Knot (Road Kill MC #2) - Marata Eros

KNOT A Road Kill MC Novella Volume 2 New York Times Bestselling author

MARATA EROS All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2016 Marata Eros This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Marata Eros Website Marata Eros FB Fan Page Cover art by Willsin Rowe Editing suggestions provided by Red Adept Editing.

CONTENTS Synopsis DEDICATION Works by Tamara Rose Blodgett 1 2 3 4 6 7 8

9 10 11 12 MARATA EROS NEWS Acknowledgments About the Author

Synopsis Torture Rose has a job. To protect her nephew, Charlie. A hot motorcycle thug isn't enough of a reason to get in the way of that. Except the one who saves her from a torture so vile, she doesn't know who she is anymore. Drake is determined to take Charlie from her, and he'll play dirty to do it. Noose is just as determined to protect her from the Road Kill's number one rival MC. Can he do it when she denies his protection? Rose will not end up like her sister Anna.

Dead. Rose soon discovers there are worse things than death. Circumstance Noose's life has been turned upside down. Rose Christo is more than she seems, and involved in way more than she should be. When a certain Chaos Rider kidnaps her as a means of coercion, Noose finds he's willing to tie a knot especially for Diablo, aka Drake. Not to kill—to warn. But Noose wasn't put on this blue marble to warn men who threaten his property.

Even if the woman that's his property, doesn't know it.

DEDICATION Christine Stanley

Tamara Rose Blodgett:

Works by

The BLOOD Series The DEATH Series Shifter ALPHA CLAIM 1-6 The REFLECTION Series The SAVAGE Series Vampire ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

& Marata Eros: A Terrible Love (New York Times bestseller) A Brutal Tenderness The Darkest Joy Club Alpha The DARA NICHOLS Series, 1-8 The DEMON Series The DRUID Series Road Kill MC Shifter ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

The SIREN Series The TOKEN Serial Vampire ALPHA CLAIM 1-6 The ZOE SCOTT Series 1-8 Never miss a new release! Subscribe:

Marata Eros NEWS And/or TRB News

1 Noose Saturday I groan, fingertips biting into a sharp surface. Road. I'd know the feel of that anywhere. My eyes crank open. Vision sucks, warped and blurry. I roll over from my hands and knees and sit hard on my ass. Fuck. Me. I shake my head. “Shit,” I mutter. Not good. After doing the fucking dumb, I keep my head still and blink rapidly, and finally, my surroundings come into focus.

Twilight has kissed the day goodbye, and streetlights have begun flickering to life like startled fireflies in the trenching gloom. The interior dome light of the truck is on but dimly lit. Fucking door's been open for too damn long is why. The truck's battery sucks. Rose! Gooseflesh rises like insect hills on my flesh, hammering my adrenaline into overdrive. I lurch to a standing position and sort of heave myself at the bed of the truck. My fingers latch on to the truck bed's rail, and my eyes shoot around. People walk by; a few give me the odd glance as I hang on to keep from

falling on my ass again. My fingers shake as I cautiously feel for the wound on my head. Right there. I wince. Nice. My head throbs, and my stomach rolls in a slick wave of heat. Rose. That fucker Diablo has her. My hands flatten against the outside of my pants as I pat myself down, looking for my cell. Nothing. Turning, I scan the parking lot through my swimming vision, shutting the car door as I do. A clear rectangle winks back at me in the unnatural circle of light cast by the streetlight. I walk in an unsteady gait to the

phone and sink to my knees, stifling a moan as my vision blurs in streamers of color. I hit the button at the lowest point of the cell with my thumb, and my home page rises. I thumb swipe contacts. Snare's name is second from the top. I press the receiver symbol, and when it begins to ring, I snatch it off the ground and hold it against my ear. My knees hit the pavement, and I suck in a raw inhale. “Yo.” “Snare.” “What is this? Why you callinʼ man? Weird as fuck. Thought you'd be straightening out old Rosie, getting some clam sandwich…”

A wave of dizziness assaults me. “Shut the fuck up.” “Gee-zus, calm the righteous fuck down.” Yeah. “Diablo's got Rose. Clubbed me in the head with—” I can't remember dick and gloss over the details. “With whatever, and my brains are scrambled. Get your ass down here and help me.” I hear a feminine voice in the background then a lot of lip work happening. “Nah,” Snare pauses. Suck, lick— groan. “No, baby, you're good, but a brother's in trouble.” Jesus—interrupting a blow job. “Snare!” “Yeah! Fuck you, ass, I'll be right

there. Where are ya?” “Scenic Hill Park.” “Truck okay?” I hear him moving through the club. AC/DC is screaming about dynamite as he walks by a speaker. Girls laugh and glasses clink with ice entombed by liquor. I jerk to a stand and shuffle to the truck, using my hand as balance. I walk my ass around the truck's hood, tear open the door, and turn the key. A loud click is the only reply. I hit the hood with my fist. Hurts. My vision triples with the abrupt motion. Goddammit. “No. Fucking dead.” A motorcycle revs. “I'm on my

way.” “Thanks.” My phone goes dark with a thumb swipe. I slide my cell into the back pocket of my jeans and look around more carefully. A tan-colored hairband catches my eye, sitting in a lonely circle a few feet from where my cell was. I cautiously walk toward it, heart hammering and bile rising. Bending down, I scoop it up. Rich, honey-colored strands of hair cling to the fabric. * Snare rolls in, and the kickstand is slinging out before he stops. He kills the

engine and settles the cruiser. His eyes go everywhere but me for a solid minute, taking in the lay of the land. Finally, that glacial gaze finds my slouched form. “You look like hell.” Figured. Not that another hole in my head matters. It's that I can’t perform—or get Rose back before that sadistic fucker touches her. I close my eyes. Maybe he already has. “Probably need to see a doctor for that love tap.” I peer at him through slitted eyelids. “Fuck that.” Snare snorts a laugh. “That's about

right, you stubborn asshole.” He smirks. “Headache, nausea, seeing stars?” All of the above. “Can it. What rock do the Chaos Riders hide under?” Snare palms his chin. “Viper would know. He's the one who keeps a thumb in all the MC pies. I just make sure we're protected.” I lift my knuckles, and he barely taps them. “Thanks, brother.” “You knew it might come to this, Noose. This fucker wants her, wants that kid worse. Figures the only way to get the kid is to intimidate Rose.” Snare's eyes hold me prisoner. “He won't kill her.” We look at each other. Both of us know how much can be done short of

killing someone. So much. I notice Snare didn't say he wouldn't hurt Rose. Oh yeah. He'll fucking hurt her all right. Any guy willing to kill the mother of his own kid would do anyfucking-thing. I can't stand Rose being in his hands and out of my protection. Snare studies me. “I'll call Viper.” The Prez can point us in the right direction. But the map better come quick. * Snare swipes his cell. “Viper says we need more brothers.”

“Shit,” I hiss. Time. Time to coordinate, plan, and execute. Rose doesn't have that time. She's with Diablo. The hearing is Tuesday. He'll fucking exact his torture and return her in enough time to recuperate and not look like she was beaten in places that don't show for an audience. Maybe he'll rape her. I scrub my face with a palm. Definitely. “Get outta your head, brother. This doesn't help Rose.” I release my grip on the truck and can almost hear its sigh of relief. Snare grabs jumper cables, walks to the hood, and feels for the release. The latch pops, and I hop behind the

wheel. A few seconds roll by. I grind my teeth. “ʼKay, try it.” I turn the key, and a sick winding noise screams from underneath the dented metal. “Kill it.” I sit there, elbow hanging out the window, eyes burning holes through the hood, wanting a smoke so bad, I can taste the tobacco on my tongue. The rumble of Snare's bike idles as I sit like a coiled snake inside the truck. Ready to strike at anything. Anyone. Minutes feel like hours. “Again.” I turn the key. The engine roars to

life, and I gently tap the accelerator. Snare shuts the hood, and I grimace at the noise as pain flares through my skull. He comes around to the driver's side and claps the opening where the window rolls up and down. Bright-blue eyes shrewdly gauge my mood. It's a black fucker. “I know you want to Lone Ranger this shit, Noose.” “You got that.” “You can't.” He swings his palms wide. “That fucker Diablo will be absofucking-lutely expecting that maneuver. I'll hand it to ya; it's a slick way to commit suicide. Creative.” He nods, a sloppy grin on his face.

I scowl at him. He laughs. “Listen, I know you've got it bad for this girl.” I can't hardly get out of that truth, so I don't bother. “Yeah.” “So let's be smart.” His eyebrows rise, and he taps his temple. I tramp on the gas. Maybe I can drown the fucker out. Snare shouts over the engine. “Gonna go see Viper. He'll have a plan. He's calling emergency church. Get Road Kill behind you, Noose. You know it's the only way to get her back.” Nope. Heard him just fine. I hate that Snare is right. I hate that fucker having Rose. I'm wasting precious time nursing my fogged brain

and waiting for this heap of shit to regain battery power. “I know it seems like a time suck —” “Yeah.” Snare grunts. “But we gotta have brains goinʼ in. Someone's gotta be thinking. And you're not. And ya need stitches. Probably have a concussion.” “Yeah.” “Noose.” I turn and look at Snare, biting the inside of my cheek as pain swarms my thick head. “I know it's more than pussy, Noose. I got that. But we have one shot to do this right. Only one.” “Yeah,” I repeat for the millionth

time. “It's more than good tail.” “Then let's handle it right. She's your property, and you didn't know it. But now ya do. No excuses.” I do know. “Let me leave the bike—” I jerk my head back and meet his stare. He must be like real blood to leave his bike behind. “No. I'll drive this hunk of shit and follow you.” “Sure?” His eyebrow whips up. “Yeah. Just drive slow. I feel like I've slammed ten shots.” I don't mention the part where they're all begging to come back up for an encore performance. Snare takes me at my word, turning on his heel, and heads back toward his

bike with the jumper cables hanging from his hands like tame black and red snakes. Nature's warning of poison, I think randomly. I throw the truck in reverse and carefully pull out of the parking stall. I don't kick myself in the teeth for not noticing the danger before it broadsided me. I was literally into her. Everything had narrowed to Rose under my hands—and her pussy split by my dick. Rose was counting on me. So much for my offer of protection. She'll never want me now. If there's anything left of Rose to want anything. I take a deep, steadying breath then

let it out and suck another. My gaze latches on to the red taillights I follow like eyes leading me straight to hell. The sick thud of my head pulses in time with my heart. I keep on. I'm going back to the club. Gonna gather my brothers, and we're gonna get Rose back. I can still taste her on my mouth, feel her smoothness beneath my fingertips, and remember the way her mouth milked me of every drop of my cum. I don't know when I fell for her. Now that I think about it, I think it was over for me before me and Rose even began. She looked at me.

Just one look. Love at first sight is bullshit. Until it happens to your ass.

2 Rose I move my head. My stomach immediately revolts, and I roll to my side, vomiting. Pain explodes through my head as I throw up helplessly. I scoot away from the steaming mess I just made and wipe a shaky hand over my mouth. “Fuck this, Diablo. You've gone over the fucking top—kidnapping a citizen? One you can be—” a man's voice I don't recognize yells at Drake. “Shut your fucking piehole, or I will.” I open my eyes. My vision’s hazy,

so I close them. When I open them, Drake and another guy are arguing. I blink and cough. Their faces turn to me. “Fucking puked everywhere. Goddamn,” Drake bites out. “Probably gave the bitch a fucking concussion, dumbass. You can't clock a woman like you do a man.” Nice to know there's a difference of strength needed when abusing a woman. I push my upper body up and sort of crawl to the nearest wall, only about three feet away. I rest my shoulders against the cool concrete and stifle a sigh of relief. There's just something so

much better about being upright. Lying on a floor with a circle of vomit around me, I'm at Drake's mercy. And as far as I know, Drake doesn't have any. The other man looks me over. Brown eyes and dark hair frame a face too angular to be handsome, but isn’t easy to forget, either. Not that I want anyone to pay attention to me here. “Hot, even with the puke.” Oh God. Drake snorts. “Yeah. But a goddamned thorn in my side.” “She the one who's got your property?” Drake nods. “Not for long. Gonna

teach the snatch some manners, then she's gonna comply.” Comply. I set my teeth. My skull is a mass of agony, and my stomach burns with lack of food, glucose overdose, adrenaline drain, and a sound hit to the head. I feel terrible, but my mind's in sharp focus. This man is a demon in the flesh. He wants Charlie. There's no force of nature that will give him what he wants. “You were still a fucking ’tard to take her.” “Bitch wasn't listening to reason. Had to go hard.” The other man puts his hands on his

hips. “You went hard, all right.” “Puck, shut the fuck up. I mean it. I'm a brother, and we stand behind brothers.” Puck of the dark, villainous looks peers at me again. “I do stand behind all my brothers in the Chaos Riders, but I didn't sign up for beating and torturing chicks.” “What's the fucking difference? We run girls.” Drake gives a dismissive shrug. Puck jabs his thumb in his chest. “I don't. I patched in before the trafficking. Now I'm in for life, but I'm not doing that to chicks.” “They're all cunts, Puck.” I close my eyes, tears of

hopelessness begging for release behind my eyelids. Apparently, there is a difference in MCs. Drake is a criminal. His “brother” stays out of sheer loyalty, but probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for that. Sounds like the Chaos Riders MC was a different club when Puck joined. “They all have cunts. That part's true, but they aren't all cunts.” “Use fancy words, twist mine— either way, my dick wants to teach this cunt a lesson. I'm getting my property back, and if I have to do fucked-up shit to see it through, I will.” Puck grunts low in his throat. “Fine. But before you attack her, you might go a

little easier. She's not going to look perfect for the hearing if you rough her up.” Voice of reason. I open my eyes, landing them like daggers on Drake. His smile is slow and easy—all for me. “I'm not going to rough her up, unless you call stabbing her with my cock roughing up.” “Fuck, Diablo—don't fucking rape her. Look at her.” Puck swings a palm my way. I know Puck's logic falls on deaf ears. Drake can't hurt Anna anymore so he'll work on me instead. Drake gives me his attention. “Yeah”—he licks his lips—“look at her.”

“I'm hungry,” I say, surprising them both. Puck gives me a speculative look. Drake strides to me, avoiding the pile of vomit, and in one smooth movement, he crouches. Strings of his greasy hair fall forward, and his hand reaches toward me. I flinch. He tears off my shirt, and I yelp. My body jerks toward his because the fabric refuses to tear neatly. I fall back, my elbows hitting the concrete floor with a painful tap. “Ouch,” I whisper. My strength is fading. “Hey, wait a second, Diablo.” Drake's fast hand twists my nipple

through my sports bra, and I cry out. But it comes out like a moan instead of the scream I hear in my mind. Pretty soon, I think the only part that won't hurt on my body is my big toe. I guess there's time. Fear dries my mouth into a cottonfilled desert. Drake ignores Puck and mounds my left breast with his hand. “Fucking finest rack around.” He jerks my sports bra down, and my bare breast oozes right into his waiting fingers. All I can think of is Noose and his savage tenderness with my pussy. How can a man hold every piece of your body and not have your heart surrender to his ownership?

“Check out that tat, numbnuts.” “Huh?” Drake says absently, his eyes glazed with lust. “Some kind of med symbol.” Finally, Drake's attention leaves my boob and drops to my lower ribcage. I know what's there. It's been there since the first “episode.” Everyone is familiar with the medic symbol. A pole with wings and a twisted spiral around a flagpole thingie. But mine has a word in script above it: glucose. That's how they knew what to do when I got to the hospital. First thing they did was check vitals, lift my T-shirt and voila! Glucose issue.

“What the fuck is this?” Drake asks, flicking my rib painfully. I bite my lip then manage, “I have hypoglycemia.” His slap makes my face rock back. “Just a love tap, you ungrateful twat.” I lie down on the cold concrete. It's official. Drake—or Diablo, whoever he is—hates women. He's not happy unless he's calling me a vagina in every demeaning way he can. He pisses me off. I can't help that he's too stupid to know what hypoglycemia means. But my face hurts worse, so I glare from the floor. “I need food regularly, specifically protein, youyou jackass!” I scream. Yelling hurts my head. I roll my face

against the cool concrete. Drake stands, grabbing a handful of what remains of my shirt, yanking me to my feet. The movement is too sudden. My head spins, and my belly flops in a sick twist. I turn my head and barf on him. Not a gentle evacuation, either. I open my mouth and take the greatest yawn of my life, spewing vomit like the girl from The Exorcist. “Fuck!” Drake roars, tossing me backward. I fall against the wall, palms slapping the sides of the rough concrete to arrest my momentum. I still slide down and land on one ass cheek.

Puck is suddenly there. I flinch for the second time—it’s becoming a theme. My eyes roll up to meet his. “I won't hurt you.” Right. I turn my head away and spit vomit-laced saliva onto the floor. He grabs my arm, and I scream. Full-throated. A wounded roar torn out of my throat. The noise echoes hollowly in the confines of the room. My skull reverberates in agony, and I sort of slump in on myself. “Shut up.” His brown eyes try to tell me something, but hysteria is my next stop on the kidnap train. I clamp my mouth shut, hating the

rank taste inside. Hating what I know I'll have to live through. To survive. Easier said than done. “What does hypoglycemia mean?” “I was in the hospital whenwhen…” I cover my face as tears squeeze through the cracks of my fingers. “When what?” he asks, voice soft. “Speak, bitch.” I don't look at Drake. I can't. Maybe I can use this. “When Drake got me. I was going to go home, eat. Now I'm here, and my head hurts. I need food.” “Or what?” Drake grates. “I'll just—” Disappear. “Go into a coma.” “Fuck!” Puck stands and faces

Drake. “You fucking kidnap a girl that's tied to a murder. And she's got some kind of medical issue? Smart, Diablo.” “What's with this Diablo name?” I look between them, and their faces swivel to mine. “Road name, whore.” My chin lifts. “I'm not a whore.” Drake's eyebrow shoots up. “Yeah, was that some fucking Road Kill dude I saw splitting your twat? Yeah, looks like he was going to hump you in front of God and country.” His voice is an ice pick to my brain. I don't reply. I can't deny what it might have looked like. But I won't justify anything to this man.

I don't know what “Diablo” means, but I bet it suits him. “Gotta feed her, man.” Drake shakes his head. “Was looking forward to sticking my wick.” His tongue runs over his thick lips. Puck frowns. “Listen, I know you've got a fucked-up torture plan. But you might have to put that on hold long enough to let her piss and eat some food. Or you're going to be raping an unconscious girl.” My gorge rises. Drake grabs his crotch. His grin is lascivious. “Might be fine. I'll still fill her gas tank.” I gag. Puck jerks his face in my direction.

