The Kat Trap

( 11 )

Overview

In this sexy, raw debut novel, a vivacious young murderess seduces her unsuspecting victims to their own deaths. . . .

Katrina is a self-proclaimed hood goddess. With her razor-sharp attitude, alluring charm, and exotic beauty, she is willing to do whatever it takes to climb—or kill—her way out of the hood. With two bodies already on her hands by the age of twenty, she gets the opportunity of a lifetime when a mysterious man invites her to be ...

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Overview

In this sexy, raw debut novel, a vivacious young murderess seduces her unsuspecting victims to their own deaths. . . .

Katrina is a self-proclaimed hood goddess. With her razor-sharp attitude, alluring charm, and exotic beauty, she is willing to do whatever it takes to climb—or kill—her way out of the hood. With two bodies already on her hands by the age of twenty, she gets the opportunity of a lifetime when a mysterious man invites her to be the first female killer on his multimillion-dollar team of professional assassins.

Kat tempts her victims with her irresistible charm, but she cannot resist the rush that satisfies her hungry libido with each murder and makes her crave more and more power. Disturbingly witty and devilishly enticing, The Kat Trap lures readers into a deliciously cutthroat criminal world of money, glamour, and ultimate self-destruction.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"The Kat Trap...spellbounding and page-turning urban erotica with a plot that keeps you lusting on the edge of your seat." — Risque, Red Light Special

"Cairo has crafted a wicked web of words in his sexually charged, drama-filled debut." — Nakea S. Murray, "3 Chicks on Lit" radio show

Publishers Weekly
This erotic African American thriller, the debut of Cairo (the pseudonym for a male "clinically certified forensics counselor"), may amuse some and disgust others thanks to the in-your-face attitude of its angry hood heroine, Brooklynite Katrina "Kat" Rivera. Kat, a professional assassin and whore ("It's bout clockin' that paper. And a bitch like me gets paid by the body. Welcome to the Kat Trap, muhfuckas"), uses her sex appeal to lure men to their deaths. An outrageous femme fatale, Kat first began whoring to get a gun to kill her mother's abusive boyfriend. Filled with sweaty pornographic details that many female readers will find distasteful, this twisted saga finds even Kat wondering if she's borderline psychopath or "just staight sadistic 'n shit" for choosing such a wicked career path. Despite the authentic ghetto vibe, Kat comes off as an angry fake making thin excuses for committing crimes and treating herself like trash thanks to "the thrill of the kill."
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781593092290
  • Publisher: Strebor Books
  • Publication date: 7/26/2011
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 448
  • Sales rank: 439,304
  • Product dimensions: 4.10 (w) x 6.70 (h) x 1.40 (d)

Meet the Author

Cairo is the author of Slippery When Wet, Big Booty, Man Swappers, Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang, Deep Throat Diva, Daddy Long Stroke, The Man Handler, and The Kat Trap. His travels to Egypt inspired his pen name.

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Read an Excerpt


CHAPTER ONE
They say the closest ones to ya are the same ones who'll sneak up behind ya and stick the knife through ya. Sleepin' on me is your biggest mistake. Close ya eyes, and ya'll find ya'self in a river of blood. One for the money, one for the nut, one bullet to the skull...nigga, what?!

My name is Katrina, Kat for short. Voluptuous, vivacious, and vicious -- at five-feet-eight, a buck-twenty-five, I'm that bitch. Be clear. Fine, fly, and fabulous with a wicked brain game and a fat, wet, deep pussy so good it makes a nigga shake the minute I wrap my walls around his dick. I'm that chick with the small waist and the Hottentot Venus ass: big, round, and juicy. The kinda ass that makes a nigga's jaw drop and his neck snap every time I walk past. Niggas love it when I make my bootie bounce, shake, and clap for 'em. With my cinnamon skin, shoulder-length hair, thick lashes wrapped around chinky eyes, I am a hood goddess. I'm that chick the bitches bow down to, and niggas worship. I was born and bred in Brooklyn, a product of one of the most notorious housing projects known for drugs and murders. If you're an uninvited or unwanted guest, beware. You might get in, but you comin' out either slashed up, beat down, or bodied.

