Title: Carnal Knowledge
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Release Date: July 11, 2020
Cover Designer: BookSmith Designs
What do you do when you know you’re on a serial killer’s hit list?
Six women are dead, and Wren Addison is the next victim on the SMS Killer’s list—or so she’s been told after waking in a pool of blood with no memory of the events that have transpired.
Newly separated and struggling to start her life over after her husband’s infidelity, Wren tries to remember what happened to her, but nothing is adding up as more horrors unfold around her. With her life on a timer and the murderer taunting her, she realizes there is nothing typical about this serial killer.
Wren is pushed to the edge as she dances between knowing she's likely to die and fighting to be the first to survive. As the truth starts to emerge, she rises to the challenge and decides not to go down without a fight.
Someone is going to die, and she’s determined it won’t be her.
Available now!
The tears blur my vision, but I can still see the red stain on the floor muddled by the water that drips from my eyes. I drag my hand under my nose, looking at the spatter around me. Standing, I look at the sheets, more red. The blankets are ripped, the sheets half off the bed. Bedside lamp is on the floor, my phone screen is shattered.
Not knowing what else to do, I gather the linens from the bed and walk them down the hall, stuffing them into my front-loading washing machine before starting the load. I gather the Clorox bleach spray and a wad of paper towels to clean the wood laminate floor.
It takes a while, but now it looks normal again. The blood is gone. Normal except for the bare mattress and the bleach smell. By this time, I’m almost brave enough to look down. My tears are gone, my vision is clear. I have been terrified to look, scared that I am the source of blood. A wound that I can’t face, or maybe can’t feel somewhere that might have caused this mess. I look down at my body, naked, spattered. I see no cuts, no anything that would suggest blood loss of this magnitude. My head hurts now, so much that I can't concentrate enough to be afraid, or think on what the last thing I remember is, or how I got here, who I might have brought home with me. The answers to the questions that the police would ask, if I were to go to them, which I won’t.
Blood, it’s drying on my thighs. I didn’t go to bed naked. I don’t even remember going to bed or coming home. But that is where I woke up, waking up when you didn’t even know you went to sleep, or passed out, or whatever the hell this is. I gingerly touch the back of my head, feeling the growing lump there. My blonde hair feels matted, tangled. Source of the headache.
The blood is mine... I think. At least the pain I have tells me that at least some of it is probably mine.
I’ve got no idea what happened.
Rachael Tamayo is a former 911 emergency operator and police dispatcher. After twelve years in those dark depths, she’s gained a unique insight into mental illness, human behavior, and the general darkness of humanity that she likes to weave into her books. A formerly exclusive romance author, she tried her hand at thrillers in her award-winning novel, Crazy Love, and loved it so much that she decided not to turn back. Born and raised in Texas, Rachael lives in the Houston area with her husband of almost fifteen years and their two small children.
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