“Let's get you some food.” “What? You feel sorry for this bitch? She's the one that took my boy. We're brothers. Whose side are you on anyway?” Puck pulls me slowly to my feet. I sway, and he puts an arm around my shoulders. “The right one. Now let me get her some food, and then you can fuck her up.” I allow him to move me through a room. My eyes dart to a drain at its center as we walk past. I swallow my fear. Rust-colored stains mark the floor. I'm not the first one who's puked here. Bled here. Been threatened torture.

I won't be the last. At least I'll have a full belly.

3 Noose “Ow—fuck!” I smack the hand stitching my scalp. “Knock it off, ya bitch.” Doc blows me off, stabbing me again with his needle. Stings like hell. A bee. Whatever. That always happens when someone's digging around in an open wound. I exhale in anger and fold my arms, literally gritting my teeth through the entire ordeal. “There,” he says with a lilt to his voice, seemingly happy with his handiwork, “only ten stitches.”

“I've had more.” “Yeah, but this wasn't a good wound, Noose.” What wound is? “Ready, ya pussy?” Snare asks. I flip him off, hopping off the table my ass had been perched on for that fun little event. “Yeah.” We step out of the mini-hospital room we have at the club and make our way to the large room where we meet for church. Snare opens the door and walks in. Vince sits at the head of the Road Kill MC table that runs nearly the length of our windowless meeting room. His eyes rove over me, clearly

taking in the head wound. “Looks like you figured out shit with your girl.” I plop down in my seat. My fingers drum the glossy wood of the table for a few seconds. “Yeah.” “Snare tells me Chaos took her, gave you a little love tap on your nogginʼ.” My eyes run over the faces gathered. Most have patched in after me, some before. They're all my brothers. Some were with me in Afghanistan. I'm uncomfortable with emotion. Gotta lock down the feels. Unfortunately, Rose shattered my composure like a hammer to glass. One minute, I live to ride, fuck, and slam booze.

The next, there's Rose. Now's it all falling under “before Rose” or “after Rose.” “I figured it out.” “So out with it. Gotta know where you are before we know where we're going, Noose.” I look at Vince. He's got his Prez hat firmly screwed on, and I know he's not gonna back me unless I admit the truth. “I want her to be my property.” Snare whistles, and there's some good-natured chuckling around the table. I don't have it in me to join in the humor. Rose is in the tender care of Diablo. And his care is brutal. I tense. “Listen, you fuckers. Rose

has some kind of medical problem. Hypo-fucking-whatever. Gotta take in food every few hours. That sick bastard doesn't care about her as anything but vengeance because she has his kid. Now, Rose impresses me as being just stubborn enough to run her trap to this dick. He won't respond well to that mouth of hers.” An image of Rose screaming as Diablo pumps between her legs rises in my mind, and my stomach takes a greasy turn. I meet each of their eyes. “He'll hurt her. Maybe is hurting her while you guys are laughing at my weakness for wanting Rose.” The laughter dies out like a candle

flame without oxygen. “Hey, man, I got an old lady. I'd be fucking frothing at the mouth if some other club had my property.” Rider shrugs. I am frothing. I'm trying to keep my shit in one sock until I can get a plan moving. “Okay, so you're throwing down for her, right, Noose? Because we're not jeopardizing what, at best, is an uneasy alliance, just so you can play white knight or some shit.” I nod. Reasonable. Horrible. I swallow through a dry throat. “Yeah, I'm throwing down for her.” “She worth it?” This comes from Lariat, our bean counter.

I slant my gaze in his direction. “Yeah.” My eyes fall. This is where shit gets real. “She's not into club life. Doesn't understand. Diablo killed her sister—got away with it through greasing some select palms. Fucking obviously, she's not down with everything. Yet.” Lariat leans forward. His long brown hair is swept back at his nape, and his pale-green eyes feel like they're nailing me to my seat. “You want Rose for your old lady, but she may or may not be on board?” I swivel my neck, trying to smooth the knots. I nod. He leans back, folding his arms. Prez looks at the fifteen assembled

members. “I'm behind Noose. He's never thrown down for any female I've ever known. Hell—we thought he'd never want permanent pussy.” Vince shrugs. “But the context of the request makes shit more real. Let's vote.” “Everyone in favor of Noose's crazy bullshit…” Twelve hands slowly rise like flesh flags around the room. Three don't. Lariat's one that doesn’t. “You know I love ya, brother. But we're saving a bitch who might not even want you, man. No can do.” Vince lifts a shoulder. “No biggie. When you get an old lady, we'll remember that you don't need our help if a rival club scoops her up for kicks.”

Vince grins, eyebrows hiked. It's more like an animal growling without sound than a smile. Lariat looks uneasy. “Won't be bullied. Don't want no woman forever. Just easy, temporary tail.” He inclines his head. I stare at him. “I'll drive. But I'm not putting my ass on the front line for an unclaimed woman,” Lariat states. I nod. He's sort of standing up. Not that it matters. I would have gone after Rose no matter what—no matter who had my back. Nobody, everybody. Whatever. Snare stands. “I got you no matter what. I think you're an insane asshole,

but I'll take your brand of crazy.” I smile for the first time in what feels like forever. Prez hits the gavel. Everyone stands. Each clap on my back feels like a pill of energy I swallow down deeply, fortifying me for what I might find. For what I might do. The knots are already forming in my mind, cleverly weaving into shapes of murder. * Vince taps the map. “We can GPS this bullshit to death, but the reality is my old ass just likes a map on principle.

I don't even care if the GPS girl has a sexy English accent. I don't like being told where to go. I like to know.” Vince thumps his chest with a fist. I don't mind my cell finding a place I've never been. But whatever. Snare looks over Prez's shoulder. At five, nine, Vince is the shortest of all of us. And the bravest. He's done shit in war I didn't even know could happen. He did it. Lived it. His thick finger runs along a road I know well. In the very eastern part of Kent, 132nd runs all the way through Fairwood to the north. Before Renton, lots of little offshoots take off like veins from the main artery. Kent is the beating heart, and a lot of those lifelines go east.

It's where tons of shit goes down. “Pretty sure they have an old warehouse. On this road.” His finger stops about five miles east, off 132nd. Unmarked asphalt. They can look at the map. I bring up Google Earth like an old friend and tap street view. I turn my cell around and say, “Looks like someone's been maintaining it.” Vince squints, sighs, and jerks his eyeglasses out of his front pocket. He flicks them open before seating them on the bridge of his nose. He looks again, studying the image of a thickly wooded side road, then turns to Snare. “This is the only holding for

Chaos where you think they have the girl.” “Rose,” I say, not bothering to curb my terse answer. I take a drag off my smoke and blow rings into the night sky, trying to put one inside the other before it dissipates. Vince says nothing. I use my cell app for a flashlight and turn it on the map. Daylight's fading so fast, the graphics have sunk to dim outlines. “I'm sure, Viper.” Snare stabs the map then jerks his thumb in my direction. “Diablo clobbers Noose—needs to get Rose somewhere fast before she wakes up.” “Wakes up?” I ask, straightening.

The men don't meet my eyes. I. Am. An. Idiot. Of course Diablo subdued Rose. “Sorry, hoss.” Snare dips his chin. “I thought you would have known he'd probably knocked her out. You guys being in the park—witnesses—the whole fucking thing. Can't get a screaming struggling woman out of there as easily as an unconscious one.” I nod, taking another deep inhale of smoke. I hold it in my lungs like weed. Shooting a ring like a blast from a cannon, I flick the butt to the ground. The ember glows like a distended orange eye then flickers to darkness. My fingers curl into fists as my temple throbs in time to my heartbeats.

“Gonna kill that cocksucker.” “Can't, Noose,” Vince says. I turn on him. “The fuck I can't.” “She's not your property right now. Diablo took her before there was any claim. She's just fair game. Just a random girl in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hell, that prick probably thinks she's unclaimed sweet butt, if he thinks anything at all.” I measure my breaths, trying to calm my shit down. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Rose is no sweet butt. Just as I think it, Crystal walks by, gravel crunching under her platform high heels. Her rack is shoved up around her neck, over a skirt so short that a flip of the hem would reveal both cracks.

“Heard you had a boo-boo,” she flips her fake-blond hair out of her face and runs a finger down my arm while her other hand spreads against her cleavage. “Want Crystal to kiss it and make it better?” Her lips pop into a pout. I shrug her off. “No, get lost.” “You can kiss mine and make it better,” Snare says, wagging his inky eyebrows. I sock him in the stomach. He bends over, sucking air. “Asshole,” he gasps. “Stay on task,” I hiss back. He glares at me as Crystal's braying laughter follows us to the parking lot outside the club. Cars wait, idling. Exhaust curls like

lost smoke as we approach four vehicles. There won't be any Harley's in attendance for this trip, announcing our arrival. Can't have that shit. I move to the back of my 1972 Nova. Its ass end looks like it's been abruptly cut off. There's a variety of dents and unhealed contusions on the body as well as a shotgun spray of peeling paint, meticulously covered by gun metal gray primer. Didn't buy this set of wheels for its beauty, but for the engine. A Chevy Corvette 327 is plunked dead center in all that steel. This car gets up and moves. But I don't slide behind the wheel. I move to the squat trunk. Small compared

to some, it’s big enough to hold a body. I pop the lid and tally my weapons. Ropes of all lengths and sizes are neatly looped and knotted. Each one has a different application. Killing by rope is intimate, kinda like knife fighting. Can't kill someone easily at a distance with either thing, though if you can throw a blade accurately, that can work in a tight spot. I won't be in a tight spot. I'll be behind Diablo, choking the life out of his body. Snare moves to my right, looking at all the neatly knotted ropes. He chuckles. “Looks like a bunch of rope to tie off shit in the back of a truck.”

Not to me. Every rope holds a different fiber, a knot specifically designed to match the material and the need. My eyes caress a short length of rope, knotted at either end. The knobs are just big enough for my closed hands to not slip beyond the ends. The rope fiber is slightly abrasive. Just enough to catch on flesh. Stubble. Sinew. Whatever human is beneath me will feel the burn of my ropes. The lump of my knots. My power of my will.

4 Rose Puck sort of dumps me at a bench seat that runs the length of a long, cafeteria-sized table. I plunk my elbows on the laminatewood top and use my palms to prop my face up. Bad move. The wounds Drake gave me are tender and don't want a hand or anything else near them. A whimper slips out from between my lips, and I fold my arms in front of me, carefully lowering the undamaged side of my face onto my crossed arms. Exhausted, I close my eyes.

“What do you want?” Puck asks. “Anything with meat,” I answer automatically. “I got your meat,” Drake says from somewhere in the room. Tears slip out from behind my eyelids. I hate this. I hate him. I'm hungry, but because I used up my glucose stores with the adrenaline and my fear over what Drake's doing, I'm already low again. Weak. “So deli meat or what?” “Sure,” I answer Puck. I hear boots stomping off. A weight drops down at the end of the bench, and I crack my eyes open. Drake smiles at me. “You better eat up.”

I turn my head in the opposite direction, wincing from the pain on that side of my face where he slapped me. But at least I'm not looking at him. I hear a shuffle, then a weight drops down on the other side. A finger stabs my crotch. “Wakeywakey, slut.” I yelp, my eyes snapping open. Drake is sitting a foot away from me, his finger digging between my labia. “Take your fucking hands off me.” The throbbing of my face and my exhaustion is all forgotten with the sensation of his biting fingers. “No can do,” he breathes next to my face, and it's too much. I gag. “Fuck!” he yells, leaping away.

“You gonna puke again? Fucking disgusting.” I smile. He literally makes me sick. Puck walks back into the room from a door at one end. His eyes flick between us. “Here's some grub.” I look at the food on the plate, trying to work up appetite. “Do you have any candy?” I ask quietly. “Yeah?” Puck's dark eyebrows lift, and I'm able to pay a little more attention to him. He's not huge like Noose, more lean and cut—all angles and planes. But his eyes aren't cruel. He tosses a Snickers across the table. It hits my forearm, and I pick it up. It'll do. I'm not really in a position to be choosy. I tear away the wrapper,

break off one third, and cram it into my mouth. “You're a real class act.” I don't dignify Drake with a reply. Instead, I keep chewing. With a fingertip, I pull the plastic plate over to me. There's cheese sticks and rolled pieces of what looks like roast beef. Silent tears course down my cheeks as I mechanically chew my food. I flick the tears off with a finger. Puck slugs a water bottle down on the table, and I jump. Drake laughs. I untwist the cap and chug half, choking the whole load down. After about four or five minutes, I start to feel better. More energy. Anger

comes next, of course. I can't help but be angry. I am the only mom Charlie has, and because this fucking creep is pissed that his boy is with me, he's going to torture me into compliance. But he can't kill me or do too much because it'll look too obvious if I go to the courthouse all mangled. Think, Rose. I finish two cheese sticks and four rolled tubes of deli meat. “The way I see it, you can't mess me up too badly, or you won't get Charlie.” Drake's black eyes narrow on me like darts. “Don't try to be smart. I'll do you any way I want. You let me be the smart one.” Drake pops a nut off from

my plate into his mouth and cracks it with his teeth. “You couldn't be smart if someone gave you brains for Christmas,” I say in a steady voice. Puck groans. Drake stands, hitching up his jeans. He holds out his hand. “Come on, bitch. You're gonna take a leak, then you'll get the beef fuel injection.” I stand. “You can force me to have sex with you. But you won't win Charlie that way. You won't win, period.” “By the time I'm done with your holes, you'd give that kid to the devil.” Fear slides through me like ice, but my voice is level. “We'll see.” Drake smiles as he grabs my arm,

jerking me behind him. Puck's eyes follow me. They look sad. Not as sad as mine. * “I don't want sloppy seconds.” Drake shoves me toward the bathroom door. “Use a fucking razor. Shave your twat hair off, pits, legs. I want a smooth body to fuck. And make sure you soap every piece of you.” I turn on him. “Oh, and you're so clean?” His lips pull back from his teeth. “You get me any way I want you to have me.” Drake points at me. “But you, I

want lily-fucking-white.” His eyelids droop. “I want to make you dirty, Rose. As filthy as I see you.” I stomp into the bathroom and turn on the hot water. Taking a shower and being clean sounds marvelous. Just talking to that miserable excuse of a man makes me feel unclean. I try not to think about what'll happen when I do finally get clean. I take my time shaving everything off and soaping all my parts, paying special attention to my vagina. I do what he says to avoid whatever part of any beating I can. My tears mix with the hot water from the shower. I lean against the tile, sobbing.

Noose had kissed me in the place that is now smooth and squeaky clean. He touched me. And not just my body— my heart, as well. Now Drake intends to rape that memory away. Noose had seemed to really care. Now it doesn't matter. He doesn't know what happened to me. I have to survive this to get back to Charlie. If Drake thinks raping me is going to force me to do what he wants, he can suck it. I finish with my hair, sudsing then rinsing. A door opens, and I freeze. “Something for you to wear, slut.” The door closes. Stepping out of the shower with a

towel clenched around me, I see a pile of clothes inside the door, with strippertype shoes to match. I pluck the dress, if it can be called that, from the floor. It's a couple of BandAids of fabric secured by a bisecting piece of material that runs from my breasts to my crotch. I breathe shallowly through my despair as I pick up the itchy, sparkling navy blue dress. Slipping it over my head, I rake it over my curves without ceremony then walk into the shoes, which are slightly too tight. I bow to latch the ankle straps. Clear heels hold shiny silver straps, slightly opalescent. Drake rips open the door as if on

cue. His eyes run down my figure, land on the shoes, and move to my face. “I want the fucking wet hair done, makeup, the entire works.” “Why?” I ask, so frustrated I could scream. “Why all the fanfare so you can rape me.” Fresh tears spring, rendering the old ones to tracks of dried pain. “Trust me. This whole thing will be much worse with you all pretty and clean—dolled up.” He's right. I turn on the unsteady heels and move to the mirror. Our eyes meet in the reflection. There's no pity or remorse in his brown gaze. Only intent to defile.

Instead of slamming the door, he simply shuts it softly. The entire behavior switch is making me feel worse, not better. Drake's going to do something worse than rape. Not knowing what is somehow worst of all. * I can't imagine why there is a bunch of stuff for women in the bathroom. Every drawer I open has the trappings of feminine toiletries. Tampons. Makeup. Curling irons. There's even a pair of hoop earrings.

I carefully put on the makeup, using way more than I normally do, avoiding the swelling. I slap on the trashy look. It's defiant on my part, and I don't give a damn. Scarlett lipstick makes my lips pout. Dark violet shadow in the crease of my eyelids causes the luster of my brown eyes to glitter darkly in the mirror's reflection. Mascara takes my lashes to new heights as they swoop upward, brushing my eyebrows. My hair looks like caramel in this light. I've done something to it with the product that adds sheen, taming the waviness to just a few bends, and the strands glow like whiskey. With a last smack of my lips, I

sweep all the stuff back into the drawer and exit the bathroom. Several men are standing around. They turn and look at me. Eyes travel my body like ants crawling a hill. I flush a deep red. The wave of warmth travels to my head in a swift layer of heat. No. Drake smiles, coming forward. I shake my head, and he just keeps moving. “Come here, slut.” I'm not wearing panties or a bra. There was nothing like that in the pile. I retreat, losing mental ground with that single step.

Drake seizes my arm, dragging me on my tottering heels to the table I'd eaten at. He swipes his arm across the surface and backs me up against the edge. I tip, flopping onto my back. The bikers close in. I take a quick tally. Five men, including Drake. My heart tries to escape my chest as I struggle to rise onto my elbows. “Here's the brothers that want a taste of your twat.” Drake says snidely, indicating the group with his palm. I finally manage to prop up on my elbows, but one of the men takes hold of my wrists and pulls them backward, lengthening my body into a long line. My breasts are barely covered.

Another man starts to knead them in his large hands. My boobs are so big, he can't get his fingers around them all. “Holy shit, this is some rack.” A horrible mewling sound slides out from between my tight lips. Without warning, Drake kicks my dangling legs apart and plunges a finger deep inside me. “No!” I scream. “This is not going to be a rape, Rose. This is a different thing altogether. We're going to make you want to come. Then you'll get some relief.” Is this even possible? I gather my saliva and spit in his face. The wet string hangs off his

unshaven jaw for a moment then lands with a dull plop on the hard table. With his free hand, he wipes off my spit. “Doesn't matter,” he says, his finger moving back and forth inside my vagina. My entire body is tense. I shut my eyes so I don't have to look at him as he violates me. I think of Charlie. Survive. “Tight,” he says in a hoarse voice. “Not for long, though. A few more cocks in here, and you'll be loose and sloppy. Perfect.” My eyes open, and I chance a glance at his crotch, seeing his erection strain against his jeans. I bite my lip, turning away, and close my eyes.

