Without thinking, she snatched it up and took the call.“Amanda?” a male voice asked, on the verge of panic. Greg.“What do you want, Greg?” Ama...da asked.“What do I want? Hell, where are you? I’ve been sick with worry, honey!”“You have been sick worrying about me? Do you even remember what you did yesterday?” she snarled back.Silence answered her.“Greg?”“Hey ... listen. I might have had a tad much too drink. It’s all very hazy over here—”“You hit me. In the face. With a fist, no less,” Amanda. I had given her a taste of sweet heterosexuality, and soon enough it would turn on its head. It was in the cards. She was destined to hate men.After letting me out at the door of Michelle's nice suburban home that Wednesday, Sandy drove the Buick a couple houses down. A good sized ranch style house, unusual only in its pale green color, it blended in with the modest suburban homes up and down the block. We both realized I was entering the lionesses' den. All six murderous women awaited me. If. More

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