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REVIEWS for Sin City

4 Stars: "Written with a lot of humor and political intrigue…
     It was pretty obvious who this story was loosely based on. While there is a lot of humor, there is also a sadness that anyone would treat his wife like that. Audrey Godwin spins a good tale. Her characters are believable. I liked Lorelei. My favorite scene was when she threw Griff out of her bedroom. It was also good to see that Griff “grew up” and realized what a mistake he was making. He had just enough ethics to recognize the spy ring. All in all this is a good read." —Anne Boling, Review Your Book

EXCERPTS

On the dark, sinful screen of her mind, she was offering her sex to an unknown man concealed in darkness. Slowly, the swarthy silhouette rose up and moved into the dim light. When she saw his face, an electric thrill pierced her groin. She reached for him. Nothing else in the world existed except his lips and the waves of scorching heat that radiated from his exquisite body in the low-hanging shadows.

His magic tongue scoured her breasts and drew hungrily on her nipples while she moaned in ecstasy. His husky form, moving erotically in the forbidden shadows, was gleaming with sweat. At last, the plunge came, and they both danced to the mad, carnal rhythm that held them captive. His constant thrusting deepened her passion, causing her hips to move in a frenzy to meet his time and again. At last, she threw her head back and moaned as if in pain, but nothing could have felt more wonderful.

His breath was wet and hot on her ear as his tongue did an erotic dance in and out of it. She thrashed madly, clinging to his muscled body as her sharp nails drew blood from his back. His wild, uninhibited lovemaking was bringing her to a hot, fevered pitch, and she could feel herself climbing, reaching, clawing, urging herself upward. As she came closer and closer to a shuddering climax, suddenly she knew. Oh, God, she couldn’t help it. It was going to happen. She was going to surrender to her animal instincts and screeeeaaam!

Lorelei’s hands quickly flew to her mouth, stifling the scream. Knowing what she’d done, her eyes quickly slid toward her father.

The senator jerked his head around and growled, “Lorelei, what in God’s name is wrong with you?”

“I’m s-sorry. I—uh, well…”

The senator, who held a cigar between his thumb and forefinger, scowled at her with impatience, “It doesn’t matter. Just…stay quiet." Shifting back around to Griff Nyle, a young man he was sponsoring for the presidency, he said, “As I was sayin’…”

Lorelei lowered her eyes demurely, and her face colored with embarrassment. Had she said anything? Had she spoken Griff’s name, or shouted it, maybe? She kept her head down, trying not to look at him because every time she did, she felt herself becoming flushed. He’s so…I don’t know…physical, she thought as her eyes sneaked up and shamelessly anchored on the bulge in the front of his jeans. She had to turn her eyes away. If she weren’t careful, that hot, suggestive sight would take her back into that dark, scorching bed with his gleaming body on top of her. These were dangerous thoughts—thoughts she seemed to have a lot of lately. The romance novels she read didn’t help. She was always the heroine and Griff the hero, and when they made love—oh, if only it could be so.

* * * *

Griff watched as the Senator’s lips moved incessantly. He had heard it all a hundred times. Sure, he wanted to be president some day, but not on the senator’s terms—terms that included that bratty, red-haired daughter of his. How could the senator even suggest he marry his daughter? Dear God, he was twenty-six years old. He’d been through college, law school, and had even held office while this little brat was still sucking her thumb. He glanced at her and frowned. He didn’t like her. Sure, maybe she was pretty, her hair a bright, bold, titian color that seemed to have a mind of its own, but it didn’t matter. It also didn’t matter that she had eyes like a fox that were a glittering bronze color with darkly fringed lashes. And so what if she had full, ripe lips that looked red, even when she wasn’t wearing lipstick.

Good circulation, Griff thought.

She confused him. That sweet pixie face of hers was pure and innocent, but her soft, curving body showed signs of maturity. On one hand she was a young nymph, always fresh, always glowing, but on the other she seemed to be at the starting gate of life, eager for someone to come along and teach her how to make love. The thought lingered with him until she lifted her wild, fox like eyes and met his with a hungry look.

Caught off guard, Griff quickly turned his head and looked away.

“Are you payin’ any attention to me?”

“Oh…yes, sir,” Griff said, trying to remember what the senator had said.

“Like I was sayin’, you do what I say, boy, and you’ll occupy that Oval Office someday. And if I can ever bring” —he cast an impatient glance back toward his young, fanciful daughter— “Lorelei here out of her fantasy world, she’ll be right there by your side as your First Lady.”

His last remark raised Griff’s hackles. “What the hell makes her such a great First Lady? Look at her. She’s not a Grace Kelly type. I need someone that’s angelic, sweet, and gentle.” He looked back over at the senator. “She’s brash, bold, and a redhead. I hate redheads."