When will this end? My body slides back and forth as Drake's finger pumps inside me while one man holds me down and the other keeps mounding my breasts. Then his fingers tweak my nipple. “No,” I whisper, squirming, and the hard hold on my wrists becomes painful. I stop moving. He keeps rolling my nipple. Back and forth. Back and forth. Again and again. Drake finger fucks me, and my dry channel stops being dry. It becomes wet. My body is betraying me. But I can only keep fear and adrenaline at a certain level. When my body can't fight

its way out of the hold at my wrists and sheer pain isn't being used, my torture becomes something completely different. “Look at this cunt,” Drake says, and the men gather around to look between my spread legs. “Just a little finger action, and it's sopping wet.” I want to cry. Die. Be anywhere but here. His eyes travel to mine triumphantly. Raping me would have been simple; working my body is complicated. Worse. When he swivels his thumb to my clit, I bite my lip to keep from crying out. His gaze never leaves my eyes. I hate Drake.

But he's not offering violence like he promised. He didn't even retaliate for me spitting in his ugly face. This is so much worse. He's defeating my body one piece at a time. My mind.

6 Noose The Nova purrs like a satisfied cat as Snare, and I consume the shadowy ink of the road. Lariat's driving one of the other cars, with Wring riding cockpit. A prospect is in each vehicle. Lots of learning to do tonight. Crash course. “What do you think?” Snare asks quietly. I'm not smoking for once. I’m too keyed up, and my head hurts too fucking bad. What do I think? I think Rose is being worked over as we speak. “I don't know. Hoping this is the best guess, and she's right where she should be.”

“Gonna have Chaos prospects at every corner, checking out shit. Patrolling.” I grunt. I'm okay with that. “Seems like you and Lariat have history,” Snare says suddenly. Snare's never asked about my time in the military before. I give him a quick glance then put my eyes back on the road. “Yeah.” His dark eyebrows rise, but I only see the shadow of movement from the corner of my eye. I take the right heading east off 132nd. Two cars in front, one behind. Headlights and taillights escort me like false suns as we make our way east. Snare doesn't push. So I talk. That

feels right. The night blankets the land, suffocating everywhere I look with a blackness so total, I'd think I was blind if I didn't know better. I'm so fucking far gone over Rose, I want to talk for once. “We were in a bad spot during an altercation.” Read: killing. I had a target. A termination. That's not something our government admits we do. Everything is sterilized for public consumption. But men out in the field, we're not consuming anything. We're following orders. “Lariat and I had a difference of opinion. He never agreed with what went down.” Killed a man.

A man with a family. A wife and a bushel of kids. And a house filled with AK-47s. He'd been supplying Al-Qaeda. He'd gotten my do-it-anywhere knot while feeding his flock of goats. Herd? Whatever—fuck. I run a hand through my hair, forgetting Snare's presence, reliving the event like it was yesterday. I can still smell the dry heat of the desert even though it was late evening, with only the moon, the goats, and alfalfa keeping me company. The goats knew I was there before the target did. A little boy, maybe three, had toddled to the door, and a sharp Arabic

command had him doing an about-face. Not before Lariat had stayed my hand. I'd fisted my knot. Only one side. The other dangled from my left hand. The dominant always closed the deal. The strangle. “Nope,” Lariat jerked his chin at the target. “He's just some civilian farmer. Bad intel, Noose.” He shrugged, half his face illuminated by moonlight, the other half in pure darkness. A momentary image of his face being sliced off had blown through my mind and was gone before I could catch it. “No. Target.” I looked at his hand on my arm. It fell. Lariat had been fucking with my headspace. I didn't need

that before a sanction. He hissed his exhale. I glared silently at him. He held my stare for a space of seconds then folded his arms. Prick. I moved out of the line of trees, little more than scrub brush, and crept forward. Planting my feet on the balls, I inched along. The target bowed his head, petting a goat. My stomach contracted painfully— Lariat's words fucking with me. I moved forward again. I wrapped my knots, keeping the rope taut. Four feet. Two.

The target had turned in what seemed like slo-mo, revealing crooked teeth in a mouth that parted. Unsurprised eyes fixed on mine. He slid a gun smoothly from beneath his cumbersome robes. My mind had shut off, body going automatic. My feet swiveled, the right foot planting in the dusty ground. The goats bleated in alarm. My left arm secured the right; the rope looped the target's neck. The tapping of the machine gun about an inch away from my ear sounded like firecrackers. His body bucked as my wrists snapped and twisted, coming together hard.

The gun dropped with a thud as the goats’ racket notched up. Hands floated around my head like sick birds. They eventually stopped. I held my rope, knots burning against my hands in sweet comfort. After a full two minutes, I snapped my hands apart and kicked the body away from me. Three small children looked at me from the glow of an open door on a house that was barely a shack. I hit the ground when the oldest boy lifted another gun. Gunfire crackled in the background. Lariat leapt from his post. The small bodies fell.

I remember his tears. And mine. * “Hello?” Snare says, and I snap out of the memory like a rubber band breaking. “So you were saying, before you blew a fuse, that you guys got in a disagreement when you were both in the Middle East.” I nod slowly. “Yeah. I was following orders; he disagreed.” I shrug. It turned out I'd been right after all. But neither of us felt right afterward. Hell, I'm probably still not okay with it. Sometimes people just have to deal. “Things were done—things that we

saw the potential for but hoped—hell, we hoped the shit that happened wouldn't. Every time Lariat looks at me, he's reminded. I don't know. Bad blood.” I shrug again. “You ever talk to anyone about that war shit?” I look at him. “Fuck no. Besides, I'm talking to you.” Snare shrugs. “Not good to have something between brothers. Just saying you should get that shit worked out before it comes to something.” I turn into a bare stretch of road only about a half mile from the place where Chaos holes up. I shut off the engine and turn to Snare. “Lariat fucked up on discernment,

but he saved my life. That's all the knowing anyone needs here. It happened over there, and the only ones who need to concern themselves over that are him and me.” “Jesus, okay—settle.” “Uh-huh.” I jerk the handle on the door of the Nova and slide out, letting my eyes adjust to the near-blackness of the area. Without light pollution, shit is not softly black like it is close to the city, but so cloaked I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. “Fuck, I'm blind as a bat,” Snare comments in disgust. “Yeah.” Snare laughs, and I turn to him, slipping a banded pack around my waist.

“Your favorite word.” “Yup.” I grin. “That's the same word.” I nod. Snare's smile stays. I walk around to the trunk and pop it. I glance in, already knowing what I need. Could be I just take breath instead of a life. But when the rope goes around a neck, it seems sort of unsatisfactory to not finish things off. I snap a short length then take out a raw, abrasive length. It'll hurt more, but the raw rope doesn't have the precision of my skinny nylon favorite. Snare's eyes run over the ropes, tripping on the knots at the end. “Viper

said no killing.” “Don't have to.” That's the beauty of getting up close and personal. Finesse. Snare gives me look of such clear disbelief, I laugh. “Don't worry. I know what to do here.” “I know. Believe me, I get your potential. But I don't want war.” I turn to him with a speculative look. Snare clarifies, “Got your back, brother.” I wish everyone did. I touch on Lariat briefly. Then toss our problem out the mental window. No time for motherfucking introspection. Rose is with Diablo. Shit's gonna go down. The past isn't

now. She is. * Brothers spread out around the tree line. The building's easy to spot. A solar vapor light blasts its glare around the perimeter like a strobe light. A couple of Chaos prospects stand at either corner. Smoke trails from the hand of one; the other is picking his fingernails with a knife. The way he handles the blade lets me know he's never used one when it counts. I point at my eyes then split my fingers, indicating direction. Viper and some of the others nod, moving to

opposite ends. Wring, another brother from our time in the military, takes point. The training never leaves a soldier. If I'm in my head, my body takes over. I haven't spoken a word of Arabic in over three years now, but if I heard it, I would be instantly on point. Engaged. Like now. Snare's wrong. This is like war. They've taken my property, and I'm getting her back. Come hell or high water. Or knots. Rose is coming back with me. *

The prospect's body slumps, and I untwist the rope. His body does a jerking swirl before thumping to the ground. Snare's face takes a sharp turn in my direction. “Wow,” he whispers, clearly impressed. He grabs the guy's ankles and hauls him deep into the underbrush that's overtaken the cinderblock building. I gaze upward, scoping the building's architecture. Not in admiration, but for entry. Glass block windows line the entire top third, and my next exhale is in frustration. Not a lot of penetration options. I'm itchy as fuck, mental about Rose possibly being inside and me not getting

to her. I put my hand against the gritty cement wall, considering my choices. Viper moves quietly to my side. “Wring got the other kid.” He looks at the spot where the prospect was. Dragging heel marks create dusty railroad tracks into the bushes. “He gonna live?” I nod. “Yup.” Viper grins. “Great.” He claps me on the back. “But if he regains consciousness quickly, he'll sing like a bird.” Snare jogs up to my position. “Listen—Noose—” His voice sounds tense. Don't like it. “You see Rose?” I

bark like a dog on a short chain. His nod is slow, hesitant. Not like Snare at all. I walk almost into his chest. “What the fuck is it?” “Don't give away our position no matter what you see. Promise me.” I nod. Though I don't promise dick. He leads me around the building. A long rectangular bay window fogged by filth gives a smoky vision of Rose. Drake stands between her spread legs, driving his fingers inside her pussy like he's mining for gold, while another dude holds her wrists and a third plays with her tits. A fourth guy strides around the table, cock in hand. He's zeroing in on

her mouth, if I'm any judge. Adrenaline whips its numbing fire through my system like a match to gas. “Mother fucker,” I seethe. Rose's scream pierces the air with its misery. Arousal. That mixed sound is enough to make me pause. Then I'm charging in, forgetting about our position, my training, or anything but what looks like the rape of this girl I want more than taking my next breath. My rope hits my leg. The knot will leave a bruise tomorrow. If I live.

7 Rose “Just come, Rose.” Drake's eyes flow over my body, and I stifle a second scream. His finger pounds my clit, thumbnail raking over the sensitive slick nub. I'm so pissed, I can't think. I don't want him touching me. Ever. But it's all about the element of surprise. Drake is violent. He killed my sister. Now he's exacting his revenge in the most vile way possible. His coercion to get Charlie back is an art form. He's causing my body to want what he's forcing on me, even though my mind

loathes it. “No—I won't come, you sick bastard,” I grate between my teeth. But even as I say it, the pumping of fingers inside me and his rhythmic insistence with the other causes my pussy to clench around his finger. “Ah!” I yell helplessly, trying to close my legs, whipping my head back and forth. “Stubborn bitch.” He softens his touch to a whisper, rasping his fingernail over my clit, and I moan, biting my lip in sheer misery, tortured by need. “There she blows,” a man to my right says. My anger chases away the forced arousal to something bearable. My head

lifts off the table, and a cock hits the side of my face. I split the air with my scream of frustration—my body's sickening, unpermitted response. The men crowd closer. Slim spaces remain where their bodies block out reality. Between the bodies, a streak flashes by—beyond where they cluster around me, jerking off. Noose. Tears sting my eyes. Drake's fingers suddenly feel like what they are: digits of rape. Hope swells inside me for what feels like the first time in forever. My eyes widen in surprise as a

tightly knotted rope snakes from the end of Noose's powerful forearm like an extension of his body. The large, bulbous end smashes into the man's nose as his cock dangles above my lips. Blood spray splatters me like warm rain. Dark dots spread over the shimmering material of the dress. “What the fuck?” Drake roars, turning. Too late. * Rose's scream is spinning razors. They rip through my mind, slicing every cohesive thought to nothing but primal

reaction. I can do that. Taking my favorite knotted rope— though long, it’s versatile as fuck—I sprint on the balls of my feet. My approach is soundless. The Chaos Riders are so focused on Rose, cocks in hand, they don't sense my presence. Just like I meant for them not to. Rose looks up; startled blue eyes meet mine for a moment. I assess her condition like a soldier, as I've been trained to do. Her face is free of wounds, though one cheek is startlingly pink. Head lacerations. Skin flushed. My eyes catch a sliver of glistening pussy, and

everything goes blank. My intellect is wiped clean. My plan. Me. I move in like a well-timed machine, judging everyone's attentions, distance, and reaction time. I hit the guy with his cock next to Rose's face first. Using the knot like a medieval flail, I jerk it out with a flick of my wrist. The end smashes into the guy's nose, spitting it open like ripe fruit. I swing toward whoever's closest, bringing it down like a club on his head. Exacting. Hard. He falls. If the knot gets someone just right in the head, he won’t see stars. Only night.

Diablo screams. “What the fuck?” He turns, and I see the juice of Rose's sweet pussy on two of his fingers. I go visceral in an instant. I push into him, riding him down right beside Rose. The angle's bad, but I lean the rope into his throat, see-sawing it for bite. The rope catches, digging deep. The grin on my face feels manic. Easy. Someone pigpiles on me. I twist my shoulders hard, offloading the fucker like a gnat. I keep grinding down into that soft spot of flesh under Diablo’s Adam's apple. My pulse pounds. My mind breathes

the command to the rope that is part of my body: Give. Flesh pounds around me, fists landing with finality. “Noose!” Someone shouts from far away. It's the rope. The throat. His fucking life under that line of killing twine. Strong hands yank me off. I go ballistic, swinging wildly. “No, man! Fuck!” I hear Snare. “A little help!” I growl, hitting whatever comes near me. Then a smell assails my nose. I suck like a man without oxygen. My vision clears, and a small body hits my torso, latching on like a monkey.

I know that body. My arms fall, letting the rope dangle softly at my side. I look down at Rose. “Stop,” she whispers. I nod, my hand palming the back of her skull. “Stop,” she says again with a thread of voice. That small voice moves through me like a wire of electricity, pulling shit low in my gut. I wrap my arm around her and survey the damage. Bunch of fuckers, their cocks wagging out of jeans like tongues are tossed all over the floor in various states of consciousness. Viper's on his ass, blowing air in

and out like a steam engine. I smirk. Old fucker's got brass balls. Snare throws his arms wide. “Got about three minutes before the calvary comes.” I look at Diablo. His body is very still. A second smiley face lies beneath his mouth like a red slash on his neck. That'll leave a mark. Good. Fucker deserves to die slowly. The want to finish him rides low and tight inside. Desperate. “Noose,” Rose says. I look down at her. Black tracks of mascara run down her face, and her lipstick is smeared. She smells great. Looks better. I like her alive so much, it feels

physical, my relief and happiness. Like a drug, but better. Real. “I want to get out of here. Please,” she begs. Rose shouldn't have to beg for shit. “Yeah.” I scoop her right off the ground. Her head rolls into the space between my torso and my arm. “Snare, stop picking belly lint and grab Viper.” He pulls a face of pure irritation and slaps a hand into Viper's open palm. He hauls up our Road Kill Prez. I make a mental note of the brothers. They're a little worse for the wear, but they all look happy. Today, we saved an innocent. Tomorrow, there will be payment

due. But for now, I have Rose, and she's safe against me. * I smooth her soft hair away from her face. “What's wrong with her, Doc?” He gives her a critical roving eye, but Rose just stares back vacantly. “I'd say shock is a good guess.” His eyes find mine again. “You said she had a glucose crash?” I'm not sure what that is, but I'd say that sounds right. “Probably.” “No probably, Noose. If this girl was on a drip just hours ago and went through this cocksucking ordeal, there's

no probably. She's likely shocky as shit.” “Is that your medical opinion?” I cross my arms, still remembering the bite of his needle from only a few hours before. His lips twitch. “No, you dumb fuck, she's looking chalky white and isn't responding normally. It's a great fucking guess.” I rake my hair back with fingers tender and abraded. My scalp doesn’t appreciate the motion over the wound. I didn't take time to glove up before handling the rope. Would've saved myself some fucking pain. Fuck it. My gaze moves to Rose—and the outfit she's wearing. One hundred and

ten percent sweet-butt attire there. Why the fuck would she be all shaved, showered, and made up like a slut? And what was Diablo's plan? I can see that fucker thinking gang rape would bring Rose in line, that he could manipulate her into giving him visitation of the kid. Only to discredit her later. I hadn't thought of a tactful way to bring that potential up. No fucking good at tactful. Good at riding. Killing. Fucking. Not good at emotions. I was going to have to tap something besides twats in the near future. Tap into a little-used reservoir of tender.

Lots of fucking Ts there. None of them easy, except the tap part. “Let's see if we can lay her down and warm her up, Noose.” I nod. “She been catatonic since this went down with Diablo?” he asks to confirm. Except for a few words, Rose had been as silent as the grave. “Yeah. Been like a fucking corpse.” I hate being worried. What the fuck do I have to worry about, unless I care? Caring. Now that's what I need to worry about.

8 Rose Consciousness is a weird thing. It should be as simple as being awake while not sleeping. Not true. I hear Noose's limited exchange with “Doc.” I don't know if he's a real doctor or not, but the hands that touch me know my body. They’re gentle, healing hands, not harmful. It's the first part of their conversation I'm more interested in. “Was she raped, Doc? Did I—get there in time?” “Wasn't raped. She was penetrated with something, but no torn flesh, no

signs of forced entry.” No. No forced entry, like a house broken into. Drake just made sure I got wet before he really started the mind rape. Make no mistake, that was what his charade was all about. Drake wanted to let me know that no matter what, he's in control, that he can hurt me in ways I never knew. Hands push me down gently. I can't be on my back. Panic wells like a swallowed bubble inside me. My fist strikes a jaw. Pain blows through my arm, radiating to my elbow. “Fuck me!” “I can sedate her?” Doc asks. “No fucking way. She's been sedate

long enough.” I open my eyes. Noose's neartranslucent gaze pegs me where I sit, elbows dug into the soft bed beneath me. A small red lump mars the perfection of a jawline almost too angular, too defined. A face I can never get tired of. I do a lot of crying around this man, and I burst into tears for the second time in twenty-four hours. “Hey, baby.” He sits beside me, drawing me into his arms. Noose pats me awkwardly, and all I feel is this big hard body all around me like a cocoon of strength. Flesh-covered steel. Safe. I snuggle against him, wrecking his black T-shirt, snotting it to pieces.

