Hell Hath No Fury
Life was supposed to be simplified in the Big Easy...
Since relocating New Orleans, Kenina Porter has lived the good the bad, and the ugly, working in homicide. Despite what the Chief or anyone else thinks of her, Kenina intends to continue doing her damn job as she damn well pleases. Besides, the serial strangler is still on the loose and Kenina thinks she should be the one to catch him.
Local boy and former Army officer, David Mulroney received a promotion to detective and is as eager and hungry as anyone working at nineteen. His boyish looks and charm has all the ladies swooning, but he only has eyes on one. Kenina Porter.
Kenina isn't taking bullshit from anyone, let alone another cop in her department who claims to have the hots for her. Can NOPD’s youngest detective be the one to finally bring her out of her shell?
- 1 Read list
Heat Level: 3
Romantic Content: 2
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Straight
Protagonist 1 Age: 36-45
Protagonist 2 Age: 26-35
Tropes: Age Difference, Friends to Lovers, Office / Workplace Romance
Word Count: 54404
Setting: New Orleans, LA USA
Languages Available: English
Series Type: Same Universe / Various Characters
November 20, 2015 New Orleans Police Station Nineteenth Precinct
It’s almost Thanksgiving, but I don’t think a hell of a lot of people care because all I’ve seen and heard is Christmas; the annoying songs, the colorful lights, the commercials about shopping, but nothing about turkey day. I suppose a holiday celebrating eating a lot and watching football is easy to ignore. Not for me, though. I counted my blessings every Thanksgiving, because it was my first day on the police beat.READ MORE
Back in 200…ahem…a few years ago, I moved from New York to the Big Easy. Though the transition was nothing like the nickname, I’ve enjoyed my time as a detective here. I was on top of the world, walking the streets with my then partner, Louie Fastone. He was a talkative asshole, but he had my back at all times. That Thanksgiving night, I caught my first thief, briefed detectives on a major crime scene, and even helped talk a teenager out of committing suicide. Despite the circumstances, it was the best day of my life, and I’ll always look back on it fondly.
During that time, I met the man I love like a brother, Francois Choteau or Frankie as I liked to call him. After meeting each other in police academy, we became fast friends, helping each other with exams and having a little fun in the process. When we were both promoted to detective, we worked long nights, trying to find out who the real culprits were behind numerous crimes. We solved a bunch of them on our own as well as with some help from fellow detectives. We weathered the controversy in the department from internal corruption to unfair labor practices. We even faked a relationship just to hide his sexuality. I was mad as hell at him for weeks after that because I was sure it was all a phase, but he proved me wrong when he went after one of the suspects on a homicide turned suicide case. To this day, I still think the kid had something to do with it, but what do I know? I couldn’t prove it. So I let it go, and accepted Frankie as my best friend. Nothing more. It still sticks in my craw that I couldn’t turn his head, but it is what it is.
Back to the job. We’ve all worked our butts off these last few months, searching for a serial killer who has suddenly gone ghost. This case has us all stumped; five women, three of them trans, have been strangled and left for dead in their homes and no one knows a damn thing. The last victim, a young woman in her early twenties who’d just made the complete transformation, was seemingly looking forward to a bright future. However, because of this sonofabitch, she won’t see her next birthday and will never dance again. This sad sack of shit can’t be found and with him roaming the streets, neither we nor the city will sleep peacefully.
This isn’t the only thing that has me all riled up. I have been working my ass off to become sergeant, but the new, very openly gay police chief put me on blast. It’s true. I like to speak my mind, and sometimes, that political correctness goes out the window. Hey, let’s call a spade a spade. Some things just need to be said, and usually, I’m the one to say them.
I don’t like being picked on and it looks as if Chief Quinn Murray had selected me as his personal plaything. Due to the complaints of a couple of officers, who I thought had thicker skin, I was officially out of the running for that promotion. Despite all this, I’ve held my head up high because, one day, I will get that position and raise I deserve. I’d worked long and hard to make my way up in the ranks here, and I’m not going to let anyone say I haven’t. Bottom line, I shouldn’t really have to adjust my thinking, it should be the other way around. Why pussyfoot around the truth when it’s right there in front of you? For example, I knew from day one that, that whore Miss Darnaby had something to do with the murders of her new husband, mother-in-law, and grandchildren. Because of my hard-nosed questioning, she’s behind bars, awaiting her sentence for being the accessory to five murders.