“She’s right because she’s my daughter, you nincompoop.”

“She’s nothing but a baby. She probably still sucks her thumb.”

Lorelei’s eyes widened at the remark, and she quickly pulled her hand down from her face and pushed it under the edge of her thigh so she wouldn’t be tempted again.

“Hell’s bells, Griff, she won’t be a kid forever. She’ll grow up, you know, and it’s up to me what she grows up into.”

“I hope to hell you know what you’re doin’.”

Senator Bliss took a deep breath and got up from his chair and began pacing. As he scratched his head, he turned to the young man and looked at him as if he were trying to find the right words.

“Look, I know Lorelei isn’t exactly the picture someone would conjure up when they think of a First Lady, but hell, Griff, give her time. This won’t happen for at least ten years. You’ve got a splendid education, but now you’ve gotta rub elbows with the right people, get to know those who can help you. Gain their confidence. When you’ve got a firm foundation beneath you, then you’ll start your grooming period. By that time, you’ll be eligible, and if I know you, and politics, the city of Washington won’t know what hit it.” He paused then, and with a thoughtful look on his face, he frowned slightly. “It’s just too damned bad I don’t have a son to give to my party, but—“ shifting his eyes to his only daughter, he sighed “—a man does the best he can.”

“But, Senator, everything has to be perfect. I don’t want to lose just because my wife’s not right.”

“Well, you sure as hell ain’t gonna win with the kind of trash you run around with.”

“Yeah…well…I don’t know,” Griff said with a stubborn look on his face as he continued to stare at the naughty eighteen-year-old.

“Don’t know?” the senator barked, then turned to look at Griff. “What in hell do you mean, you don’t know? It’s a no-brainer, for God’s sake. Your first priority here is getting into the White House, and there’s only one way to do it. Griff, she’s the sweetheart of Capitol Hill. Do you know she calls every senator and congressman by their first name?”

“I don’t give a good goddamn what she calls them, she could still ruin me.”

“Bunk! The only one that could ruin you, is you.” The lips of the good senator curled up. “Have you forgotten where you came from? I’ve forgiven you for that single drop of Yankee poison you got roamin’ around inside you, but if my gran’ pappy knew I was tryin’ to put anybody but a died-in-the-wool Southern boy into the White House, why he’d come up outta that grave and kick my ass sure as hell has fire.”

“But, sir,” Griff said, insulted. “I've lived all my life in the south. I'm as Southern as you are and twice as proud.”

The senator pushed his face close to Griff’s and glared at him. “I ought to run you off my property, you Yankee devil. Just one drop of Northern blood dropped into Southern is enough to start the Civil War all over again.” He lifted his forefinger and his voice trembled. “The Bliss family has an ancestry that for generations has stuck to Southern tradition and would have never…I repeat, never tolerated one drop of Yankee blood anywhere near one of our delicate, Southern-bred, genteel daughters.”

He was about to go on, but allowed his eyes to rake critically over his future son-in-law. “But…well…times change, I reckon.” A haze of smoke surrounded him while he punched the air with his cigar. “You just keep one thing in mind, boy. If you want my support, you’ll go all the way up that ladder with my little Lorelei on your arm. She’s a true-blue Southern belle and just what you need. And—” He hesitated, apparently having trouble saying the words. “If you have children, and I’m convinced they’re not the devil incarnate, I’ll love ’em.”

Looking at the redheaded ball-and-chain with anger, the young man slumped on the couch. “What the hell am I gonna do? When my girlfriend…”

The senator leaned over the disgruntled presidential hopeful, still punching the air with his lit cigar. “I’ll tell you what you're gonna do. You’re gonna loose yo’self from every relationship you have and concentrate on my Lorelei, is that clear? You just remember that I’m payin’ for all of this as well as the campaign when the time comes, and I won’t tolerate any hanky-panky. You’re to keep yo’self squeaky clean at all times. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Griff sighed in defeat.

The senator, satisfied that the matter was settled, looked at his daughter. “Lorelei, it’s bedtime. Big day tomorrow.”

“But, Daddy,” she whimpered childishly.

“Don’t argue, young lady. I have spoken.”

Her gaze turned bold and lusty when her eyes shifted to Griff, and a seductive smile played along her lips. “Can Griff walk me to my room?”

“Sure, darlin’,” he said, and with a pleased look, he turned his eyes toward Griff. “Go on, son. Get to know my daughter. After all, you’ll be spendin’ the rest of yo’ life with her.”