I'ma keep it real cute for ya. Ain't shit sweet 'bout life on the compound -- the hood, the concrete jungle. It's ruthless. Game recognizes game. And ya either learn to play hard or get played. Ya either eat or be eaten. It's that simple. Make no mistake: The hood don't give a fuck 'bout you or the next chick. And it definitely ain't beat for what the next nigga's into. You either handle ya business or get handled. Ain't no way 'round it. I ain't tryna make excuses. It is what it is. I learned how to handle mine without sellin' my ass, or suckin' a string of dicks in alleyways or up on somebody's rooftop. I studied the game, watched its playas, and mastered the rules without stuntin' on the next bitch, or hustlin' a nigga off his grip. I ain't have to claw or scheme my way up to nobody's top. I'm from Brooklyn, baby! I kicked open the muhfuckin' door of opportunity, smashed out its windows, and fuckin' snatched my spot 'cause I'm that bitch.

So, if ya lookin' to hear me spit some whack-ass story 'bout some fast-assed little ho from the hood stretched out on a pissy mattress in shit-stained panties, eating dry-ass cereal out of a dirty-assed plastic bowl watching cartoons on a busted-ass blackand- white TV while counting roaches, then you got the wrong one. If ya wanna hear 'bout a bitch goin' hungry 'cause her moms sold her food stamps to get high, nope...not gonna get it. If ya lookin' to hear 'bout some young chick who got her ass beat with extension cords, razor straps, and switches because she was too hot in the ass, then ya might as well step now, 'cause that ain't what I'm here to serve ya. Yeah, we had roaches, okay...who didn't? But I never got my ass beat, always had food to eat, and I ain't never laid around on no pissy-assed mattress.

Uh, yeah, a bitch was born poor. Yeah, my moms was clockin' welfare, and? Her ass still worked, though. And she gave me what she thought I needed, which -- outside of food and a roof over my head -- was close to nothin'. Fuck what I wanted. No, she wasn't on crack or dope or a fuckin' drunk. Maybe she shoulda been. But I can't give ya no fucked-up tales of watchin' her smoke up, shoot up, or snort up. And I can't tell ya jack 'bout no tricks or johns runnin' up in her pussy all hours of the day and night. Sellin' her ass wasn't her thing. Yeah, she went through men like water, and moved one in after the other...okay, and? That's her story, not mine. She did her thing, and I learned to do mine.

Yeah, I knew...uh, I mean, know, who the fuck my father was/is, so? It ain't like the nigga ever did anything for me. Besides hustlin' nd robbin' niggas, the only good thing he ever did was donate his nut to my moms, a half-Spanish, half-black chick who spit me outta her hairy pussy when she was sixteen. Other than that, goin' in and out of prison and breakin' my mom's heart was the only thing his sorry ass was good for. Be clear. I ain't hatin' on dude. He was a street nigga who tried to get in where he fit in. From breakin' into cars to burglaries to drug dealin' to numerous parole violations to runnin' with known felons to fuckin' any unsuspectin' trick willin' to spread open her legs and her wallet, he was a rebel, down for whateva.

The hood raised him. Bitches praised him. And the streets and pussy were what turned their backs on him when his black ass got popped fifteen years ago. Now he was on lock for another ten years for an aggravated assault he didn't commit, and drug charges for shit that wasn't his. But the nigga ain't a snitch. Turnin' state's evidence on his niggas was outta the question. That's the code he lived by, and one he'd proudly die by. That's how the real niggas get down. So fuck what ya heard 'bout me needin' him. A bitch can't miss what she never had! Other than sharin' the same DNA, the only thing dude and I will ever have in common is our love for the benjamins. Believe that!

So, you wanna know what's really good with a bitch like me? Then I'll tell ya. I'ma give it to ya straight, no chaser -- as real and as raw as it gets. I fuck for sport. But I murder for business. And because most muhfuckas are so driven by lust and the desire for good pussy and a slow, wet dick suck, it doesn't take much for me to lure 'em into their own death traps. My mission is simple: Wet a nigga's dick, then put a bullet in his skull, or in his chest, just before he cracks his nut. That's right. Send his ass to his grave with his eyes rolled up in his head and a smile on his face before he ever knows what hit his ass.

Make no mistake. This shit ain't 'bout love. It ain't 'bout revenge. And it surely ain't personal. In this business, there's no time for compassion or sympathy. And there's no room for regret. It's 'bout clockin' that paper. And a bitch like me gets paid by the body. Welcome to the Kat Trap, muhfuckas...it's 'bout to get poppin'!

