"Blackmail is such an ugly word! And it's completely untrue, besides. I'm giving you the option of helping me out and repaying me at the same time."

The alternative being criminal charges, I thought, feeling stomach churning fear as I stared with horrified fascination at the woman's smug expression and glittering eyes--Glenda--the wicked witch of the west. With an effort, I dragged my gaze from her and glanced at my sister to see how she'd taken the 'offer'.

Her chin and lower lip were trembling. I didn't know whether I most wanted to smack her for dragging me in to her mess or cuddle her--she was my older sister, but I'd fought most of her battles for her over the years until it was pretty much second nature and that helpless look of hers rarely failed to arouse a sense of protectiveness in me. The angelic damsel in distress look she'd cultivated over the years that had such a devastating effect on the male of the species, however, was completely ineffectual on the female--unless said female happened to be a lesbian. I slid a hopeful glance at the wicked witch again.

No such luck! She wasn't completely unmoved. Her lips had flattened in an expression of disgust and the look in her eyes was patently disbelieving.

I released a dejected sigh.

The shit fairy had attended my birth and sprinkled fairy manure over me, cursing me forever afterward to get the shit end of the stick in any given situation. Brandy, my sister, had often accused me of having opticalrectumitis, but how I could have any other outlook was beyond me. It never failed. If I had a half a dozen options, I unerringly chose the absolute worst. If I bought something, it was broken when I got home. If it was under warranty, it broke the day after the warranty expired. If I got into a line--any line--that line stopped moving. There didn't seem to be any aspect in my life that was unaffected by the 'shit curse'.

Nearing thirty-three, I'd optimistically entered a half dozen relationships since high school and every one had ended in disaster--the level of the disaster changed, depending upon just how smitten I was with the object of my affections, but they'd all ended badly, regardless. I'd become a man hater after the last bastard had wiped me out and walked off with everything I owned, not that that was anything I could say in public because then I would have to explain that I was still heterosexual, I just wanted another option.

The worst part of my current situation was that I couldn't even claim complete innocence. I'd helped my sister get the damned job in the first place and I was guilty by association even if I hadn't been related to her. Glenda didn't believe me when I'd tried, and as much as it made me want to do something violent, in all honesty I couldn't really blame her. I knew I looked guilty.

It occurred to me that my life might have been completely different if Brandy had had a convenient accident sometime after birth. Maybe the shit curse would've followed her to the grave and left me alone, but that was just wishful thinking, I knew. I was stuck with it, just like I was stuck with her as a sister--the bane of my existence from the time I was old enough to realize even parents could be conned into believing their most beautiful duckling was as wonderful as she appeared--not terribly bright but as sweet as the day was long.

Ha! I hadn't instigated the hair-pulling contests that had punctuated our teen years together--actually a good bit of our childhood before that. But did they believe me? No! And Glenda wasn't buying it either.

Well, at least this once I wasn't catching the entire blame, even though I shouldn't have caught any of it!

How was I supposed to know my lame brain of a sister would decide to 'borrow' money from the boss? I admit, I'd wondered where she got the damned money for that luxury trip to Vegas, but--what could I say?--I was an idiot when it came to Brandy. I'd bought her lie hook, line, and sinker--she'd won it on a scratch off!

Did I feel stupid, now, for having spent two solid weeks trying to convince her to invest her 'winnings' instead of blowing it in Vegas?

Hell yes!

For a moment as I stared at her, the image danced in my head of curling my fingers around her slender throat and choking the life out of her. Could I plead temporary insanity, I wondered? How many years would it be before I could get out?

I calculated the minimum and decided, as rotten as life was, I didn't particularly want free room and board until I was sixty.