Noose holds me like he'll never let me go. “Give us a sec, Doc.” “Sure thing.” The man's eyes roam over me, and I duck my head, ashamed. “Don't you worry about what I think,” he says unexpectedly. “I know what those bastards did. None of this is your fault.” I nod. But in my heart, I can't agree. I'll never agree. Some kind of compromise of Rose Christo has begun. I don't know who I am. I'm crying because I grieve for her —that girl I was. Doc leaves, shutting the door softly behind him. “Rose?” Noose is thumbing away

my tears. His practicality has me laughing as he lifts his T-shirt and wipes my nose with it. What the hell? It's ruined now anyway. I know I look like shit, and my face heats. What he thinks of me is still important. I realize I'm in a precarious position of hero worship. “Don't cry. It's over. Diablo is shut down. We gotcha.” I hold my hands on either side of his strong face. He doesn't look away, but I so sense that the small intimacy my touch offers bothers him. His Adam's apple bobs. “I know. And I'm so thankful, Noose —I am.” The frown between his eyes doesn't

ruin his looks—it enhances them. I gulp my attraction down like a bitter pill. I was almost gang-raped. It didn't matter that I was forcefully aroused. I close my eyes at the memory of Drake's fingers inside me and my pussy clenching around them only hours after Noose's tongue had brought me screaming. “Why does this sound like another Dear John blow-off?” His tone is mild, but his eyes are hard with anger. “Because I gotta say, Rose—I threw down for you. Me and the brothers, we broke into a rival MC's holding. We took a woman they were having their way with. An unclaimed woman. We had no rights. No place to stand. Just our wits.

My need”—his eyes float away from mine, his voice going low—“to see you safe. That was all.” His gaze returns to mine like molten mercury. I feel condemned by him. Like I owe Noose my freedom from the rapists. I do owe him my gratitude. But I can't—I won't be bullied into some kind of sexual exploration based on my relief. If there's one thing Anna's death taught me, it’s that things are not what they seem. Noose seems like he rescued me because he cares. But maybe that's just a smokescreen for being with a novelty. It's no big secret that Noose isn't with girls like me. He's with girls who look like what I look like now. A slut. Easy.

Noose is waiting for words. I give them to him. “I-I am always going to be grateful. You saved me from a fate worse than death.” He nods slowly. “Yeah. There are some things that can make you wish you were dead. I'm feeling like that thing with you and Drake…” He shakes his head. I notice he doesn't call it a rape. His eyes come back to mine, wounding me with their intensity. “That would've been one of them.” I hang my head. “Probably.” “No probably, baby. Definitely.” I blow out a frustrated exhale. “Anyway…” I thread my fingers together between us, “I need some space. I need

time to get my head around what happened. I need to see Charlie—my parents. I need to figure out what to do at the hearing.” I pant just thinking about Tuesday. About seeing Drake again. “Hey—hey.” His hands palm my face, and I sink my cheek into the caress. “Diablo isn't gonna hurt you anymore. We'll figure this thing out together.” No we won't. “I'm sorry, Noose. But I can't be a part of a motorcycle gang.” His hand falls from my face, and their absence is a small death. My breath hitches as he stands. “I'd go to the ground for you, Rose Christo.” “I know,” I whisper. “But I can't

have that from a man. You saved me.” I blink back scalding tears. “I get that. And we have wicked chemistry.” His eyebrows hike. “At least you admit you want to fuck me.” A laugh shoots out of me like a bullet. The problem is, it sounds a little hysterical. “Yeah,” I say, selfconsciously crossing my arms in front of my body, “I guess that's one way to put it.” Noose studies me. I feel like a bug. “But you wouldn't put it like that, would ya, Rose?” He flings his powerful arms wide, muscles slicing the air like knives. “You'd call it chemistry or some fancy shit like that?” My silence is acquiescence.

He moves to me, almost too fast for me to track. I'm in his arms, and he's jerked me up to my knees. One hand cups my sex, and the other grinds the back of my head into his face. Our lips crash together. Mashing. Tongues twining. “Mine,” he growls, and with the barest tension, squeezes the part of me Drake just molested. But it's nothing but pure desire that uncoils through my body at Noose's touch. Hot. Dangerous. Noose lifts his lips, and I suck in a breath before the next assault. “You're mine, Rose. You were mine before I met you. You're mine now. You just don't

know it.” I search his eyes. There's not a part of him that doesn't mean every word. But I didn't survive the last four years because someone owns me or because an outlaw or a gang member can protect me. I survived because of love and devotion. I overcame for something bigger than me. Charlie. I don't know if a man like Noose has that element as part of his makeup. Noose slides a finger over the material of the dress, driving it between my wet folds, and my head tips back. His lips plant themselves on my throat, licking and kissing until his hand moves to my upper back and his face is

between my breasts, diving into the cleavage. He buries his face between them. “Fuck, you're hot,” his finger moves back and forth. The material of my dress between his finger and my wet flesh creates friction. “Ah!” I gurgle intelligibly, my fingers diving into the slicked-back hair on his head. I pull. Hard. He moans underneath my touch, hair coming loose from the tight band, and I hang on. My hips start working against his finger. I grind down as he moves up and licks between my breasts. “Noose,” I say, so close to coming that my vision curls at the corners where

the colors gray out. “Come, Rose.” His erotic command brings me screaming into his mouth as he covers my lips with his own, and my pussy spasms, clenching on nothing, pulsing for Noose's cock. Tears run down my face. I have never wanted something more for myself than I want this man. He is everything that is wrong. Noose feels so right, my need like its own agony. As the last pulse drives out of me, I fall back against the bed, legs spread. Noose's eyes peg my sex, his expression hungry. His huge erection causes his jeans

to look painted on. “I know those fuckers about raped you.” His eyes bore holes through me. “I'm sorry, Rose. I know—I get it. You're not ready.” Noose takes a ragged breath. “But if you don't close your legs this minute, I'm going to climb on top of you and plant my prick so deep, it'll never come out.” My heart slaps against my rib cage. His pulse beats at the hollow of his broad throat. “Tell me to leave, Rose. I'll go. I'll give you space.” I want him to fuck me into the ground. “Leave, Noose.” He takes a final look at my pussy, adjusts his cock with an awkward shove, and walks out the door. I lie there and cry, thinking about

what-ifs.

9 Noose My cock is its own zip code of agony, trying to dig its way out of my jeans and get back to that sweet piece of Rose. Leaving Rose's wet perfect pussy is a tally on the side of the hardest shit I've not done. Holy righteous fuck. I begin to stalk through the club then whirl around and stab a finger at the prospect outside Rose's door. “Don't fucking move.” His eyes go round with tasteable fear, and I pivot, adjusting my junk again. Damn. I’m gonna need ten cold

showers to get over this set of blue balls. More like blue cannons. Snare moves up beside me. “Noose.” I whip a palm up. “Not now. I gotta go jack off.” His eyebrows pop, and a laugh cracks out of him. “What? You just saved your girl, and—there's no place for how fucked up that is.” Yeah. I turn and point to my pillar of a dick. “I can't be around her without wanting to bang her. Circumstance apparently isn't relevant. And”—I lower my voice to a sinister whisper—“she needs fucking time, bro.” I feel my eyebrows jerk to my hairline.

Snare's expression is pained. “Ah. Ouch.” I grab my package. “I'm dying. I laid my shit out on the fucking line, got her off like a freight train…” My words die as I yank my hair back into a tie. Fuck this. Crystal comes walking by, and I practically run to the room I use when I stay at the club. “Noose!” Snare calls out. I ignore him. Crystal's heels spike after me. Tap, tap, tap. I close the door behind me, and she opens it, kicking it closed behind her. Don't need this noise. “Let me take this away, Noose.”

I set my hands on my hips, trying to steady my breathing. Crystal's finger taps my shoulder. I turn and face her. Large eyes gaze up at me. My cock throbs. Rose doesn't want you, man. She says she doesn't need someone to protect her. I made a fool out of myself. I charged in there like I was her fucking old man—like she'd already said yes twice to being my property. Rose hasn't said dick. I'd been speculating a fantasy so hard, I'd believed it. Crystal takes in my silence, slinking forward.

I say nothing. I look at the top of her head, imagining Rose’s honey strands instead of the chalked-out blond in front of me. “Just let me take it all away, baby.” Slowly, so slowly, she unzips my jeans, and I can hear the sigh of relief my cock makes when it springs free of the tight denim. My head falls back, and her wet mouth sinks over the tip. My cock twitches. I'm so ready to blow from being on edge all this time. I barely notice anything. Noise, atmosphere—nothing. I grip her head and ram it down my prick. I don't spare Crystal anything. She wants to get me off? Relieve

me of what feels like a gallon of cum? Fine. I move her head up and down my length, tip to root, jerking her back up to the swollen head. Down. “Noose!” she gasps. “Take it, Crystal, or leave.” She does. Her hands cup my balls, and I make a sound of pure release. I stiffen. My back hurts, my toes curl inside my boots, and I pour my seed into her mouth, her lips slammed to the base of me. Crystal thrashes, pushing at me, and I finally release her. “God! You fucker! I couldn't fucking breathe.” She falls back on her ass, her slutty short dress revealing her no-panty

status. My eyelids are drooping. I'm beyond fucking exhausted. “Sounds like you're breathing okay to me.” Crystal wipes the back of her hand over her swollen pouty mouth, coming away with semen and saliva. Her gaze is flat and mean. “You're not very grateful, Noose.” I roll my eyes, jacking my limp noodle back in place, and zip up. “You volunteered to be the cum dumpster, and I filled you. But ya bitch about it?” I walk over to the dresser that has smokes and rifle around inside the empty pack. Finally, I find one. Just one. I jerk the single cig out and stuff it into my mouth. I grab the lighter just as it skitters

across the surface, away from my rummaging fingers. I slap my palm over the red plastic and scoop it from the top, lighting and inhaling in one move. I blow a ring then send a second one directly after the first. They are two together, one smaller inside the first. Some shit just comes together, even if it’s simple. “Noose!” Crystal's still there. I feel like this is on replay or some shit. I stride to the door. “I'm not looking for property, Crystal.” I jerk my jaw at the door. Ash falls like gray snowflakes, dusting my boots. I kick it off. Her voice stops me cold, my hand

tight on the knob. “That's not what I heard.” My head slowly turns, eyes narrowing on Crystal. I take a drag on the cig. “What are you saying?” “I'm saying,” she says, clearly loving having center stage, “that the word in the club is Noose is hot for some prissy banker.” Fuck. “I don't want anybody.” A small lie. Crystal's smirk is a hell of a lot more sure than I like. “I talked to her.” A red veil of rage descends over my eyes, and a wave of lightheadedness washes over me. “You. What?” I bellow.

“I talked to Rose.” She says her name like it’s a joke. “Told her that you and I were a thing. Not to waste her time. She's no sweet butt or old-lady material anyway, Noose. Saved her big time.” I feel my eyes cross. The cig drops from my fingertips. I want to choke her. My fingers shake. I suck an inhale like I'm drowning. “Where the fuck do you get off talking to Rose?” Crystal's eyes bug. “Listen, I know you're a good guy. You went and helped her out with Chaos. I get that. But now she can go home and back to her perfect little civvie existence with all the rest of the ninety-nine percent.” She shrugs.

Crystal logic. I clear my throat. A lot of what Crystal says makes sense—for someone who gives a fuck about logic. But logic departed a long time ago. I'm thinking with my cock. I'm thinking with a part of me I didn't know I had. Crystal telling me shit I already know just pisses me off. “I gave her some clothes, and she split.” “You!? What?” I do touch her then, jerking her to me. I clamp her shoulders, holding her still. “Listen to me, you whoring bitch—I never wanted anything permanent. But that girl? The girl you just kicked out of here by telling her fucking lies from your small brain? I

want her.” I shake her. Her teeth click, and I release her. Not gonna lay hands on a woman. I grit my teeth. No matter how much she deserves it. Crystal looks at me like I'm a piece of dogshit on the bottom of her stiletto. “If this Rose is so fucking important, what are you doing here, letting me suck you off, swallow you down—when you could be with little Miss Perfect? Huh? Why don't you ask yourself that, Noose? Look in the fucking mirror really hard and think about if you're walking the talk.” Crystal turns and sashays out the room with a soft click of the door. I kick the door with my boot, almost

putting my foot through the wood. Fuck! I jerk open the door, and it flies into the wall behind it. I stride across the club, ignoring everything, and go straight to the room where we patch everyone up. The prospect is gone. I open the door. So is Rose. All I can smell is her perfume… and her pussy. But maybe that's wishful thinking. * “Where'd she go?” Wring answers, “Let the prospect

take her.” He shrugs. “Fuck.” Wring's look is hard. “Noose, you threw down for her in front of the club. She's been through hell. We've got a prospect following her. Diablo is licking his many wounds. Lay low—let her have space.” That's Wring. Temperance. Even out in the field, out of the three of us, he was the voice of reason. Too bad I'm so fucking unreasonable about now. “Why would she just leave?” “Heard the sweet butt had a chat with her.” I nod. “Yeah.” I give my tied hair a vicious cinch. Wring is an inch shorter than I am,

and he’s lean. He works on his physique with martial arts. He's all Zen and shit. Whatever works. He shrugs. “The sweet butt's got a point, Noose. This girl doesn't belong in our world. She's been impacted by the MC—in the worst goddamned way. But Crystal, she's in-house tail. She knows what our needs are, doesn't get in the way, takes the cream, and keeps her mouth shut.” Wring suddenly grins. “Except when compelled not to.” I look skyward. The ceiling greets my gaze. I take deep breaths, trying to calm my shit down so that I don't go blasting after Rose and beg to talk to her. Beg to fuck her. Only a bastard would want to fuck a

girl who'd been through what Rose just survived. Feel like I should raise my hand. “So I should just give up? Let her go. Let that fucker Diablo circle her and the kid like a shark?” “Listen, man, I got your back. But I gotta say, this is bigger than Rose Christo. We fucked with Chaos. There's going to be retribution. Rose is the least of the club's worries now. We stood behind you. We stand behind you now.” Wring's pale eyebrows shoot up, waiting for a reply from me. I grunt. “If she were your old lady—legit, not a pipedream—we protect our property. But she doesn't act like an old

lady. She acts like a scared girl who was glad as fuck to scoot her ass out of here first opportunity.” I shake my head. “God damn.” “You're not going to listen to reason?” Wring doesn't look like the rest of us. We're all knotters. Wring, Lariat, and me. He understands me. We've gone shoulder to shoulder. He's pale, Aryannation white. But he's the most evenhanded, none-prejudicial human being I've ever known. His words strike me like fists. They're spot-on, as usual. “Are you going to listen?” he repeats. My exhale is a raw strip of air. “Nope.”

Wring stills for a couple of heartbeats. “Didn't think you would, brother.” I'm consistent as fuck. “So what's the plan?” I ask him. “The prospect has your girl.” I love how Wring switches gears. He was testing me. Seeing how gone I am for Rose. If she's worth it. I don't have to tell him. Actions speak louder than words. Mine are screaming.

10 Rose The tears on my face dry as I stare at the door from where Noose stormed through. I notice the scratchiness of the dress first and grimace. I want it off. How do I get different clothes? Where is my phone? I feel a disconnect like a mudslide inside my head. From myself. From my life. From everything I thought was solid. It's not solid. Everything is in motion. Arguing comes from outside the door. I hear a few choice curse words

from a woman, then the owner of said voice bursts into the room. I hop off the couch that sits beside an examining table. Medical equipment is neatly shelved and labeled. I've already looked at everything. The woman who stands before me huffing in anger is like a bleached-blond tornado. A biker guys stands outside the door, looking young and uncertain. “Don't fuck with this chick. She's Noose's.” I shoot him my best dirty look. “I am not anyone's.” This causes Angry Girl to smile like the cat that just swallowed the canary. The guy shuts the door. Coward.

I turn my attention back to the woman. I'd thought my blue dress was the sluttiest thing ever made. No. Her hair is a blond so light, it's almost white. Dark-brown roots hold court at her hairline and run about four inches to meet all that pale hair. She could be beautiful. Bright-green eyes narrow on me, taking in as much of me as I do of her. High cheekbones and a pouty mouth round out a face that is sprinkled with freckles across the bridge of her nose. She's fair, but not pasty. The blond hair does nothing for her, washing her out. The body. Her boobs look too big

for her frame. They don't move when she does. Why would someone my age get their breasts done? I have time to think, like big boobs are so great. Then she's sticking her finger in my chest. I stagger backward. “Listen, bitch.” Holy crap. “Stop!” I say, trying to inch away from her. “I'm setting some shit straight.” I blink, rubbing my chest where she nailed me. “What shit?” She considers me. “Are you stupid or something? Repeating stuff?” Despite what I've been through, I'm definitely not stupid. I'm tired, hungry, and sexually confused.

Very sexually confused. I don't need to be a pincushion for some girl that's got the wrong idea. “I'm not dumb. And stop poking me. Say what you need to without-without touching me.” Her lips curl. I wait. “I'm with Noose.” Just like that, my gut drops off a cliff. “Oh,” I manage. Her smile grows as she studies my expression. “He doesn't want a bitch with baggage. I don't have any. Sounds to me you got a whole bunch of luggage.” She crosses her arms, and her mounding, globe-like boobs squish together, creating the grand canyon of cleavage

inside the red cut-out of her top. “Ah—” “So just blast off. He's MC. Ya know what that means, bank girl?” Bank girl? I think my IQ just dropped to double digits. I blink again. “Yes,” I reply, thinking of Anna, remembering Drake's fingers plundering me. “I sure do.” I gulp the hard knot of fear, sadness, and hopelessness. “Noose doesn't want difficult pussy. He doesn't want a bitch that's got a kid by some other stud horse. Got me?” The pit in my stomach widens. I nod stupidly. “I have you.” She turns and picks up something on the floor behind her. It's a sack I didn't notice she'd entered with.

“I have some shit for you.” She turns the bag upside down, and clothes land in a pile on the floor. She sniffs. It’s the first delicate action she's made during our entire interchange. My throat narrows; unshed tears sear me. I won't let them come. Not if I can help it. Not in front of this girl Noose has apparently claimed. I take an inhale that burns to my toes. “Thank you,” I say quietly. A little of her bravado leaks away, and she cocks her head. “You seem like an okay girl.” I stand there, naked and raw from my emotions. “I want to give you some advice. You don't belong here. Live your perfect

life outside of Road Kill. You'll be okay,” she states as though making a stab at reassurance. She toes the clothes at my feet. “Don't have shit that'll cover that rack you got.” She snorts. “Your tits real?” I look down at my breasts. “Yeah.” Breathe, Rose, breathe. Concentrate on taking breaths and letting them out. “It'll get you out of that wasted thing. Prez told me to lend you some stuff.” I nod, picking up a tiny g-string, socks, tennis shoes, jeans, and a T-shirt. I give the bra a doubtful look. I keep my eyes wide so the tears won't fall. I look at the girl. “What's your name?”

