these months, I’m willing to concede. Nothing will make me miss you less. Nothing will ease the razor-sharp pain that wakes me up every morning and keeps me from falling asleep at night. Not while those women roam—no, not quite women, but witch women who go haunting, casting spells and capturing souls without anyone realizing just how dangerous they are or noticing the evil running in their veins. Evil that glows secret bright in the night and feeds the junkies who drool, eyes glued to their bare breasts and wet lips, ears attuned to low moans and dirty chatter while they stroke, massage, and manipulate themselves to orgasm and then languish in some fugue state until they crash back, back, back to earth.

There are twenty-three days left until your birthday, and to show you how much I love you, I promise, by then all five of these women will have been punished.

What I’m going to do won’t bring back my appetite or my curiosity or my energy. It won’t do a damn thing for me. That doesn’t matter. Because this I do for you.

 

Thursday
Twenty-two days remaining

Two
 

D
amn, it was freezing. He’d opened the window to chase away the smell of beer and grass and sex, but then he’d fallen asleep, and now it was so cold he didn’t even want to stick his head out from under the covers to see if she was still there. But Timothy wanted to come again more than he wanted anything else, so he did it, he pushed the blanket down just enough to peek out.

In his darkened bedroom she was the only thing that he could see. Still there. Still naked. Her lovely breasts with their pink-tipped nipples pointing up.

His erection stirred.

Timothy was awake now, the dreams replaced with a fresh fantasy of what the next minutes would bring. She was golden. That was the best way to describe her: the tawny color of her skin, the long blond curls, and the feeling inside of him that burned like a sun when he was in her glow. And all he had to do was lie back and let her magic work on him.

None of the girls at school were this experienced.

Or this gorgeous.

Or this willing.

Penny was sitting in the big red armchair where he’d left her—her legs spread, playing with a dildo, smiling at him. But it was one weird smile. He leaned forward. Nope, she didn’t look right. She was shaking a little and her mouth was sort of contorted into a sick clown’s grimace. Then her head fell forward, her back heaved, and she vomited.

Timothy had fooled around with a lot of different crap, but this was weird. What kind of pervert would think this was hot?

Usually Penny was coy and sweet and sexy. Sure, she was a little kinky sometimes with the crazy-shaped dildos she used, but she wasn’t moving any of those magic wands in and out of her now.

“Penny,” he whispered. “What are you doing?”

Her answer was an agonized groan. Low and feeble. Like the sound a wounded animal might make. Nothing like the exciting sounds she’d made when she was riding the lubricated pink plastic dildo and coming right along with him.

Maybe she wasn’t acting. Maybe she really was sick. Food poisoning made you sick like that. He’d had food poisoning once. She looked sick, didn’t she? Her skin was slicked with sweat, her hair was flattened to the sides of her face, and her eyes looked glassy and feverish.

She looked like she needed help. Now. Fast. But what could he do?

Grabbing the blanket off the bed, he wrapped it around his naked waist and started for his bedroom door. Then he stopped—there was no one home. His parents were out. Jeez, what was he thinking? Thank God they were out because Penny, sick or not, was way off limits.

He looked back at her to make sure. Yes, she was still moving in that slow-motion, sick way, her moan now a low constant sound that made him want to put his hands up to his ears and block it out.

He grabbed the phone.

He’d call for help. But who? The police? An ambulance? Amanda? Would she know what to do? No, she might tell her mother. He couldn’t risk that. Besides, what if he was wrong? What if this was a game? What if Penny was acting out some perversion by request? He knew she did that sometimes.

He glanced back at her, at her small hands gripping the arms of the chair, at her feet, so fragile and inconsequential, at the worn carpet he’d never noticed before. Everything looked sort of pathetic now—the meager furniture, the really small television—except for the view out the window. He’d never noticed any of this before. He’d always been too busy, under her spell. But not now. Not anymore.

Pick your head up, Penny. Look at me. Tell me what’s going on. What should I do?

She threw up again.

He dialed 911.

“State your emergency, please.”

At the same time he heard the voice, the screen went black. He ran to the monitor and stared at it, seeing only his own ghostly image staring back.

Penny was gone.

What the hell?

He hit the back button to see if the problem was his computer or hers. The site he’d been to before hers popped up. He hit the forward key.

Her site was gone.

“Hello?” shouted the voice on the other end of the phone. “Hello?”

A dozen thoughts hit him all at once. They were going to ask him who he was, and he was going to have to tell them, and then his parents would find out he’d broken the rules again, and God only knew what they would do to him this
time. He had been going to all those stupid therapy sessions at school and his parents were finally easing up on him, but if they found out about this…what would happen then? Besides, maybe he was wrong. Maybe Penny had only been acting out some stupid game.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” Timothy finally answered.

“Can you tell me what the emergency is?”

BOOK: The Venus Fix
4.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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