I owe this chapter to so many!

Fran, for doing more last minute beta-ing.

The FicLab for stirring inspiration when I had none.

Readers and reviewers for doing your thang.

And as always, my amazing team of girls that help me in ALL the ways: Jill, Ariel, and Pearly. xxx


Dressed to kill.

Killer curves.

If looks could kill.

There's a reason these phrases have been developed for women. Men only think they rule the world because we allow it. We're the real power. Life begins from between our legs, and if one is not careful, it can end that way as well.

Cue misogynistic joke about how they wouldn't mind being smothered by a pussy. I assure you it's not so funny when it's happening.

I was only nineteen when I was broken. I had been with my grade-school sweetheart for a decade at that point; playground lovers, before we truly knew what a relationship meant. Some would argue we never figured that out.

It was all so very typical. Boring, really.

I was let off from work early, came home to find him buried in my best friend on the couch we had picked out together only weeks before.

The scene that played out afterward has been seen a million times in movies, books, and shows all across the board.

I cried. He said it meant nothing. I slapped him. He swore it was a one-time thing. He got on his knees, pleaded with me to forgive him. I cried more. I screamed that I trusted him. He told me our timing was off, that he just needed some assurance to know we were the real deal.

Was he really talking about timing in times like these?

I shattered. And I left.

It was my first heartbreak, and you can bet your ass it would be my last.

Some may choose to see me as weak, that I would close myself off so solidly, so thoroughly, after my first-ever boyfriend. I just saw it as self-preservation. If anything, I'm stronger than the rest because I refuse to allow that to ever be me again.

Instead, I'm going to save other women the trouble. Let them rebuild their lives and go on to love again, while I rid the world of its cancer, one self-entitled, chauvinistic man at a time.

I'm the Robin Hood of scorned women. Robbing from the dick and giving to the whore.

And believe me, when I say, I mean absolutely no disrespect using that term. Just a silly, witty rhyme. Besides, it is the oldest known occupation, and of course, men would twist a word that meant women had ownership of their own bodies to sound nasty.

My victim tonight won't even be missed. I love these particular types of jobs. Quick and dirty. I don't need to be too careful beyond making sure I clean up my mess.

It's a damn good thing my dress tonight is the same color as his blood.

His girlfriend was pregnant when he slept with another woman. And wouldn't you know, he knocked that one up too? Funny world, huh.

Especially funny when both women came to find me for the same thing.

He may have his hand in bringing two lives into the world, but he'll be paying with his own.


Don't worry. Your eyes aren't deceiving you, this is the same story you've been reading. It'll all make sense, I promise ;)