She blinks as though confused. “Crystal.” “Thank you,” I repeat. “Yeah, okay.” She turns to leave, and I stop her with my voice. “I don't have a perfect life.” Crystal shrugs, leaving. * Surprisingly, the things Crystal gave me fit reasonably well. The shirt is way tighter than I like, and the bra barely covers my nipples, but I don't care a bit. It's so terrific to be liberated from the awful dress, I have no words for the feeling of relief.

Still, Crystal tore my heart out like a novice surgeon. No anesthetic, just brute force. I guess I needed it. I was starting to believe. Believe Noose. Believe in something outside myself. Dumb, Rose. I turn the knob on the door and push it open. The same guy looks down at me. All tough expression. “I need to go home,” I say. “Sure,” he says. “Let me clear it with Noose.” I put my hand on his arm. “Things are complicated with Noose and I.” His lips twist. “Yeah, I'm getting that.”

I sweep my eyes over him. He doesn't look like the rest of the bikers. “Are you a biker?” He pulls a face that obviously says you're a dumbshit. I stiffen my spine. “Yeah, I ride.” A lightbulb of understanding flickers over his features then is gone. “Oh, I'm a prospect.” “A what?” “I want to patch in—become a member of Road Kill.” “Does that mean you can get me home?” He's really confused now. “Yes,” he says slowly. “But I gotta clear it with Noose, or he'll string me up by the gonads.”

Okay. “I'll tell him and come back here, okay?” His eyes flick to some doors across the noisy club, and I squint through the haze of smoke and bodies. “Is Noose over there?” He nods. “Can't miss the door. It's got a hangman's noose graphic.” Wonderful. “You clear it with him. I don't wanna catch flack.” I nod, turning away. Throughout the club, there are men and women twined around each other. Some guys are playing pool, but most have women on their laps. Sharing drinks. Laughing. Doing other stuff.

I keep my eyes straight ahead of me, and I can feel their gazes pinned to my form as I walk, but no one says anything, thank God. I enter a dimly lit hall, my eyes moving over the pictures attached to the doors. On one of the doors is a classic hangman's noose. I straighten, wiping my damp palms on the borrowed jeans. I move forward with purpose. The door is barely cracked. I push it open just a bit with a fingertip, so nervous that I can barely stand it. I lick my lips, taking a deep breath. The space widens to about two inches. And there, in front of me is the girl who gave me the clothes.

I mean, I'm not sure it's Crystal because her face is planted on Noose's dick. I sway. My hand steadies me against the doorjamb. Noose's strong hand is buried in her hair, and he's running her mouth down his cock. He's not gentle. I can't hear Crystal breathing. The only sound is the smacking of her mouth as it rims the tip of him only for him to slam her back down again. I step back, very gently closing the door. Turning, I walk back to the prospect in a numb, distant fog.

“You see Noose?” I nod. Speech is impossible at the moment. “He okay with it? You leaving?” I have to think he's more than okay, since he couldn't wait to get a blow job the minute I rejected him. I nod again, clear my throat, and croak, “Couldn't wait to get rid of me.” He laughs. “Sounds like Noose.” Perfect. My stomach boils like it's filled with acid. His eyes narrow, looking at my face, then he seems to think better of saying anything. “Follow me. We'll get you home all safe and sound.” Safe and sound. I don't think I'll ever feel safe again.

11 Noose “The hearing's on Tuesday.” Wring nods. His blond buzz cut leaves his ears sort of stranded on the side of his head, and scars litter his scalp like small cutouts of pearly flesh. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. “So we've got Trainer on her.” Wring shrugs. “He's not going to leave her, Noose.” I know that. But fucking Diablo will not take our interference lying down. There will be retribution. I want Rose to know I'm there for the bullshit hearing. I've got her back. Even if she told me to leave.

Hard to swallow—even if she doesn't want to fuck me. My lips thin into a grim line. Her body sure wants to fuck me. But that's not enough. I want her mind. I want her will. I want Rose. Lifting my cell, I wag it at Wring. “Trainer says she's at her parents’.” “She'll be there awhile. Explaining what's gone down,” Wring says. I bet she'll leave out the version of my tongue in her pussy and the fingers. An image of Diablo’s fingers in Rose's pussy has me fucking pissed again. Wring studies my face, only the rumble of our bikes in the background. We're about three blocks from Rose's parents’ house. I'm hanging out, thinking

of what I've got to do. “What?” Wring asks. His eyes look like twin discs of shadows in his face. The streetlight from across the street doesn't reach our position. “Thinking about what we came in on back there.” “Chaos?” he asks in confirmation. I nod. I toss the cig butt on the ground and grind it under my heel. “That fucker Diablo—didn't look like he was hurting her.” Wring glances away for a second then back at me. “Word is, that fucker is psycho.” “Tell me something new. Fucking rapist,” I spit. “Not exactly.”

My head snaps in his direction from scanning the street, waiting for Rose's little car to cruise past. “Explain.” Wring swings his palms up inoffensively. “Listen, man—it's the word. But seeing how Rose was getting it, seems to be true.” “If you don't tell me what the cryptic fuck you're talking about in the next two seconds, we're gonna go.” Wring snorts. “Fine, ya prick. First, Diablo is a rapist. He likes to be one of many. Team player.” “Not funny.” I swirl my finger, urging him to go on. He agrees with a nod. “So he turns the girls on. Just works their bodies until they're so turned on, they finally let him

rape them.” I jerk my head back. “How is that rape?” “It is.” Wring taps his head. “It's a mental thing, form of torture. Think about it. Girl gets kidnapped. Scared out of her fucking mind. Then she's made to get all fixed up, gets splayed out in front of a bunch of men she doesn't know.” My memory flashes on Rose's sexy outfit, the hair, and the makeup. “Go on.” My fingers burn with adrenaline and anger. I have no outlet. Wring's eyes flick to mine. “We know how long a human being takes to burn through the fight-or-flight response.” Neither of us says anything. We

don't need to. “Diablo is somewhat skilled in this area, apparently. He plays with the pussy, gets the girl wet—while shame is there—fear, anxiety. But all those emotions are heightened ones. That's what makes it so bad. It's the sheer unexpectedness of it.” I can't stand it. “So Rose was turned on?” I growl. “Don't kill the messenger, Noose.” I hop off the bike, letting it run. I pace the shadowy sidewalk. Night took the day down in one swallow hours ago. I whirl, remembering Diablo's glossy fingers. I yell, rage and horror mixed. “Fuck!” Wring jumps off the bike,

hitting his stride and hopping the step up from the road to sidewalk in two steps. “Shut the fuck up, Noose!” He slaps my shoulder, and my lips clamp shut. My fists ready, I step into his chest. Wring's pale-blue eyes narrow. “Save this for Diablo.” “He made her want to fuck him through tricks.” Wring slams his palms into my chest, and I stagger backward. Wrong move. I jump him. We tumble off the sidewalk, and I chop him a good one in the jaw as we land. “Fucker!” Wring mutters and drives a fist into my gut. The wind sings out of me.

Goddamn. Wring sinks fingers into my T-shirt, jerking me nose-to-nose with him. “You dumb fucker, Rose didn't want to fuck him. She had no choice.” Wring shakes me until my teeth rattle. “He was torturing her more by forcing her body to accept it!” he seethes, dropping my ass. Air whoops through me. My palms slap the grass. I hike my ass to standing. Wring's chest heaves, and a red mark rides his jaw. “Think about it, Noose.” He shakes his head. “Forget thinking. You've apparently forgotten how.” I glower. “Rose would never want to have

sex with the man responsible for killing her sister, right? And they were holding her down. What girl could last, with a guy who knows how to pleasure a woman continuously working her pussy?” My chin dips. Fuck. His voice is soft. “That's right. Nobody. Eventually, fight and flight leaves; adrenaline dies out. If they weren't hurting her, her body would eventually just do what it wanted without her permission. Think, Noose.” I don't want to think about another man turning Rose on—a man who doesn't want her pleasure at all. He just wants to fuck her over. Literally. “How did you respond to all this?

After we got her out of there.” I meet his eyes. “I fucked up.” Wring chuckles. “If this is any indicator…” I glare at him again. “I made sure she was okay in the doc's.” I shrug. “How okay?” Wring asks, eyes hooded. Cocksucker knows me. “Got her off. Couldn't help it. Saw her with Diablo, and I had to—” “Just had to mark your territory, eh?” “I'm not peeing on her, Wring.” I sound sullen. “I bet she feels like you were.” Hadn't thought about it that way. Thought I was showing restraint when I really wanted to go balls deep. Make her

mine. Solidify shit. Fuck. I screwed things six ways to Sunday. Then I let Crystal suck me off. Like I needed that complication. I fold my arms. “Okay, I royally fucked up.” Wring nods, and I just keep the scowl going. “Come clean with her, Noose. Give her the day. Then say—Monday, get your dumb ass over to the bank. Ask her out for lunch.” “A date?” Wring's smirk is deadly. “Yeah, dumbass. Show her you're not all caveman, if possible. Convince her that she's more than tail. If that's how you feel.”

My chin comes up, and I clench my jaw. “I threw down for her, didn't I?” “We wouldn't be having this happy little convo if I thought she was just pussy.” “Fuck,” I mutter, savagely tightening my hair tie. He's right. “If the hearing is Tuesday, and Diablo has to be there, what's wrong with you showing up for Rose? Think about it. If your blood had been beaten to death by Diablo, wouldn't you want someone like yourself at your back?” I grind my teeth. “Yeah. I had planned to be there.” “She's got to want you there, Noose. Not so sure she does, given our MC status.”

“Crystal talked to her, told her we had a thing.” Surprise washes over Wring's features. “News to me.” I scrub my face with a rough palm. “ʼCuz we're not.” “Crystal wants to be somebody's property, Noose. Can't blame a girl for trying.” I shrug. “Yeah, she's got a mouth like a vacuum. She gets me off, but I'm not interested in anything permanent.” “That's what the sweet butts are for. But Crystal didn't get the memo, told your girl Rose something different. She takes off with the prospect, and pretty much everything you did for her to this point is suspect.”

“Rose thinks I wanted to have a novelty fuck?” I make a noise of disbelief. I wouldn't work this hard for a fuck. Hell, I don't work to get laid. Easy pussy is everywhere. I'd already had the mental conversation with myself that I apparently liked complicated pussy now. Rose's. I shake my head. “No way.” “But she might think it. Her perspective. Try to wrap your stubborn brain around the concept that she's not telepathic.” I flip him off. In the distance, I hear a noise like a wound-up tin can. Rose. I stand up straight and move to the

bike. Wring and I flip our legs over our seats simultaneously. We're parked along a narrow green corridor of trees bordered by a sparsely pebbled area for bicycles. We parked our rides there instead. A little white car cruises past. Blond hair flashes from the back seat. The kid. Charlie. I barely make out Rose’s outline. It's her, though. I feel like I can scent her across the road and through the glass. Our prospect, Trainer, rides by about five seconds later. His eyes find us in the darkness, and he gives the barest nod. Rose probably doesn't realize that

the protection she didn't want is there anyway. Whether she likes it or not.

12 Rose I never thought I'd get sick of hugging. My parents are exhausting. I love them, but God! I'm stuffed. They fed me every protein-layered thing I could eat until I was so full, I thought I would barf. Charlie is ready to go home, and I'm ready. I've given the most assurances of my life. Yes, I won't leave ever again without my candy. No, I won't be with anyone ever who doesn't know about my medical issue. I'm so tired, I'm sleeping on my feet. It's almost eleven o'clock on Saturday

night. One day off until work. One day of thinking about all the things that've happened in the last week—the last twenty-four hours—and trying to compartmentalize them into place inside my brain so that they make sense. It's hopeless. I can't make sense of anything. Noose. Drake. My life. Forget it. I keep my eyes on the road while Charlie prattles on about all the treats and fun he had at Nana and Papa's. I smile, nodding at all the appropriate places. But my mind keeps circling back to Noose. How alive I felt in his arms. How vital I felt as his lips, tongue, and

hands worked my body. His smell. The feel of rightness as our bodies came together. And we didn’t even have sex. Shame has its way with me as I remember Drake almost making me come. With five other men in the room. I force my eyes to stay on the road. Noose is an open wound. It really doesn't matter how great he was able to make me feel. In the end, any vagina will do. I couldn't have sex with him after the ordeal with Drake. So Crystal was available, and he got off with her, just minutes after making me cream my panties, the sound of my screams eaten by his mouth.

I'm certifiable. I don't want a man like Noose. He is the worst kind of news. He let another woman go down on him with the taste of my orgasm still on his lips. God. I pull up to my townhome. My stomach tightens. “Rose!” Charlies squeaks beside me, bouncing up and down. “Shhh,” I say softly. “Let me give the outside a look.” My eyes roam every bit of the tidy front yard. Anna's life insurance paid for this tiny condo. Maintenance came as part of the fee. I also chose it for how cute it was.

The tiny home backs up to a small park with a playground. Our own small yard is fenced. Rhododendrons, well past bloom time in late September, have grown to the size of small trees at the corners of the house. They’re a great hiding place. My eyes beat against every surface, seeing nothing out of place. The porch light glows a ghostly yellowish, illuminating the porch steps. Drake wouldn't hurt Charlie. Property, my mind whispers. I shiver. “Aunt Rose?” Charlie asks, his brow beginning to wrinkle in concern. “Come on,” I say, struggling for

courage. Just struggling. I lift the door handle, and the door swings out. I step out into the night. The kiss of late summer lingers, but the bite of autumn eats at the edges of the season, threatening to consume it. Charlie gets out and slams the door. He comes around to my side and races up the front walk. “Hey, pal!” I say loudly. But I'm smiling. It's such a relief to have this part of my life back, I feel like sobbing from that alone. He turns, dark eyes hidden by shadow, blond hair a torch of light in the night. “Go on,” I say with a laugh. He runs to the porch, upends the terra-cotta pot

filled with scarlet geraniums, and grabs the key. He stabs it into the lock and twists. Leaving the key in the lock, he shoves open the door. I trot after. Oops. I turn, locking the car with a beep. Noose stands beside my car, so quietly I never heard him behind me. Breath eases out me like I’m a leaky balloon, and I make an inarticulate sound like a strangled duck. “Rose.” It's all he says. My name. My pussy floods with moisture like a trained dog. Oh my God. I look back at the front door, partially open. “I need—” I swallow, hard. Come on, Rose, stop being a dumb bitch. “I

need to get in there and see that Charlie's okay.” “Don't worry about the kid, Rose. Got Trainer watching the house.” Confusion pierces my lust-induced fugue. “Trainer?” “Prospect,” Noose explains. Oh. I don't like thugs watching me and Charlie. I open my mouth to say so, and Noose strides to me. I back up, my ass hitting the garage door I never use. “Stop.” “No.” He cages me with his arms. I shut my eyes, engulfed by his scent. The sweet, almost vanilla-like smell of WD-40 mingles with leather, smoke, and bike. I suck it in like a demented addict.

An addict after her next fix. An image of Crystal, in sharp focus, going down on Noose's cock chokes out my raging withdrawals. “No,” I say, shoving at his chest. Noose doesn't even pause. He presses his gigantic erection against my front, grinding into me. “Yes,” he whispers. His lips brush my jaw, trailing featherlight kisses back and forth. My face turns so that my mouth is underneath that softly kissing trail. Noose groans. “I want you.” “Not enough.” I can't believe how convinced I sound. “I want you. Only you.” His arms wrap me, and I shake free of my lust.

Lies. Crystal worked in a pinch. “No you don't.” Noose leans back, studying my face like he'll memorize it forever. “We gonna talk?” His eyes are heated silver, scorching every bit of me. “No. I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen.” Noose's lips twitch. But he says nothing. “I know it's not just me you want.” Noose's lips thin. “Crystal lied. She told me what she said.” My laugh sounds like spun glass in the warm air. Noose's eyebrows lift. “What's so funny?”

“Before or after she blew you like a pro?” I ask, tossing his words back at him. He steps back. “What are you talking about?” I walk into his space, and he lets me, looking down from his great height. Noose is a huge man. I should be afraid. I should think about the potential for violence that seems to be like an aura around him. I don't. I'm too pissed off to care. “Any woman will do. You don't need only me. Whatever vagina walks by is the hole of the moment.” “What?” he roars. “Keep your voice down. I don't

want Charlie to see you.” His face is bitter, and he folds his arms. “Not good enough for you— ashamed?” God. No. “No. I… thank you for saving me from Drake.” I swallow my pride. This isn't about me. Noose saved me from Drake. He showed me how expert fingers, lips, and mouth—how all that really worked, how it could be. But I don't need a man who's going to come into my life—and Charlie's—and just leave when the next club slut comes along. Charlie deserves more. I do too. “I am so fucking tired of your Dear John speeches.”

I glare up at him. “Well, here's one that has nothing to do with a speech. Charlie is more important that whatever this”—I sweep a hand between us —“is.” His brows drop like bricks over his eyes, ablaze with steely anger. Noose opens his mouth, and I shake my head. “I can't have some man entering my life, only to leave it again because you've found a new knothole to stick your dick into.” “That doesn't sound like you, Rose.” I nod. “I know. Guilty by association.” Noose reaches out and touches my face. Tears brim, spilling over my lashes.

“I can't do that to Charlie,” I whisper. My gaze meets his. “And I deserve more than being played by you.” Noose pulls me against him and whispers in my hair, “I'm not playing games, Rose. I'm sorry that you saw Crystal and me.” He pulls away, framing my face in his hands. “You blew me off. My balls were bluer than fuck, made that way by one woman.” His eyes never leave mine. “You'd just been through that bullshit with Chaos. I couldn't be that much of a dick. No meant no. I got it. You told me to fuck off.” I open my mouth, but he presses a finger against my lips and shakes his head. “You needed to. I'm not a gentle man, Rose. I want to fuck you so bad, I

won't be able to use my head until I do it. Crystal got the edge off. I don't want her. She was just willing. Right place, right time.” “I am not an easy girl, Noose.” He barks out a laugh. “No shit.” I can't help a little smile, but it fades. “I don't need a man that will fuck anything that walks by.” “I can fuck anything that walks by,” he says. Arrogant prick. I duck under his arm and start walking up the winding path. He grabs my arm, spinning me around. I instinctively grab his arms for balance.

“Ask me if I want to?” My heartbeats pile up, one on top of the other. “Do you?” Slowly, Noose shakes his head. “You've fucking neutered me, Rose.” “What?” That sounds awful. Noose grins at my expression. I give a tentative smile in return. “There's only one pussy I want. I don't care about you having a kid, not knowing MC life, being a banker. I've tried to figure out why I have to have you. The short answer is: I don't know. What I do know is I don't want to go another day without you in it.” I can tell this is a speech for Noose. His hands are hard on me. His eyes are tender.

