Publication date: January 17th 2023
Genres: Adult, Thriller
You’ve done a bad thing. She has you in her sights. Now you’re going to pay.
Meet Camilla Black: an affluent, respected, influential fashion magazine editor, who lives it up in her beautiful Mayfair apartment. But Camilla’s glamorous life is a lie. Behind her poised exterior beats the cold dark heart of a vigilante killer, a murderer hell-bent on wreaking vengeance upon bad men.
Camilla expects to get away with murder. She’s careful. And anyway, it’s worth the risk. She’s making the world a better place with each predator she kills. But when one of her victims’ bodies is unexpectedly found, his gruesome death is splashed all over the papers.
To make matters worse, she’s now being pursued by Detective Wheelan, a new addition to the Met with laser-sharp focus and a worrying habit of solving impossible crimes…
She knows she should stop, but she can’t. Some men just deserve to die. Will Camilla’s insatiable appetite for justice be her downfall, or can she outsmart the police?
Revised edition: Previously published as Predator, this edition of Pretty Evil includes editorial revisions.
I pull the
fire escape door open, scoop my eyeshadow palette off the ground and slip back
inside. For a moment, I pause in the corridor and catch my breath. Adrenaline
is surging through me. Rage. A normal woman would call the police at this
point. But a normal woman would never have been paranoid enough in the first
place to pretend to go to the toilet, only to sneak out of the fire escape and
spy through a window to watch what her date does when he has five minutes alone
with her drink. Nope. A normal woman would have gone to the loo, done a pee and
topped up her lipstick. Or she’d have texted a friend about her hot date,
feeling giddy with hope and excitement.
think about what would have happened to a normal woman.
woman would have headed back to her date, smiling prettily, before sitting down
and drinking her drugged drink. Then, a short while later, that normal woman
would have started feeling far more drunk than she normally does after just a
couple of drinks, but she’d probably blame herself. She’d wonder if maybe she’d
drunk too much. Or maybe she’d blame herself for having not eaten earlier in
the day because she didn’t want to look fat in her dress. Or maybe she’d blame
herself because that’s just what she does; she blames herself. And then, just
as she started to feel woozy and a bit confused, her date would take her
outside for some fresh air and she’d be grateful to him. She’d think he was
caring and responsible, when really, he was just whisking her out of sight,
before she started to look less like she was drunk and more like she’d been
drugged. And then the next thing she’d know, she’d be staggering into the back
of a cab and her date would be asking her to tell the driver where she lived.
And when she’d barely be able to get the words out and her date made a joke to
the driver about how drunk she was, she’d feel small and embarrassed. And then
she’d find herself slumping into her date’s open arms, flopping against his big
manly body, and she’d feel grateful once more that this man was taking care of
her and getting her home safe.
once the taxi slowed down and she blinked her eyes open and found they’d pulled
up outside her flat, she’d notice in a fleeting moment of clarity that when the
driver asked for the fare, her date thrust two crisp ten-pound notes towards
him in a weirdly premeditated move, as though he’d known this moment was going
to happen all along. As though he’d had the cash lined up, the plan set, and
she’d feel something. Something. But then she’d be staggering out of the taxi,
even sloppier than when she got in, and her legs would be buckling, and she’d
cling to her date for support, her make-up now smudged, her eyes half-closed,
her hair messy.
She’d look a
state and he’d ask her which flat was hers, and she’d walk with him to her
front door, to the flat where she lives alone. To the place that’s full of
books and cute knick-knacks from charity shops and colourful but inexpensive
clothes. She’d unlock her front door, her hand sliding drunkenly over the lock,
and she’d lead him into the place she’s been using as a base to try to get
ahead in life, and then he’d look around, keen-eyed, until he spotted her
bedroom and he’d draw her in.
And then all
of a sudden he’d be in her bedroom and she wouldn’t be able to remember if
she’d asked him back or not or quite how this happened, and it would all be
moving so fast and her thoughts would be unable to keep up – they’d keep
sliding away – and he’d be kissing her and she’d be unsure what was happening
as he pulled off her dress and she’d wonder, did she ask for this? Does she
want this? Has she been a ‘slut’ again? But the thoughts would be weak, they’d
keep falling away and he’d be confident and he’d be certain and he’d be
good-looking and he’d be pulling off her bra and taking off her knickers. He’d
be pushing himself inside her.
day, he’d be gone by the time she woke up. She’d be blocked, unmatched, and
she’d feel like such a state. She’d blame herself. She’d hate herself. She’d
feel like a mess. She wouldn’t want to leave the house.
woman used to be me. But I’m not normal any more.
now. I’m much better.
Zoe Rosi has a background in journalism and copywriting. She worked as a reporter for local and national newspapers before moving into the fashion industry as a copywriter. Zoe had four romantic comedies published before writing her debut thriller. It was while working as a fashion copywriter that Zoe had the idea for Pretty Evil, which she describes as The Devil Wears Prada meets American Psycho.
a Rafflecopter giveaway