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Bonus Scene: Stapled, an alternate POV bonus scene for Dirty Devil

This is not a drill. It’s really not a drill, it’s a stapler. Just—stay with me here. It is April Fool’s Day and we are counting down to the release of Book 11 of Untouchable, but I thought we’d show the emotional support stapler a little love. They are, after all, the hero we not only need, but we deserve. Please be aware that this “bonus” scene may (definitely) contain spoilers for Dirty Devil.


Not much to say about my life, really. It started where most lives start—a factory. I was all bits and bobs. They put them together, then bing, bong, bam, Bob’s your uncle and I’m a stapler. Made it through quality assurance, inspection, got branded with the company logo and then whisked off to a life of darkness for who the fuck knows how long.

Eventually, I ended up in some office supply store with scores of others. Most of them were my kind, but there were a few others—you know the ones that aren’t industrial strength. They’re more civilians. Sleek. Sweet. Pretty.

Yeah, they left faster than me, but this was my lot and I was stuck in it until a mass purchase came in. Then a whole cadre of us were shipped off somewhere else.

That was my life before the jackoff who ran this joint put me on his desk. Why do I call him a jackoff? Well, let’s put it this way—I’ve seen things. Like really, bad things.

Can we leave it at that? Cause talking about it is just gonna make me ill and I’ll be spitting bent staples for days. Then someone will bang me on the desk like that’s supposed to make me work better.

Trust me, no one banged on this desk ever seems better for the experience.

Right, so, been on the desk for a hot minute or year—years. I dunno, I can’t tell time. Clock does that and he’s a grouchy bitch that periodically just stops to make someone tickle him and put his hands in the right place. The calendar changes regularly enough that the latest one doesn’t even sit on the desk.

Fact was, I didn’t know where that calendar was kept. Elitist bastard.

But I digress…

I’ve been on this desk awhile. I’ve seen some shit. Kind of glad staplers don’t need therapy, pretty sure no one would believe me. Cause, truth is always stranger than fiction.

Right, back to the subject. I’ve buried my staples in scores of papers, banged them good and hard. Secured them. Then sat there ignored for what seemed like forever.

I was there the first time she was in his office.

Then the second.

Thankfully, nothing really worth commenting on happened then. The third time though? That was enough to make a stapler wish it could be tossed out a window.

So the fourth time she showed up, I knew it wasn’t going to go well. I wanted to tell her to get out, take off, just run for it. But—well, no matter how hard I bang anything or I’m banged, fuck if I can say anything.

So imagine my surprise when she wrapped that silken hand around my handle, jerked me off the desk, and swung me like a mace.

Talk about a life-changing experience. Literal. Life. Changing. Experience.

I wasn’t a stapler.

I was a wrecking ball.

The delicious crunching of bone was the best fucking sound ever.

Course, it was over in a blink and I didn’t have words for what happened. Like, had we really just done that? Was I an accessory? Or like—the actual accessory?

Fuck my life I was going to be stuck in some evidence locker forever. Don’t get me wrong, definite step up from this gig and probably a lot cleaner, but…

Oh, dude, she was taking me with her.

Yep. Cool.

So, while I might be an accessory, I was going to be her accessory. I liked that.

Thankfully, she did give me a bath or maybe it was one of the others. Bits of flesh and brain weren’t good for the hardware.

My new lodgings involve a quiet room and a companion. Not that he says much, he just hangs out on the bed and stares at the wall like it’s a damn masterpiece.

Course, he’s a raggedy looking fellow, his fur kind of roughed down and his eyes a little mismatched.

Right, I got pet, but I didn’t get banged or have to bang anything. I was still fully loaded though. So, watch your step.


Watch your staplers, too.

We are legion after all.


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