I shut mine. I can't stand how he looks at me or what he offers. Because I want it all. But if I say yes—if I say yes—I'll be like Anna. I step out of his hold, and his fingertips trail down my arms like brands of fire. “No.” I shake my head, backing away from him. “No what, Rose? No, to us? No, to the MC?” His features are thunder. Anger boils beneath the surface, simmering. “All of it, Noose.” I jog to my front door, slip inside, and close it. I lean against the solid wood, eyes closed, heart thundering. I did the right

thing. I did the right thing. The right thing feels so wrong, I can hardly breathe. Heat builds inside my chest. Tears that have been long held drip down my face while silent sobs stack up and flow out of my mouth. Charlie's voice shatters my meltdown. “Aunt Rose?” His tone has my eyes snapping open. Grinning, Drake is sitting at our tiny two-seater kitchenette with Charlie in his arms. The horrible wound at Drake’s neck is abraded and raw. It's already beginning to bruise. I know who put that there.

Noose. The man I just sent away. The man I love.

THE END Read More

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***Note*** Adult Reading Material. Content within intended for readers 18 years and older. Violent and disturbing themes throughout. Might contain triggers.

THE DRUID SERIES A Druid Compilation, 1-3 Reapers Bled Harvest New York Times Bestselling Author

MARATA EROS All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2011-14 Marata Eros No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used

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The vampires are a dying race, their females sterile. When it's discovered that human females of Druid ancestry can be viable breeders... the harvest begins.

Rachel Collins is a young woman living in the frozen north of Alaska in a dead-end job with a circular life. She yearns for something more. When murders begin taking place in the city where she lives, she and her girlfriend try to be more cautious, only to be caught in the middle of a dangerous situation in which an unlikely savior emerges. Can Rachel escape her destiny while two different factions hunt her?

REAPERS A Druid Series Novella Volume 1 New York Times Bestselling Author

MARATA EROS All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2011 Marata Eros No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,

actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Marata Eros Website Marata Eros FB Fan Page Font art by Bookish Brunette Designs Editing suggestions provided by Hazel Novak

CHAPTER 1 I looked at the clock, yet again... and knew that if my boss caught me I'd be toast. Safe in my cubicle, I swung my gaze away from the the dreaded time and looked for Michelle. She'd be hanging by the cooler, which she was. Michelle caught me looking and lifted her chin up in greeting and grinned. She knew what I was about. It was all about getting out of here and doing something for ourselves. It had been a Long-Damn-Week and I was going to let my hair down and have some fun. Michelle wrapped up her conversation with one of the petty chicks

that lounged all day while we picked up the slack. As Michelle walked toward me, I thought that maybe we wouldn't have to change: pencil skirts, thigh high stockings, stacked heels and blouses that yoked just where they should be to look sexy, nothing too much. Michelle stood in front of me, tapping a foot. “Watching the time won't help it go faster.” “Yes, I know, but I feel like the day should have ended already.” “I've got an idea, let's go to Spinners tonight,” she nearly squealed in delight. I wasn't feelin' the love on that place. It was always packed with a rough crowd and you had to beat the

guys off with a bat. Michelle saw my expression and started to wheedle immediately, “Listen, give it a half hour and if it's super-lame, we'll just bail and go somewhere else. Like that brewery place... what's it's name?” “Talbot's,” I replied absently. She snapped her fingers. “That's it!” “Listen,” she leaned forward and our hair mingled together, “that new gal... with the red hair...” “Molly?” I said, automatically looking around for her. “Yeah,” she waved her hand, dismissing the name. “She was talking about that piece of creepy news that's been circulating today.”

I looked at her blankly. “Oh for shit's sake, Rachel! Don't you pay attention to anything?” “Not really,” I said noncommittally. My life was beyond boring right now. I worked here, hung out with Michelle, worked out, read, fed my cat. I was dying for some Excitement. Dying. But the news wasn't going to deliver. Excitement... no way. “You're hopeless! Anyway,” she sounded the syllables out slowly, “there's been another killing. Another bleed-out.” That got my attention. It had been almost a month since the first murder and they still hadn't found the killer.

Then there were the rapes. Somehow, it was all connected. Men were killed and drained dry of their blood and if there were women with them, they were raped. But none of the women could remember the attack or their attacker. Our gazes locked. “So... they found another body. Two, actually.” Michelle said ominously, waggling two fingers. Great. Just when I thought we could flounce around for the weekend. Talk about a wet blanket. “Maybe... we shouldn't go to Spinners then. I mean, if it's not safe.” “Eff-that, you're going! I just wanted to spread the gory gossip.” “That's kinda sick, you know.”

Michelle nodded vigorously, she knew. I sighed. There was no getting out of it once Michelle had her mind set. And, in my soul... if I didn't get a break from this job and do something out-of-body, I'd scream. “I gotcha talked right into it, don't I?” Her eyes sparkled. “I guess but, we need to be careful, especially now,” I said in a conspirator’s whisper. “Hell, I'm more worried about the regular guys.” “Were the women... you know, was there blood... there?” I asked. She spun back around, her skirt twirling a little with the motion. “That's

the major weird thing, they had all been bitten, but still had their blood. Only a pint gone.” Well, wasn't that just comforting. Michelle winked as she sauntered off, hips swaying. “Pick ya up at seven sharp.” She didn't wait for me to respond. Michelle knew she had me, hook, line and sinker. I gathered up all my stuff, slipped my heels back on my feet and headed for the door. Unfortunately, my dragon lady of a boss was blocking my way. “Miss Collins, I see you're ready to leave.” She looked at her behemoth of a wristwatch. “Two minutes after five.”

She raised a humongous unibrow at me and I stifled a giggle. It was hard to be pissed at her when she looked so ridiculous. Almost. “Yes. That's traditionally when the work day ends for us here, Ms. Hogan,” I replied, thinking with mild irritation that Hogan had me by the short hairs. She knew I needed the job, she couldn't lambast me for leaving when the work day was through, technically. But... she liked to make me feel diminished for leaving so close to the chiming of the clock. Hogan looked me over from head to toe, taking in my long black hair, so deep a black it had blue highlights in the right

light. My eyes were a pale blue, I was shapely but not skinny, and on the tall side. I didn't consider myself a hot number but I held my own. Hogan, on the other hand looked like she was always trolling for a new bridge. I had discreetly pressed my elbow into the elevator button and it dinged just as she opened her mouth to mention something else equally unimportant, her jowls swinging as she popped her mouth open then closed it again. I felt my escape portal open at my back and walked backwards into its gaping mouth, never more glad to be out of mortar range of the enraged cow, aka my boss. She glowered at me, starting to

waddle forward and I blurted out, “Have a great weekend!” The door swept closed in front of me. I did a mental forehead-wipe. Thank God I was out of there. As the elevator descended I prepared myself for the onslaught of cold weather, my car would need at least five minutes to heat up. The days were long here in the north and heating my car in the underground parking garage was just part of what we did in Alaska. The elevator doors hissed apart and the cold air swept into the tight space, momentarily stealing my breath. I huddled my full length coat around myself, silently wishing the car was already warm. I rushed out of the

elevator's cocoon of heat, my heels making clicking sounds on the concrete as I made my way to my car. If you could call it that. As I approached I knew my car stood out, it was a Smart Car and Michelle liked to tease and say it was a toaster that I drove, not a real car. I smiled, she had me there. I fumbled with my keys, finally yanking my glove off with my teeth, groaning as the cold air assaulted my fingertips, making them instantly numb. “Hey, Rachel,” I dropped my keys on the ground, spinning, my hand to my heart. It was Erik, a guy from work. My shoulders slumped in relief. He scared

the shit out of me. “Scare you?” he smiled. I smiled back tentatively. He had really been pursuing me and I wasn't that interested. I couldn't put my finger on it exactly but there was just something off about him. Erik approached me and I stiffened a little, but he bent over, jerking the keys off the ground and put a finger through the loop of my key fob and hung them off his finger in front of my nose. I tried to snatch them and he yanked them just out of reach. “Meet me for dinner,” he stated, his eyes steady on my face, disconcerting. “Ah... Michelle and I are going out tonight,” I said, trying to distract him.

“Rain check?” he pressed, never stopping his eye contact. I was starting to get nervous. Damn. I resisted the supreme urge to look around, seeing if there was anyone else. But there wasn't. I could feel the absence of others. I sure wasn't short on woman’s intuition. Just another creepy service we offer, I thought, getting the heebiejeebies. I closed my coat tighter around me and his eyes tracked the movement, a smile spreading on his face. “I'll let you go, I know you have plans.” But his face told another tale. I didn't think he'd forget my rebuff anytime soon. I held my hands out and I was happy

to notice that they weren't shaking. He'd really put me in a creeped out mood and I wasn't happy about it. He dropped the keys into my cupped hands and smiled again, tipping an imaginary hat. I turned after his back was to me and stabbed the key into the lock, opening the door in one movement I slid behind the wheel, slapping the flat of my palm on the lock after it closed. I heard the simultaneous click in the silence of the car and let the breath out I didn't realize I'd been holding. Holy-hell. I turned on the car and stewed for the five minutes, all the while wishing I could have driven off.

That encounter with Erik had put a bad taste in my mouth. Like diet pop, but somehow worse. I pulled out of the bowels of the building, the night as black as when the day started. I entered traffic and began the drive to my condo, almost in the heart of downtown. I couldn't wait to be home. I threw my lights on, and glancing right then left I was so startled that I almost let my foot off the brake into opposing traffic. Erik sat behind the wheel of his car. He'd been sitting there the entire time... waiting for me. I gunned it at the first hole in traffic that appeared. What a whacko!

I'd have to tell Michelle he was a nut-job. She'd have him cracked in no time. **** I had my head thrown back and my lips parted, the last swipe of mascara almost perfect... there! I stood back and looked at my reflection: definitely not work attire. I was so glad I made the decision to not perk up the whole mess with just a new top. Michelle probably would have flogged me if I had anyway. She'd be dressed-to-kill (as usual). I needed to make an effort. Sometimes, I wondered why I bothered. Michelle would go, shine, get picked-up, bang

some anonymous stud in the bathroom or wherever, and I would sip my drink wishing I could go home and curl up with a book. I sighed. That's okay. She was... my vicarious slutty friend. And I loved her. I grabbed my vanilla body spray and squirted a last dab. If I ended up dancing a lot, I'd be glad I wore it. It was frigid outside but once we were inside Spinners, with all the bodies packed in there, it'd be a different story. I heard the doorknob jiggle and caught sight of Michelle coming through the doorway looking delectable in her slut suit. She twirled for me so I could get the full effect. “That should be illegal!” I nearly

screamed. She had a micro-mini on that was two part: it cupped her ass and was barely legal (skimming the indecent exposure laws by a millimeter). It was hot pink, setting off her platinum hair to perfection. She “helped” the color of said hair, but not by a lot. Michelle was a rare thing up here in the frozen north and I was betting that it was her coloring that got her so much attention, and the boobs... and the outfits. And, and.... I smiled as she circled me like a shark, gauging my potential for Attracting the Opposite Sex. “I don't know... is this the shortest skirt you have?” Her brows closed the distance between her eyes. I self-consciously ran my hand over

my short black skirt, it barely covered the lace of my thigh-highs... a gorgeous pair that I had splurged on from Italy. “Yeah, I can't go much shorter without the lace tops showing.” Michelle gave me a blank look. “Seriously, that's part of the allure.” “Ah... no. I say let them guess. It is underwear after all.” “I say show it!” Michelle said. “Mystery,” I replied. She threw her hand up. “Whatever, I give up. At least you did right by the top.” I had almost not worn it, it was a scorching crimson and showed off my raven hair, my eyes stranded like startled jewels in my pale face. It left my arms

bare and was tucked inside the skirt. Michelle allowed her glance to linger a moment longer on my outfit, then shook her head as we walked out. I gave a quick pet to Caesar the cat and waltzed out.

CHAPTER 2 Spinners was packed as usual and we jockeyed for position, awkwardly elbowing everyone without trying to maim people. It was always this way. I couldn't believe our luck! I spied a couple of bar stools and we raced over there to stake our claim before they were snatched up. We perched our butts on the stools, aimlessly looking around at the bodies packed together, dancing the night away. I noticed they had already opened all the windows, allowing the subtwenty degree air in. It didn't matter, it felt like a balmy eighty where we sat. The bartender got our drinks. I sipped on a Blue Hawaiian and

Michelle had Sex on the Beach (of course). She swung her leg back and forth and I was getting a spot-on flash of bright red panties... and so were a bunch of guys, judging from the expression of the gaggle of hunks sitting across from us. “So what happened with Erik?” “Yeah!” I yelled to be heard over the din. “He did this weird thing with my keys...” and I told her the whole thing. Michelle leaned forward to catch everything because the noise was swallowing my words. She leaned back against the bar, her elbows flung back and her wrists dangling off the edge, looking thoughtful. For Michelle that meant she was quiet

for more than one minute. Finally she said, “Yeah, you want to stay away from him. I hear he went out with some girl and date-raped her.” Perfect, I thought. That'd kinda been the vibe I was getting off him. Wasn't sure that confirmation was the greatest thing in this case, after all, I worked with the weirdo. Wonderful. I was momentarily distracted when two of the cute guys across the way sidled over to us. The one on the right was almost as blonde as Michelle but that's where the similarity ended. He was a head taller than her with brown eyes and a face that had seen acne in its youth. I guess he was ruggedly

handsome. He spent time in the gym; it was in the set of his shoulders, the way he moved... like he had purpose. Tonight his purpose was Michelle. His eyes never left the foot that swung, traveling up to the apex of what the skirt almost showed. He looked like a dog ready to mount a bitch. It did something for her because her foot stopped swinging and she gave him the come hither look. The night was Going According to Plan. “Want to dance, cutie-pie?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. He all but panted while I rolled my eyes in my head. I just couldn't do it. It's not that I'd never had sex. Casual just wasn't a main

entree. I dreamed that there was someone for me in my future. Someone that I could share something with. I felt almost like... almost like I was waiting. Michelle argued there was plenty to be shared. She was into sharing. Generous Michelle. I watched her on the dance floor, plastered to Rugged, grinding for all she was worth, he was all over her and she was loving it. I took my eyes off them and looked at the guy in front of me. He was way cuter than Rugged. He had the enigmatic something that made a girl want to get a little closer. So I did. “Do you want to dance?” he asked.

I nodded. He held out his hand, which was big I noticed. I tried not to think about how it would feel to have those hands roaming over my body but couldn't quite do it. He took me up against him and I molded against his torso. As those hands came to rest on the small of my back, the heat from them warmed me. He looked into my eyes and they held a promise of a fun night... if that's what I wanted. I didn't grind against him but I could feel that he was happy to be there. He smiled at me, knowing I was aware of his arousal. He clutched me tighter and lowered his face next to mine and whispered, “Your friend's gone.” Now he was kissing my neck.

Unease crept its way along my body. Usually Michelle gave me some kind of signal or something. I looked around for her trying not to feel frantic. “Where did they go?” I semishouted at him. “Outside!” He inclined his head in the direction of the door. “You want to go find them?” he asked, his fingers already twining in mine. I looked down at our clasped hands and that feeling of unease bloomed in me again. I couldn't shake it. I understood on some level that I was just getting residual anxiety from the strange encounter with Erik and letting that cloud my thinking. I wasn't going to take

it out on this guy. “Yeah, let's find them,” I said decisively. I should have listened to that voice inside my head.

CHAPTER 3 The wind was up and tore at the light outfit I had chosen for dancing inside. It simply wasn't enough. But the guy, (Matt, he'd told me as we hurried out) had said he thought they'd be in the car. “How much further?” I asked as I shivered in the light coat I'd slung on without a care before we left. I cared now, I was freezing my halfnaked ass off. “Not much,” he wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we walked and that helped. Sure enough, another block of parked cars revealed a car that was

running. I could see a flash of pink in the car, but barely. What was happening? It was Michelle but there were... others. Other men. My foreboding slammed back over me, washing away all tact. I went to wrench the car door open and Matt stopped me. “They're busy.” “Ah duh, Einstein, I can see that. But I don't know if she was planning on being this busy,” I said, seeing that there were at least two guys in there. Matt put his hands up, as if to say, hey, no problem, just sayin'. Irritating jerk.

Sighing, I tore open the door and was entirely unprepared for what I saw before me: Michelle had Rugged behind her shoving his cock right up to her groin, the whole length of him digging in, sparing her nothing, his balls slapping her ass. The other guy, who I vaguely remembered sitting across the way from us, had his hand fisted in all that blonde hair and was pressing her face up and down on the shaft of his dick. When the door opened, Rugged's eyes flew open and his gaze met mine. His body was pumping and working behind Michelle his hand reached over and slapped her ass and she moaned, her head working up and down the shaft of

the prick she had in her mouth. I didn't think she had planned on this and I yelled, “Michelle!” She tried to take her head off the cock she was on but he shoved her back down and she gagged. “I'm gonna spray my cum you dumb bitch, keep sucking.” She squirmed to try and get away and Rugged held her hips, pounding into her harder. I backed away with my hand covering my mouth. Michelle wasn't fooling around... she was getting raped. I swung around to get help and Matt wrapped his arms around me. One of his big hands that I'd admired so much earlier covered my mouth so I couldn't scream.

