My muscles tense. My eyes flit to the gigantic fifty-foot tank of water that’s filled with hundreds of hungry piranhas. In minutes, I may be their new best friend, though it’ll be a very short-lived relationship—no pun intended. Once I take the plunge and I’m bait, Katrina will rule Hollywood. Destroy every fish in the sea until she’s controlling it all and sitting on billions while sending out her propaganda messages via infomercials that “Moore is More.” Creating a society where everyone is clamoring to be a billionaire and forsaking every important value. Love. Family. Trust. Honor. Until everyone destroys each other, and she owns and controls every bank account in the world.
“Va te faire foutre,” I say in French.
With a fling of her mane, Katrina lets out a haughty laugh. “Darling, you were always a cunning linguist. But your tongue was wasted on me.”
Was it! She was the worst Bond girl I ever had. A frigid bitch.
She turns to her evil robotic cohort Scott, who is sitting behind a console with knobs and levers. “Scotty-Botty, it’s time to do the honors.”
“Yes, ma-dame.” His words are as mechanical as the automaton he is. It sickens me to think he was created by MI6 and was once my right hand man so to speak. It’s too bad they could never figure out how to give him a heart. Katrina stole him from Her Majesty’s Secret Service and programmed him to suit her needs. To destroy me.
The psycho bitch snaps her bony fingers twice. “Chop chop!”
The bot responds. He presses down on a massive lever, instantly hoisting me into the air. In seconds, my feet no longer touch the ground.
Katrina smirks. “Your career is about to reach new heights, James.”
My eyes gaze up, then down. Already ten feet in the air, I’m headed to a dead end. It’s time to kiss my illustrious career goodbye. I’ll miss them all. M, Q, and especially Miss Moneypenny. I always had a thing for her. M’s adorable secretary. She was basically my assistant too, taking care of my every need—from booking hotel rooms with my latest hookups to getting Q to supply me with the latest hi-tech weapons and cars. An image of her flashes in my mind. She’s hardly like my Bond girls. They’re supermodel perfect like Katrina. She, on the other hand, is a girl one might call ordinary. Slightly overweight…unstylish…pretty not beautiful. Yet, it’s her big brown eyes, upturned nose, and kissable lips that fill my mind as death awaits me. My cock twitches beneath the ropes. Never having her is my only regret. I should have bent her over her desk and given her what she always wanted. At the thought of her ass in the air, my cock stiffens. At least, I’m going to die with a hard-on. As my inevitable fate awaits me, I feel stirred not shaken. If I survive this, I may change my martini of choice.
As I continue to ascend, Katrina keeps her eyes on my crotch. She scoffs. “There’s nothing like being hung over a tank of hungry piranhas.”
At least my cock will be hard to bite into. A small piece of solace.
“Do you like the view?”
“It’s killer.”
“Say goodbye, James.”
Another voice…
“Say goodbye, Kuntrina!”
Miss Moneypenny! Sometimes you shouldn’t be too careful for what you wish for. Dressed to kill in a little black dress that hugs all her luscious curves, she looks ravishing.
Katrina spins around. “What are you doing here, you sloth?”
Miss Moneypenny’s eyes clash with Katrina’s. “Not wasting my time talking to you.”
“I don’t waste my time talking to peons.”
“You’re going to be sorry you said that.” On her next breath, Miss Moneypenny charges at Katrina, tackling and knocking her to the ground. She tears at her metallic jumpsuit.
“You bitch! You’re ruining my outfit! It’s Versace! You’re going to pay a pretty penny to replace it!”
“I’m not even going to take it to a tailor,” retorts Moneypenny, straddling Katrina and holding her down while she screams and writhes.
My eyes stay riveted on her full, heart-shape arse, and I have the burning desire to spread those huggable cheeks apart. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, M always preached. Scott the Bot meanwhile hoists me higher. I’m now about twenty-five feet in the air. In a few minutes, I’m going to be fish food.
Katrina and Moneypenny continue to go at each other madly, exchanging every expletive in the dictionary. They roll about on the floor. Hissing. Gnawing. Scratching. Fisting. Clumps of hair go flying. It looks like Katrina has the upper hand, stabbing her adversary with the spiky heel of her killer stiletto. Again and again and again.
“Die, you fat bitch!” she screams.
“You die first!” rasps back Moneypenny after another blow. To my utter astonishment, she reaches into her impressive cleavage and yanks out a shiny six-inch knife. She holds it over Katrina. Katrina’s eyes flicker with terror.
“Don’t you dare kill me!” she shrieks. “I’ll give you anything you want! All the money in the world!”
Moneypenny slowly lowers the knife. “There’s only one thing I want, and it’s not your money. And besides, my name comes with it.”
The knife is millimeters from Katrina. Her face is frozen with fear. Moneypenny holds her fierce in her gaze.
“Rot in hell, bitch!”
“Noooooo!”
Katrina’s mouth never closes as Moneypenny plunges the blade into her chest. Splat! My nemesis lets out a deep groan as her right breast deflates and jelled liquid seeps out from the three-inch tear in her jumpsuit.