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The hip was on the ground, moaning.

For a second she thought of dashing, but it was hard to ignore her role in this tragedy. Plus, the hips looked after one another—community and all that bullhickey. Word got around and she didn't want to alienate half the population of Philadelphia over a freak-out. She'd fix him up and then figure out the asshole trying to claw his way into her brain. Lou, maybe? Twenty grand was a lot to toss around, maybe too much. Maybe he sniffed more and was trying to drill into her accounts. Hah, fat chance, Eugene had all her cash, but of course Lou didn't know that—or maybe he did now. Had they taken anything, any important thoughts? The sick feeling came back—the feasters, they were hacking her, trying to beat her to the prey, but no, that didn't make any sense, they couldn't know about her. Or care, even.

From No Dogs in Philly: A Lovecraftian Cyberpunk Noir. Rated R. FREE forever on Amazon, iBooks, Smashwords, Kobo, Barnes & Noble, and Google Play. (Amazon users: If the book does not show as free, please log in!)

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