The Drazen World: Dominate (Kindle Worlds Novella) by Tara West

one
    I spent last summer in Austin, whose theme is “Keep Austin Weird” so it’s not like I wasn’t used to strange. The women in Beverly Hills just had better tans, smaller waists, and bigger, faker tits. I couldn’t crack a whip without hitting a Botoxed, bleached blonde with a designer handbag and a nameless face. They were everywhere, littering the streets of LA like collagen confetti in a Fiesta parade.
    Me, in my vintage thrift store dress, nose stud, and comfortable flats, looked like I belonged at a Mexican flea market, and I’d escaped my zip code, defiling Blonde Boulevard with churros and Virgin Mary statues.  
    I looked far too natural for this crowd, with the exception of the tattoo on my wrist, my straightened black hair, thick eyeliner, and red lipstick. Usually, I preferred the retro look. After all, my body was made for 50’s dresses that flared at the hips and showed off my genuine D cups. My curves filled a saddle perfectly, or a lover while I was riding him like a bucking bronco. 
    I knew what the people of Rodeo Drive thought of me by how they stared at me, or rather, how they didn’t stare. It was as if I didn’t exist. I wasn’t worth a scowl or laugh because I was worthless.
    Or so they thought.
    Mamá didn’t think I was worthless. Neither did my step-dad, Angus, nor my best friend, Savannah. No matter what happened in California this summer, if I failed to land a movie or television role, I’d go home to family who valued me. What did these plastic princesses have over me? After they charged up their husband’s credit cards, they’d return to a grand, yet cold and unwelcoming home. They’d eat dinner alone and promptly throw it up. Then, they’d pop a few appetite suppression and anxiety pills and sip a margarita by the pool, admiring the muscles of their Latino gardeners while their husbands bent girls like me over their office desks, jamming their cocks into their young, tight asses so they wouldn’t get slapped with paternity lawsuits.
    I saw the woman too late. She walked with purpose, her stride a long, confident swagger in three-inch heels as she balanced two oversized shopping bags on each arm.
    I tried to move aside, but the corner of one bag smacked my elbow, slicing open my skin, bright red pooling around the cut almost instantly. She stopped to examine the bag as if I’d somehow purposely defiled it. That’s when I saw something silver poking out. What the hell? Was that a blade or the tip of a wire hanger?
    She turned up her nose and scowled. “Watch where you’re going.”
    I could’ve pointed out the obvious, that she was the one who’d injured me . But where was the fun in that?
    Attitude locked and loaded. Ready. Aim. Fire. “Bitch, I’d so fuck your husband.” Truthfully, I wouldn’t knowingly sleep with a married man, but she didn’t need to know that.
    She arched a penciled brow. “Excuse me?”
    I squeezed my aching arm to slow the ebb of blood as I transformed into Bitchzilla and unleashed my fire. “While you’re at your surgeon, getting the cellulite sucked out of your ass, I’ll be on my knees on the balcony of the hotel room he booked with his secret credit card, his cock buried down my throat.” I looked directly into her eyes—hazed over by a society-sanctioned pharmaceutical addiction—and I plastered on a smile. “And when I’m done making him beg for mercy, he’ll wish he’d made you sign that prenup back when the only fake parts on your body were your tan, tits, and hair.” 
    I sucked in a deep breath, glaring at the woman. She looked ready to explode in an inferno of oxycodone and silicone, which would have been bad for the environment, not to mention painful.
    “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me or my husband.” If it was even possible, her plastic face tightened as her skin flushed all the way to her stiff, platinum roots. 
    “I know you’re not a happy woman, because if you were, you’d apologize when you rip