© 2009 by Cairo

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 11 )
Rating Distribution

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(7)

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Sort by: Showing 1 – 13 of 11 Customer Reviews
  • Posted June 22, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    Peace of Mind

    Refusing to live in the projects, like her entire family, Kat has acquired a real hustle that guarantees that she'll be paid, jet-setting and plenty satisfied. With everyone in the closet about how Kat gets hers, there's never any concern that her promiscuous ways will see the light of day. Besides, Kat enjoys what she does and can't imagine not having work to keep her content.

    Kat gave up on happily ever after some time ago, but Grant steps in the picture and it seems that they could possibly have a future. Is THE KAT TRAP a dream killer?

    Razor-sharp and witty, THE KAT TRAP was a good read all in all. Have to agree with the other reviewers, I didn't like the end; it was predictable, and while I get that she was being true to self, the story seemed to lose some of its bite. I'm looking forward to reading more from this author.

    Reviewed by: Taye

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 1, 2013

    Plague

    Plague
    Part One:
    Outcast

    Chapter Seven:
    "Over there," Luke said aloud, pointing through the trees towards the empty clearing. Xavier peered through the branches, seeing a few of the dead hounds lying there, and a few splashes of dried blood on the grass.
    "I can't believe we really do this," Xavier muttered, slowly following Luke as they crept closer to the silent clearing. He dodged behind a tree, crouching down and casting quick glances from side to side, making sure the coast was clear.
    Behind another tree, Luke beckoned with one hand, then suddenly froze. Quick as lightning, he leaped to Xavier's side, before bolting up into the tree. Without hesitating, Xavier scrambled after him.
    Silent and still as stone statues, the two boys watched as the bushes rustled, and three dogs burst into the clearing. Barking loudly, they began to circle the dead Hunters, whimpering quietly.
    Following the dogs were two humans.
    Shades, Xavier thought, as the newcomers stepped into the clearing, bending down to examine the bodies.
    They were both clothed in plate mail, and swords hung from their belts. The first was a tall, handsome boy with blonde hair, while the second was a stout, black-haired man.
    "What killed them?" the boy asked quietly.
    "Arrows," grunted the other, glancing around with beady black eyes, scowling.
    "What shot the arrows?" the boy asked again.
    "By my battle-scarred nose, I don't know!" the black-haired Hunter snapped, glaring at his companion.
    "Five dogs dead…" the boy shuddered. "Skorne is going to kill us, and Jargat too."
    The other was examining the hounds closely. "Alzual… Nauggro… Yikk… Nythla… and Fangro," he said, looking up. "Jargat WON'T be happy. Alzual was one of his best hounds."
    "At least he still has Asua," the boy pointed out with a shrug.
    "You know that doesn't change matters, Troth," the older Hunter snorted, starting to pace.
    Troth frowned. "Why do we have to hunt Defilers anyway? I mean… half of them escape, and dogs end up dead…"
    The other looked horrified. "Don't you EVER," he said in a dangerously low voice, "say ANYTHING like that EVER again! You could be killed!"
    Troth looked terrified at that.
    "You know the Wishbone advises Skorne… the Wishbone says that Defilers MUST be killed…"
    The Wishbone. Xavier shivered. He had heard of the Wishbone before, but still didn't know exactly WHO or WHAT it actually was…
    "But Glade, they're out there!" Troth protested. "Defilers! Skorne knows that!"
    Glade scowled back. "The dogs could have been killed by the Resistance, for all we know. They could be recruiting Defilers. That's what Garm says, anyway," he said.
    Xavier frowned, and exchanged a glance with Luke. The Resistance? What in the world was that?
    The two Hunters said nothing more, and left without another word, taking the dogs with them.
    It was time to get out of here.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 14, 2013

    Dani

    Great book.

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  • Posted October 15, 2011

    Good

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  • Posted January 6, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    On Edge!

    The Kat Trap definately kept me on edge. Definate turn on and can't wait for the next hit.

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    Posted April 15, 2013

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    Posted May 20, 2011

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    Posted January 11, 2010

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    Posted November 15, 2011

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Sort by: Showing 1 – 13 of 11 Customer Reviews

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