Griff hated the idea, but with his million-dollar smile lavishly exposing his perfect teeth, he looked down at the mesmerized Lorelei and took her hand. While they walked toward the staircase, he pretended he was an actor on a stage and managed to hold the smile, but his thoughts remained cold, manipulating, and selfish.

The rest of his life? Griff thought as he smiled down at Lorelei. How the hell was he going to spend the rest of his life with this—this—redhead?

* * * *

“All right, you bastard, where’s the money?”

“What money?” the Spaniard said, trying to buy himself some time.

“You’re Diego Cardoza, right?”

The masked man looked up at a large, dark head that eclipsed the light behind him.

“Yeah, I’m Diego, so what?”

“A slimy little transvestite that sells himself to perverted men who want to have a good time from the rear, right?”

Diego was silent, his anger building.

Suddenly he felt a pair of hands on his collar jerking him forward. “Who was the little creep that came to our meeting that night, huh? Nobody was supposed to know about this but us. You broke the rules, Diego, plus you botched up the assassination!”

“Your voice sounds familiar. Have I ever serviced you before?” A sharp, stinging slap forced Diego’s head to jerk sideways.

“You bastard, I wouldn’t wipe my shoes on the likes of you.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t, gringo, but you don’t seem to mind hiring me to kill the President. The way I figure it, that makes you and me about equal, right? No…no, I’m wrong. Sorry, but I seem to be a little above you. By the way, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t touch me again. You might get me dirty.”

“Watch your mouth, you filthy Latino.”

“I am not Latino, I am Spanish,” Diego spat out proudly.

“So what’s the difference, you dark-skinned punk. You’re both dirt, and I can hardly stand to look at you.”

Diego could feel blood creeping from the corner of his mouth and was tired of playing games. “You bastards knew what the deal was before this ever started. No money returned, see. I did the job just like I said I would. So what if he didn’t die, he’s out of office, isn’t he? Wasn’t that what you wanted? I told you I’d forfeit the rest of the money if something happened, but I didn’t say a goddamned thing about giving any of it back, and you know it.”

“How can you say you did the job? You didn’t do much more than wing him for God’s sake. He’s gonna be back in that friggin’ chair in a few weeks.”

“That’s not my fault. He moved. I didn’t expect him to start strutting around like a damned peacock in front of the crowd.”

“Why not? We’re talking about Griff Nyle here. The only thing he does better than fucking is strutting, and he does plenty of both.”

“Is that my fault?”

“What about the Vice President and the Speaker of the House? Why them? They weren’t supposed to be hit.”

Diego shrugged flippantly. “Free of charge, man…a bonus…whatever.”

“You smart-ass, there’s only one way you’re gonna get out of this alive.”

Diego was silent, fear creeping up his spine like the furry legs of a deadly spider.

“We’re willin’ to give you one more chance,” the voice said, ominously.

“No!” Diego shouted. “It’s over.”

“What the hell do you mean ‘no’? You’re in this about as deep as you can get, boy.” The face leaned down into Diego’s. “No refunds means you’re gonna finish the job, got it?”

“How…did you…how did you find out who I was?” Diego whispered, his words trembling and disjointed.

The man’s face twisted into a grimaced smile. “We got our ways, boy. You did the wrong thing when you took us on. We’re government. We make the rules, creep, we don’t follow them. We don’t eat, sleep, or talk nice, and we do only two things—we fuck pussy and drink blood. And right now, yours is lookin’ pretty damned good.” He rose from leaning into Diego’s covered face. “Good thing you don’t know who the hell you’re talkin’ to. Why, you might’ve voted for me in the last—”

“I don’t, huh?” Diego hesitated, and then began naming names. “Preston Bennetti, Eller Cunningham, Burton James, Neil Costello.” He hesitated and softened his voice. “Should I continue?” Suddenly Diego felt himself being yanked up by the collar, then felt a hand come up and pull the skull cap off. He blinked in the bright light, then discovered he was looking into the crude, brown eyes of Stephen Linquist.

“How the hell did you find out who we were, you bastard?”

“I never give away trade secrets,” Diego said, feeling the strong hands of the senator from Illinois ripping his shirt. Diego fell back when the senator angrily let go. Following the senator with his eyes, Diego watched him as he paced and realized the senator didn’t recognize him without his drag. “By the way,” he purred, “how’s Nightbird?”

The senator’s eyes widened in dread, whirled around, and looked down at Diego with a frown. “How did you know about—”

“I’ll tell you some day,” he said, cutting the senator off. Feeling as if he had trumped their hand, Diego rose from the chair, straightened his clothes, and looked around at the others. “Anyone want to do the honors?” he said, extending his shackled wrists forward.

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