In my view, we’ve become a society full of pansies. We’re afraid to speak our minds because it’ll hurt someone’s feelings. We don’t discipline our children. We let them run ragged without giving them rules and putting the fear of God into them, much like my parents did to me. What the hell happened to society? America? What has this freaking world come to? It’s all screwed up because no one believes in telling the truth anymore. If no one is willing to speak up, it will continue.
Okay, I know I need to get off my soapbox because I can’t control how people live their lives. I got more important things to stress over. For instance, where was this suspect Orrin Daugherty said he saw at the club? Why was the autopsy on Jesselyn, the latest victim, taking three weeks to complete? I get it. At times, there needs to be further examinations when the sicko at large was having sex with the corpses, but geez, it should’ve been on the fast track, right?
Less importantly, who the heck was I going to take to the Policeman’s Christmas Ball? Last year, it was Frankie, but un-fucking-fortunately, he’ll be bringing his fiancée, Kajika Fortier. Vance Morain and Orrin Daugherty will be attending as a couple, as will Nicholas Wendell and Jessica Turley. It seems like everyone has a date but me. I could ask David Mulroney, but I don’t want to sound desperate. Not that he isn’t handsome, because the man is simply gorgeous; beautiful blue eyes, silky brown hair I’d want to constantly run my hands through, and his body looks amazing in anything he wears. Suit or not, the man looks like a runway model in New York. Add the southern accent, and he was certifiably beddable, but he’s training with me. I don’t want to make it sound like I picked him because I didn’t have any other choices. Perhaps he’ll make it easy and ask me instead. That would make me feel a whole lot better and I wouldn’t feel so goddamn inferior. If he didn’t, I might just go alone to show everyone I’m way above all the bullshit. I don’t necessarily need a man to have fun, but it would be nice to have someone to talk to over drinks.
One thing I am not is a person who likes to feel sorry for herself. I’m not going to let this become the year I start acting like the woe is me girl in a stupid chick flick. I’m a detective who isn’t afraid to speak my mind. Maybe that makes me the mean girl, but so be it. It hasn’t stopped my forward progress until Chief Champion of Political Correctness got here to muck it all up.
That’s what I missed about my former Chief Ballmore. He loved me like a daughter and just let me be me. Unfortunately, he had to resign because he had a stroke that nearly killed him, but I guarantee you, if he hadn’t gotten sick, he still would’ve been working.
Lately, I’ve said to just about anyone who’d listen that I’d been thinking about leaving this precinct, but I got one last task to complete before I say sayonara. I want to catch this disgusting sonofabitch that’s killing exotic dancers and bring his crazy ass to justice. Nothing would look better on my resume than saying I found New Orleans’ latest killer and put him behind bars to await his death by lethal injection.COLLAPSE
S. Howard on Goodreads wrote:
The first book in the series that is not LGBTQ. 'Hell Hath No Fury' is dedicated to (yeah, no, i'm saying it) Bitch of the precinct, Ms. Kenina Porter. A no, none sense bigot, but a bigot none the less, has an admirer and of course, she's not going to make it easy for him.
The one good thing is,is that this young and newly made Detective has what it takes to pick at that mountain of ice Ms. Porter has managed to erect around her heart and maybe, just maybe, manage to make her a better human being in the process. 'Hell Hath No fury' is the fifth installment in the N'awlins series.
The bigot ice queen has a heart!!! What a shocker. Oh, by no means does she make it easy for anyone to like her let alone fall in love with her. Poor David has his sights set on her. He refuses to let age or her stop him from pursuing interest in Kenina.
The serial rapist and murderer has struck again but the victim has survived; a break in the case at last. Then we have Vance who celebrates his 30th with one hell of a party. This series is winding up to a smoking ending I cannot wait for the next book. These are not meant to be standalones.