Adrenaline slammed into me like a sheet of cold water. Dragging me into the front seat of the car he threw me across and I bounced once, almost landing against the opposite door. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew what was going to happen as Rugged said hoarsely, “God... I'm gonna cum in her snatch right now, oh God!” The whole car rocked as he plunged his length into Michelle and the other guy torqued her head down on him and said, “Swallow it... that's it, swallow it. Ahhh... that's right,” he groaned, throwing his head back, his lips slightly parted. I started to fully panic then,

scrambling across the seat, my skirt hiking around my hips as I struggled to reach the door. Matt landed on top of me and all the air in my lungs went out in a rush. I couldn't breathe and was in a state of sheer panic, Matt was not the guy I had taken him for. Neither were his friends. I could hear Michelle sobbing softly and the rustle of her clothes as she tried to adjust everything. Two heads and upper chests appeared over the top of the back seat as Matt's engorged arousal pressed along my inner thigh, trying to gain entrance, his pants long gone. “You gotta a live one there,” Guy X

said. “Not as 'live' as the bitch we just did,” Rugged replied, laughing. The sweet air of the car's interior entered in a rush, filling my lungs to capacity and I screamed for all I was worth, tearing something loose in the process. Matt's hand clamped over my mouth and I bit him, trying to meet my teeth together. He snatched his hand away and bellowed. I knew what was coming as I was pinned under him, his other hand came down with depressing speed and accuracy, slamming into my cheekbone, my head rocketing back against the door. My head swam and his fingers dug at my panties while the other men

watched.... Just when I thought there wasn't a hope in the world, the driver's side door was torn open, the hinges shrieking, then releasing in the process. The door was flung behind the figure that filled the opening. I was seeing him upside down but the guys in the back seat summed it up, “What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?” He was my savior... whoever he was. Matt was backing off me in a hurry, leaving me to the stranger's mercy. With my head spinning all I saw was a strong jaw, black jeans, boots and a bad-ass leather zip-up. As he leaned down, the whiteness of his teeth gleamed in the

interior dome light of the car, his nearly bald head had an inky wash of short black hair covering it, the shirt breaking open at the neck to reveal a tattoo that crawled up his neck. He wasn't big on conversation, his hand snaking out in a lethal punch that terminated on Matt's nose. There was a sickening crunch and he backed up, howling. His bleeding hand with my teethmarks held what I was sure was a broken nose as he fell right outside the car on his ass. The stranger looked down at me then and his eyes were a startling blue, not icy pale like mine. They were nearly white in a face that was pale, his lush mouth a deep scarlet slash. He looked

me over carefully, but only a second or two as he was going to have to deal with Rugged and Guy X. Those two had gotten out of the car and I was too weak to even turn over and see things right side up. If he'd meant me harm, it would have happened. At least that's what I told myself. Rugged and Guy X faced him. “You could have had a piece of this action, if you'd asked nice.” The stranger looked briefly at Michelle who was trying to stop crying, the sobs turning to hitching hiccups. Then he spared a glance in my direction, taking in my clothes in disarray, my face starting to swell from the blow I'd received.

“They do not look as though it was the attention they wished for,” the stranger responded. I noticed that he was enormously big compared to the two men who had abused Michelle. And that was saying something because Matt had me by inches and I was five-eight. Rugged said, “You talk funny.” “As do you,” Stranger said. Guy X circled around him, taking his measure as a male. “I think you need an ass-kicking. You've beat the shit out of our car in the middle of fuckin' winter in this cold-ass place, ruined another piece of easy tail for me and my buds here. You gotta get what's comin' to ya.” Stranger looked at them as they

rushed him at the same time. From my angle I saw everything upside down and in slow motion. Rugged came at him like a charging bear and Stranger swung his arm forward in a stiffened knife jab move and with the flat of the palm he landed it square in Rugged's nose. He stared blankly for a moment then fell like a box of rocks, his nose shattered. Guy X was a slow learner and grabbed him from behind and latched onto his wind pipe. Stranger grabbed the forearm which held him, crushing it before my eyes just using the one hand, while the other spun Guy X around to stare at him. He was howling, taking great lungfuls of air to bellow louder. “Stop that noise,” Stranger said.

And he did. The stranger stared into the eyes of Guy X. “Tilt your head.” Guy X looked like he was in a fog, as if he was not in command of his mind. He cocked his head to the extreme left. The long, clean line of his neck was exposed under the street lamp, the artificial light casting a ghostly yellow on the flesh of his throat. The stranger reared back like a snake and hissing, struck Guy X's neck. His teeth as he arced above Guy X's neck was something I would never forget: They were fangs. I was riveted. My presumed savior was not a man... he was something else.

I had to get out of here. I tried to sit up and my head swam. I was woozy from the blow. The stranger had gathered Guy X in his arms and was taking great gulps from him but his eyes were pinned on me. Time. To. Go. I looked over the back seat and met Michelle's horrified eyes. Her mascara had made its way all over her face and I said, “Let's get out of here. Right now.” I slid out of the car, one of my high heels falling off and was met by another stranger. This one had blonde hair and the same icy-blue eyes as the other. They were busy tonight. This one was all over Matt. He sucked at his neck while Matt made

disconcerting mewling sounds underneath him. He lifted his mouth off Matt long enough to hiss at Michelle, which got us moving. We backed away, both my shoes left on the sidewalk. They watched us but did not follow, taking the last of the men's blood. Their lives ebbed as we watched. “What are they?” Michelle whispered. “Ah... I think we've just been saved by those blood-killers.” “They... they raped the women...” We looked at each other, dawning comprehension mirrored in our expressions. We ran.

We ran until my lungs burned, the images of them sucking those guys lives away etched permanently in my brain. We were within sight of my car when we saw them leaning against it, one dark, the other light. “Holy shit,” Michelle stammered. Yeah, that. They came off the car at the same moment like perfectly choreographed twins. But it was the dark one that made my heart speed in my chest. They came to stand before us. “We need to scrub them both. They have seen entirely too much,” the blonde one said, his stare going from Michelle to me. The dark one laid his icy gaze on me and I shivered. From what I didn't

know but his gaze penetrated my bone and marrow. “Holy shit,” Michelle said again. I seconded that. Still I said nothing while they looked at us for a long moment. “No. The blonde one forgets. This one, no.” “Why, Cole?” the blonde stranger asked. “She is fair of face and figure, but there are many...” “You cannot smell her?” Cole asked. The blonde's head whipped around and his penetrating gaze was suddenly all for me; I backed away. Finally, he shook his head. “All I smell is their fear. They smell like prey.” “Underneath that, Nathan.”

One moment he was ten feet away and the next he had his arms around me and I screamed. Michelle started to run but faster than my eyes could track, the one named Cole had her in his arms, his hand covering her mouth and the fingers of those long hands feathered her temple. And I'd thought Matt's hand had been big... my God, his were palming her entire face. Voices drifted down, the blonde's face was buried in my neck and I began to hyperventilate. Images flooded my mind of my would-be rapists not finishing what they started, distracted with death-by-blood loss. “Be still,” he said, his fangs bursting out of his mouth.

I thrashed around and he turned to Cole. “She will not follow my command.” “Will it so,” Cole said. He buried his nose in my neck, breathing my scent in, his fangs grazing the skin of my neck. Lifting his head he said, “Breeder.” “Yes.” “We must take her. There are so few left. This one is... she is rare.” A drunken group stepped out into our little mess and Michelle began hollering, “Help, help!” A couple of the guys broke away from the pack and made their way over to us, Cole stood away from Michelle and the blonde released me slowly, like

he didn't want to stop touching me. As they approached the males, they looked into their eyes and each stranger said, “Leave this place.” One of the men grabbed his temples with his hands, shaking his head like he couldn't release the clutches of something. “That one has a strong mind,” Nathan said. “Some of the cattle do,” Cole said. Cattle. I started to back away, subtly getting Michelle's attention. We were almost to the car when Cole's head whipped around. “You... will not leave.” Michelle began hollering again but the men walked away. The one who shook his head cast a final glance behind

him. As we watched he massaged his temple, continuing to walk away. They retraced their steps toward us and my heart sank. We could not outrun something we couldn't see move, something that crushed a man's face with one swipe, disintegrated an arm with a grip strong enough to pulverize bone. As they drew nearer, their fangs stood out of their mouths, barbed points ready to pierce our flesh. Michelle latched on to my hand and I prepared myself for the worst. “You cannot thirst.” “No, but the blonde one's fear is an aphrodisiac,” Nathan said. “Yes, but think on this Nathan: has she not already been degraded enough by

the human scum we dispatched?” Cole said. “Yes,” Nathan ground out. “You speak true.” “Then scrub her and we take the female breeder.” Nathan approached Michelle and she started to wail, her screams broken only by her next breath. The blonde was suddenly in front of her. Squeezing her throat lightly, he cut off her screaming and the sudden silence filled the parking area. The snow was falling softly around us, some of the flakes catching in my eyelashes. Nathan stared deeply into Michelle's eyes. Finally he moved away and she stood there, blank faced, in a zombie-like

stupor. “What did you do to her?” I whispered. “Something we cannot do for you,” Cole remarked. I backed away and they tracked me. “I am not going with you,” I said, proud that my voice only shook a little. “We understand your fear, but you will come with us. How do you humans put it? It is non-negotiable.” “You don't understand anything! You two... whatever-you-are, sucked our attacker's blood. They died and now you're calling me some kind of 'breeder'. No offense, but it's not looking too good on my end.” My eyes bounced from one to the

other of them. I couldn't follow their movements, just when I thought I had one in my sights they moved so fast they were both suddenly one foot away from me, each holding an arm. I opened my mouth to scream and Cole put his mouth on mine, stifling it. His kiss blossomed and spread to the center of me, making my panties instantly moisten. I'd never had a reaction like this in my life. Of course, I'd always made out with human men. My fear was in my throat but my biology was never touched by it. I couldn't move my arms but as my mouth moved against his, he released my arm and I wound it around his neck, pressing his lips harder against mine and he

groaned and pulled me against him. My mind played tug-of-war, my intellect was screaming that he was some creature of the night. He'd killed two men before my eyes but my center bloomed for him; heat stretching and spreading from between my legs. My nipples hardened and he reached behind me, placing his hands under my thighs. Never breaking from the kiss, he lifted me up and I wound my legs around his waist. “She is so eager,” Nathan said, releasing my other arm. He circled us, grabbing a piece of my hair and flicking it behind my shoulder. That broke through the heat of the moment and my intellect slammed back

into place. I broke away and shoved at his chest with my hands. He let me slide down his body and when my feet hit the pavement, the cold moved up my legs, freezing that searing heat before it progressed. I gave Nathan a dirty look, noticing Michelle still stood there in the same position, gooseflesh covering her arms, her teeth chattering. “I don't know what you are, or why this is happening but I just want you to go... now. I will get my friend and I home without any help from you.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Your body speaks for what you want. It speaks for what you are.” “Oh?” I arched my eyebrow. “What

is it that I am?” “It is what is in your blood, you are of Druid blood. They are the only humans that may breed with us.” Druid? What the hell was that? Okay, next question: “What are you?” They looked at each other. “We are Vampire, witch,” Cole said as if that should have been obvious. Witch? Had the conversation devolved to name-calling at two a.m.? “Do you know of your people?” I couldn't believe I was standing out here in twenty degree weather talking to a couple of guys claiming to be vampires. I felt incredibly stupid to have kissed the one... Cole.

“Ah, no. I'm adopted. Okay, while all this is interesting, it's time to go.” I turned to Michelle, who had a spot of drool coming out of her mouth. God, what did they do to her? I walked over to her, grabbing a limp arm and started dragging her to my car. Suddenly, they stood in front of me. “Would you stop doing that!” I said, fear choking me. A smile spread over Cole's face. “Doing what?” His fangs were smaller now that he wasn't trying to French me. Sirens began in the distance and we all looked in their direction. “The human police,” Nathan said. “Yes.” “Another time, breeder,” Cole said.

He licked his finger and touched it on my forehead. “I mark you for another time, very soon.” They disappeared into thin air and I was left with Michelle, the approaching cops, and a pulsing core that wept for the vampire that was now gone.

CHAPTER 4 My eyes felt like they had crushed glass in them but I wasn't going to bed any time soon. These assholes had made me repeat the same answers to the same shit about two hundred times. I was getting pissed. Poor Michelle was curled up, sleeping on the couch, a rape kit finished and being processed. “Okay, Miss Collins, I want to ask you one more time,” the detective ran slim hands through his hair, making it whack out in all different directions. Its honey-colored goodness would have been fun to look at had I not been at the Anchorage Police Station at going on four-oh-hell in the morning.

“You claim your friend,” and he threw a look at Michelle, who was a small mound under the gunmetal gray blanket they'd thrown over her on the lumpy precinct couch, “was attacked.” He looked down at his notepad, scrolling down with his finger until he found the detail he was looking for, “...by two men, claiming to be vampires. That, inadvertently,” he made airquotes here, “saved you from the attackers.” I wanted to punch him in the snout, he was just that condescending. I was so done here. “Listen... Detective...” “Jewel, Christopher Jewel.” Fine. “Anyway, my friend just got a fun rape kit done, and you have three

bodies without any blood... right?” He tapped his pen on his notepad. “Actually, we have evidence that suggests there was an incident at that location, but there has not been any bodies recovered.” Wow... the vampires had done away with the evidence. My heart sped thinking about how fast they'd been to go back to the scene and get rid of three men before the police got there. “And the vampire story...” he looked at me like, you really expect me to believe this? “That's what they told me,” I replied. “That is a myth, there are no such thing as vampires. However, I know

from the minute that you came in here I have not been able to get touching you out of my mind.” His eyes stared into mine and I got up so quickly from the chair it fell over with an echoing clatter of metal against tiled linoleum. He walked over to me as if he was in a fugue. “You smell,” and he leaned in as I leaned away, “very good.” Okay, now things were getting weird. Mr. Professional Cop was coming on to me in the middle of the police station when he should be getting my statement. “It says here that, 'he was kissing me, then heard the police sirens and he and the other vampire left',” he resumed his questioning.

I nodded. Maybe he'd get off all the personal weirdness then. I covertly looked around in the hopes of spotting another cop. There was only Michelle on the couch and a lone secretary waaayyyy down the hall. Shit. As if on cue, he walked over to Michelle. “She smells fuckable too,” he said and with that, he whipped off the cover and spread her legs. She stirred in her sleep when I yelled, “Hey!” This couldn't be happening. Where was everyone? Whatthe-hell? What the blue fuck was wrong with him? But he'd already put a finger inside

her, and started pumping it back and forth. “Yeah, she's still really lubed up from all that cum that got dumped in there.” I ran over there and shoved him and he turned, my friend's crotch spread to the world. He backhanded me and I spilled on the floor as he all but ran over to the door, closing it and locking it in place. My face stung unmercifully having just been hit in the same spot a couple of hours before. It felt like days. Where the hell were all the other cops? I tried to scramble to my feet but he tackled me, tearing at my skirt and ripping down my panties. I responded

with a knee to the crotch, my jaw on fire. As if from a distance, I heard a crash and glass shattered behind me, falling like crystal rain all around us, my arms shielding my face. I didn't open my eyes as Detective Jewel was torn off me. I became aware of the fact that there wasn't any more noise and cold air was rushing in and... I had no clothes on. I closed my legs all the way and threw my hands down to cover the apex of my thighs. I opened my eyes and there were Nathan and Cole, the vampires were back. “Has she been... violated?” Nathan asked.

Cole bent down, putting his nose right above my crotch and I flinched, he laughed. He shook his head. “No, there is no human taint upon her.” He jerked his head in the direction of the secretary and said, “Take care of the human female and all that you encounter in the interim.” Nathan nodded and sped down the hall, a blur of gray, the black softened by the motion of his body. Cole swung his gaze back to me. “Are you alright?” I nodded stiffly, his voice was like velvet gravel and I became aroused again. I was instantly furious with myself. I had just about been raped by a police officer for shit's sake and here I

was: ready-to-hump a stranger that wasn't even human. I started shaking from shock and cold. Perfect. “I'm fine,” I said, getting up unsteadily and searching for my skirt without a shred of dignity. Difficult to have any when you were wearing a top, thigh-highs and nothing else. Cole-the-vampire held out my skirt, which dangled from a finger but the panties were beyond repair. I grabbed it and threw it on, hopping twice to get it zipped up. As I'd been getting the skirt on Cole stared at my body, his eyes missing nothing. I was still flushed by the scrutiny and feeling vulnerable. There was no place that was safe. The

police station was not safe, obviously, and the dangerous vampires were back. Their motivations were suspect. Nathan burst back into the grim interrogation room and nodded at Cole. “It is done.” Cole looked at me. “Time to go.” “No,” I said, backing away. “It is not safe for you here. The human males smell us on you... on her.” He gave a dismissive glance at Michelle. “They will try to take you by force.” “What does that have to do with anything?” Nathan shrugged. “They are little more than the basest animals. They smell vampire pheromone and it causes a

territorial urge that they can't intellectualize away.” “They wish to mate with any female that comes into close contact with one of our kind. It is primal. They think if they can impregnate you, then we obviously... cannot.” Made a warped kind of sense. I had a sudden thought. “But Michelle isn't a 'breeder'.” Cole smiled, turning to Nathan. “I told you the Druids were superior. It is more than just bloodline. It is many things.” Nathan grunted. He didn't sound convinced. They looked at me and I stared back. Finally, I shook my head. “I'm

sorry, I don't know you and you're obviously dangerous... I have a life here,” I said by way of explanation. “We know of your life, Witch,” Cole said. “It's Rachel.” “Rachel,” his voice caressed each syllable and I was so into that sound, like spoken velvet caressing things down low in my body. I had to shake my head to get rid of the urge to undress right there. Nathan laughed. “She is ready for you, Cole.” “Yes.” That was so unflattering. What? Could they smell my arousal? Nathan nodded, interpreting my

expression. “We know when you are ripe, female. We must. How many breeders are in existence for us?” “Too few,” Cole responded. Jewel was coming to his senses. He swung his head from side to side, trying to clear it. He got up from all fours and started to come for me and Cole turned to him. “Not her,” baring his fangs with a hiss. Jewel looked bewildered but only for a moment, then his gaze fixed on Michelle and he walked toward her. “No!” I yelled. “He can't rape her!” But Cole and Nathan shook their heads, holding me back from saving my friend. “We need him to be distracted from

taking you. He will not remember. He will fuck the human female and they will be caught up in dealing with him and... her.” I watched in muted horror as Jewell dropped his pants, inserted a finger inside her and with a satisfied nod, he pushed his shaft in deeply, working it in and out, never even glancing our way. Michelle's eyes flew open and she started to holler and Nathan stalked over to her, looking deeply in her eyes he said, “You're coming.” Michelle began to scream in a whole different way, her core grabbing onto Jewel's cock as he ground it into her. He sped his pace as we all watched, tears silently streaming down my face.

My friend used a pawn on the chessboard of everyone else. As Jewell finished up, his balls slapping her ass, he groaned, “Ah, yeah...” and with several quick thrusts, he collapsed on top of her. “I can't do this,” I said, backing away from everyone. I couldn't help Michelle as Jewel flipped her over on her stomach. “What's he doing?” I nearly yelled. “Her ass, I think,” Nathan said casually. I ran then. I ran down the hall, past people that stood in a stupor and didn't see me. I rushed outside in a ripped skirt, heels and a torn blouse moving swiftly to my

right, heading straight for the first building I could see. I could get help, I thought. Suddenly, a large hand clamped on my shoulder and whirled me around. It was Cole. “You will come with us.” He put a bag over my head and Nathan tied my wrists together. A feeling of weightlessness overcame me, causing me to feel at once heavy and light. My vision receded to a small point of light. Then... even that went black and I knew no more.

CHAPTER 5 I cracked my eyelids open and looked around at where I was, disoriented and flushed, my first vision was of a stone ceiling. Where was I? Shit! Remembering the last twentyfour hours made my head ache. The memories came crashing down on me like rain on a tin roof. I sat up slowly. My wrists were now unbound and the bag that had covered my head lay on top of a thick and solid wood bureau that sat underneath a leaded window, diamonds fracturing the light as it came through the glass.

I stood up on feet without heels, my skirt a tangled mess and walked over to the window. I looked through the molded panes. The warped glass offered a view of extensive grounds that rolled off into the distance, covered by a glittering white carpet of snow. Spruce trees danced in the wind at the perimeter of the compound. Because that was what this was, I was sure, seeing the outline of a great stone wall that followed the forest border. I turned, taking in the surroundings of my room. Aside from the solitary window, there was a bed, the dresser and a large mirror. It was so large it took up a third of the wall. That was strange, I thought, approaching it.

I stood in front of the mirror, gazing at my reflection and noticed the crimson blouse was worse-for-wear, the black skirt ruined, the thigh-highs from Italy, torn. But it was my face that looked different; absolutely pale like alabaster. Purple smudges underneath my blue eyes like bruises, my lips a deep pink in a sea of pale flesh. I shuddered, looking down at where my watch usually was... it had vanished. My disquiet deepened, I didn't know what day it was, what time it was and my stomach ached from the need to eat. I walked back over to the bed and sat down, dejected. I guess I had more to worry about than losing my crummy cubicle job.

Like, where the blue hell was I? Was I going to live? Was this the rest of my life... a life where I was a “breeder?” I didn't even know if I wanted children. I'd never dated anyone I could imagine that life with. It sure wasn't a vampire. That whole concept didn't compute. And what about all that talk of being of Druid blood? Being a witch. I wasn't anything... really. My adopted family had been atheists and I'd just swung along in their nonreligious ocean. I sighed. Answers, I needed answers. Just then, the thick wood door surged open and I leaped up, instantly finding the wall with the back of my hand.

It was Nathan, the vampire that had let Detective Jewel abuse Michelle. He looked different in this context: the context of me being alone in a bedroom with him. I assessed him as a male, so different than Cole but eerily the same. His icy-blue eyes, exactly the same color of Cole's, gleamed underneath a strong brow with golden blond hair that was so pale it was almost white. His shoulders were broad and tapered to a trim waist. He was an enormous man, at least six foot four. Even so, Cole was even taller. My eyes narrowed; I was pissed at him. He'd left my friend with the creeper-cop and now I was here against

my will. They'd have a fight on their hands. I wasn't just going to roll over and let them scratch my belly. He moved forward and I shrunk against the wall. “Stay over there, freak,” I said. He smiled, never pausing his strides, coming to stand an uncomfortable foot or so away from me. It would have been easier to touch me but he hovered, not committing to tactile just yet. “We are at the top of the food chain, Witch. Humans live by our sufferance alone.” I nodded, right. He was obviously insane. “Doesn't look like you're keeping

things under wraps too well. Judging by the psychos that are running around raping and bleeding out everyone of late.” I folded my arms across my chest, going for nonchalant know-it-all. His eyes bored into mine. “Those are rogue Vampire. We were trailing them when we came upon you and the human female.” “Excuse me! I am a human female!” “Not exactly,” Nathan said, leaning in to smell me. His hands were on either side of my head, his nose hovering above my neck. I ducked, moving under his arms and he was right in front of me again, moving so fast I hadn't see him and I yelped. He hissed in response, his fangs punching out of his mouth, the tips

glistening in the low light of the room. My heart sped, I tried to make myself smaller against the wall but I was effectively trapped and at his mercy. That just pissed me off more, my anger eclipsing my fear. “Nathan!” a voice said from the door. He leaned back from me slowly and I moved into the corner and looked at who had spoken. It was Cole, looking like he had the prior night, all-black and menace. He looked especially menacing right now, hadn't even bothered to look in my direction, his eyes were all for Nathan. And those eyes were boiling with rage.

“You are cognizant of the rules, stay away from her.” “You just want to be first with her.” They stared at each other for a swollen moment. My heart was in my throat. Here were a couple of vampires, casually discussing who would have sex with me first. Like I was a commodity. Swell. “Hey boys,” I waved my hand so they'd notice me in the corner. “Maybe I don't want either one of you, hmm?” I smiled. Cole moved so fast it was that blur of gray again and I steeled myself. I kept chanting in my mind that there'd been ample opportunity to kill me if that had been their intent. But having six-foot five

of fast and pissed male vampire pressed up against my body was a whole different thing. My pulse raced in fear as my body responded in anger. He dragged a finger down the side of my neck, leaving a burning trail of heat and stopped at the thrumming and jumping pulse in the hollow of it. “I think you speak prematurely, Witch.” “It's Rachel, freak.” He snatched his hand away. “We are not freaks. We are superior to humans in every way.” I shoved him with both hands but he was like an immoveable wall. “Good, then you should have no trouble letting me go since I am an inferior human.”

I was all fake bravado but maybe that'd work. It didn't. He pulled me into his arms and I struggled to get away as he crushed his mouth to mine. Those fangs of his pierced the tender inside of my mouth and a few drops of blood filled my mouth from the force of his kiss. The scent of my blood bloomed in the room and suddenly Nathan was there, ripping Cole off me. They turned on each other hissing as Cole shoved me behind him. Unbelievable, I thought, licking my lip and tasting copper. Nathan watched my tongue flick over the small wound Cole had made like a starving man.

Starving vampire. Cole forgotten, Nathan lunged for me and Cole barreled into him, both of them crashing into the stone wall. More vampires filled the room, their eyes taking in the scene before them, their stares falling on me. I went back into the corner and their eyes tracked me like prey. Holy-hell. This was looking bad. No, check that... it was bad. “Who has bled her?” the leader asked, a huge signet type ring glinting on his middle finger; a swollen ruby that reflected their precious blood. His hand covered his nose and he breathed out of his mouth, as did the others.

Wasn't this special? His gaze watched me with a hunger that was alive. He actually took a step backward. “Cole, Nathan!” he barked. They broke apart, both faces swollen from abusing each other. Their chests heaved from exertion. The Leader said, “You understand better now, no?” Cole looked at him and nodded. “It was not I that transgressed, it was Nathan, Alexander.” Alexander looked at Nathan. “You came here to see her... alone.” “Yes,” he spit a wad of blood onto the floor. They bled red, just like humans, I noticed a trifle smug. Alexander's eyes narrowed on

Nathan. “You bled her as well.” Nathan looked at Cole. “The witch enticed him.” I huffed and they looked at me. “Ah, excuse me, Superior Vampires, but I am not wanting your twisted attention, thanks. Just so we're clear.” Alexander's dead glacier eyes looked into mine. “You will.” I shrugged, let him think what he wanted. I was desperate to give him the middle finger salute but held back. I think I may have caused enough trouble as it was. For now. One of the other vampires said to him, his stare never leaving me, “She is bold with her words, this one. How

much Druid blood does she have?” Cole looked shamed but answered, “Much.” Alexander swung his head to Cole. “A pureblood?” Cole shrugged. “I would not know for certain, but I have not tasted purer than hers.” Wonderful. As fun as all this was, “Here's the thing,” they all looked at me again. Six identical crystalline blue eyes, their weighty stares were disconcerting as hell. “I have a life. That I want to go back to. I am not a witch... I don't know about this 'blood thing'. You're holding me against my will. I promise... I won't tell the, ah... humans about you. Just let me go.” As I said that

my eyes swung instinctively to Cole who shook his head slightly. No dice. “We cannot release you. Even if you had just an distant Druid relative, you would still be a viable breeder. Now,” he swung his palms out away from his sides, “a pureblood would mean much more.” Alexander moved slowly to me. I think he was trying to keep me calm, but his slow approach was almost worse. My palms grew damp and I wiped them on the wrinkled skirt. “Let me taste you, Witch.” I shook my head, his face inches from mine. His eyes stared deeply into mine

and I felt him pushing at me but it sloughed off like water off a duck's back. The mental ability that they used on others was not having the slightest effect. “I don't have to ask you. Cole?” he directed at Cole without turning from me. “Yes?” “She does not respond to compulsion,” he stated. “No.” “Definitely a pure parent at least.” He leaned closer, sniffing me. His fangs elongated slowly. I shrank away, none of the desire I'd had for Cole with this one. He only filled me with fear as he prepared to

strike the vulnerable flesh of my neck. I threw my hand into his face and it slowed him for a moment and I yelped, retreating. He lunged for me, spittle hanging out of his mouth, a ravenous expression covering his face. When Cole appeared out of nowhere he hissed at Alexander his body crouched in front of me. I stifled a whimper but he heard it, his body stiffening. “Are you bonding with this breeder, Cole?” “No, but you scare her to taste her. We are trained to not harm the breeders. Think, Alexander, if she had been stumbled upon by the rogue. We are not savages, we are Vampire.” Alexander straightened.

He glared at Cole, his eyes flicking to me then back to him. “You are right, I have lost myself. It has been some time since I have been exposed to... a pure breeder.” His gaze bored into mine. “She goes nowhere. Two of you visit her together, no exceptions. There is time yet to ascertain the purity of her blood. But mark my words, it will be soon.” He looked at me one last time then left, taking his two “guards” with him. Cole and Nathan looked at me. Finally Cole said, “We will send a female to help you clean up and get some clothing for you. Tomorrow there will be a ceremony and your life here amongst us will begin.”

With that, he gave me a final stare and they left. Great. I was locked in a house with a bunch of gang-rapists whose primary goal was to get me pregnant. Every girl's dream.

CHAPTER 6 I waited in my austere room for this elusive “female” that would give me clothes. I didn't sit on my ass, I paced. I spent an inordinate amount of time beside my window gazing out at the crystallized brightness, the white glancing of the sun casting diamonds on the ground. A soft knock sounded and a woman entered, her belly swollen. I took in her simple attire of flowing tunic and linen pants, simple flats completed the look. Something about her made my soul clench, like a bell had been rung that only I could hear.

She smiled at me, she felt it too. “You are Druid,” she said as statement. Her hair was as black as my own, flowing about her waist like silken water. “I... I don't know,” I stammered, feeling very unbalanced, surreal. “I am Eve.” She came forward with her hand out and I shook it, rapidly stepping back. Eve put some things down on the end of the bed and brought a key out of her pocket. It gleamed like melted butter in the low light of the room. “I was told that you needed to clean up...” “I don't want to be here,” I said, frustrated. She was human, surely she

could understand it. “They will not let you go. You must understand how rare you are. How rare we all are.” She held out her hands in supplication. “Do you know your kin?” Eve asked. I shook my head. “I was adopted... I didn't know that I was anything but single white female, age twenty-eight.” I shrugged. Eve smiled and it broke the ice. “Let's get you in a bath and some fresh things. You will feel much better after you are clean. And,” her hazel eyes met mine, “they sent me for a reason. They wish for you to feel more at ease.” Eve spoke very strangely, I could

feel my face scrunch up and I asked, “Are you... how old are you?” I looked at her swollen stomach and felt a heat rise on my cheeks. “Come,” she held out her hand and I took it as we walked into the bathroom together where she closed the door softly behind us. * Like the rest of the structure, the bathroom was all clean, old-fashioned lines with a huge claw-foot tub that stood in the center atop a marble platform. Eve cranked open the taps and feeling the water temperature she

nodded to herself, laying the towels beside the tub on a small wooden stool of sorts and turned to me. The pipes moaning in the bathroom were the only sound. “You have met Cole, Alexander and...?” She hesitated. “Nathan,” I filled in reluctantly. “You understand they do not think as human males do?” I nodded, I was fully getting that. I stripped in front of Eve, any selfconsciousness gone before my desire to get the soiled and ruined clothing off me. She watched me silently, her eyes roving my body and she nodded. “You are not modest?” I shook my head and shrugged. “Not

in front of other women. In front of them, I wouldn't feel real comfortable taking my clothes off.” She laughed as I put a toe in the water. Inch-by-inch I sunk down into the scented and steaming bath water, the stress and fright of the last twenty-four hours melting away and I sighed in contentment. Human again, if only for the moment. Then Eve spoke and it slid back into me again. “Two of the vampire claim me as mate,” she said in that matter-of-fact way of hers, her hand automatically going to her belly. My shoulders were just covered with water as she handed me the soap

and the shampoo and I suddenly thought of Michelle and my face beat with shame, hot and flushed and Eve noticed. “What troubles you?” Geez, was she really asking that? Let me see, my best friend was being raped and I left her there. My cat doesn't have anyone there to take care of him. My job. My job! I think it was safe to say that would be gone as well and I sighed. I turned the tables on her. “Please answer some questions I have for you. If you really want me to feel better.” Eve waited, all calm and unflappable. “How old are you?” “I am one hundred five,” she

answered with a straight face. “Are you shitting me?” I asked without grace. Eve's face took on a puzzled frown. She didn't understand me. I rephrased, “Are you joking? I mean, that's not possible.” I held out my hand indicating her obvious youth and pregnancy. She smiled. “I am Druid and I have been with the vampires since the 1930s. We do not age when we are in their care.” Do not age. I wasn't sure that was such a hot benefit. Who said living forever was so great? She reached out and tenderly put a strand of my hair behind my ear, the

wetness of it clinging to the back of my neck. “How much,” I stumbled over the next word, “Druid blood do you have?” She shook her head. “Enough to breed,” she lifted a shoulder in a partial shrug, “maybe one-eighth or thereabouts.” “How can they know what you are, how much? And do you just become, what? A baby-maker?” Eve blushed and I immediately regretted all my rude questions. But, I was the kidnapped party here and even though it was not her fault directly, I had no one else to pose these questions to. I was deeply unhinged that I was so attracted to the one vampire, Cole.

I shouldn't have been. “We may only have one baby per decade and if we are quite fortunate, it will be a Druid female. Female vampires are usually sterile,” she held up a finger, “but not always, and of course, male vampires are born to us.” God, the breast-feeding must be hell, I shuddered. Yuk. She saw my face and asked, “What?” “I was thinking about feeding the baby...?” I let that loaded question hover like a pink elephant in the room and Eve laughed. “The vampire infants have retractable fangs, my dear.” Wonderful.

“Would you help me escape this place?” I asked. I was not interested in being sequestered in this weird-ass castle or whatever it was. She shook her head. “You don't understand. They will never let you go with their suspicions of your pureblood. Why, you could be mated to a vampire, fought over, have twins; pure Druid children. Male Druid children can impregnate the female vampires. You are a precious jewel to them, Rachel.” I was getting out of here. Even my boring cubicle job was sounding better. I'd play along and find my cell, call Michelle and figure out my future. I smiled, feeling it like plastic on my face and Eve's brows came together

in a pretty frown. “I guess I'll make the best of it,” I said with false cheer and finished my grooming, shaving, scrubbing, and washing my long hair three times. I felt like I'd never get clean after what I'd been through. Thoughts of my friend and my life were a dismal pulse beating in my brain.

CHAPTER 7 I slid into the clothes that had been provided and they were nothing like what Eve had been wearing. For one thing, there were no tags. I slid on a thinly made, silk skirt with a hidden zipper in the back and low-heeled sandals, it was winter but the place was kept quite warm so my legs were left bare. Finally, a deep royal blue sleeveless shirt finished the ensemble. Eve had given me lingerie that seemed contrary to the plain yet elegant clothing I'd been given; crimson lace boy panties and bra set. The bra hugged my breasts like lace skin, molding and pushing them up to what felt like my neck level. Once

the blouse was on, my breasts floated at the top of the blue like creamy flesh balloons. I'd keep the bra when I got out of here I thought with a smirk. I found my cell after Eve left with a suspicious glance over her shoulder and I heard the bolt slide into place from the outside. I would have to leave this room first, then scope out possible portals of escape. The hopelessness of my situation did not escape me. I was with a bunch of predators, bent on having me and keeping me... virtually forever. But I wasn't one to give up. I snapped up my cell and the bar for service was at one.

And so was my charge. Quickly I speed-texted Michelle, thinking... respond, respond, respond. The envelope lit up on my cell and I punched the screen and Michelle's text appeared. Where the hell are you? You dumbass, the cops have been crawling all over your apartment looking for you! And! They found the bodies of the guys that attacked me... I sent back this message: I've been taken by the freakvampires and am trying to figure out an escape plan.

I glanced around. Went to the window, looked outside. I had no idea where I was. Wherever it was, the woods didn't narrow things down. Somewhere rural I thought, despairing. Well... I am doing cat-sitting right now. Do you know where you're at? Are you okay? Yeah, I'm okay. Are you... alright? Has the cop been arrested? I texted. Why? What cop? Michelle texted back.

She didn't know? I thought. The one that was busy raping you in the interrogation room... I think you're confused, Rach. I mean, the two jerks at Spinners were the ones that raped me. The cop is the one that ordered the rape kit and drove me home. Scrubbed. The vampires had erased her memory. As far as Michelle knew, the rapists were dead and in the ground now. Never to do a repeat performance. The bolt slid back and Nathan and Cole strode in the room, Cole's eyes

honed in on the cell open and lit in my hand. He was upon me in an instant, the cell swept against the wall and shattered before I knew my hand was empty. Nathan held both my wrists together in a grip that was achingly tight, just shy of crushing and I moaned against my will, it hurt that much. Cole turned and said, “Release her fool, she is fragile.” Nathan did, smiling and Cole frowned at him. I fought the urge to rub my wrists as Nathan's eyes roved over my body. “Mouthwatering,” he said. “Her scent permeates the air.” Cole nodded. “It does,” he said, his

breath quickening. They approached me slowly and I backed up into the corner of the room, thinking that was becoming a familiar theme for me. My body responded to their closeness and my knees grew weak as Cole leaned into my neck, his fangs punching out with a snapping, meaty sound and I shuddered, my desire and fear mingling in exquisite torture. Nathan moved in on the other side, wrapping his muscular arm around my waist and holding me against him. Cole began to kiss my neck and simultaneously graze those fangs along my jawline. Nathan wrapped a hand in my hair and exposed my neck in a long,

clean line and my breath came in ragged gulps, my core getting wet for invasion, thoughts of my escape dimming as my desire for the vampires overcame my sense. “I will taste you now, Witch. And you will let me,” Cole said, his hot breath warming my slender throat, the pulse beating wildly beneath his mouth. Something fundamental inside me screamed no even as my arms drew him into my body and he struck, his fangs sinking into my throat, latching on. It was the worst pain of my life. I began to struggle and Nathan held me still, my body bucking as Cole drank my blood, his arousal against my belly while his fangs pierced my flesh.

As my head became light, Cole pulled back, licking the wounds at my throat and I slid down the front of Nathan's body, dizzy. Cole caught me easily, carrying me to the bed where they lay me on it. “She is pure. Both parents, Druid,” Cole said as I stared up at him dreamily. “She will not fight us now,” Nathan said, his eyes on my legs, breasts, all of me. “Alexander will punish us for having her before the ceremony.” Cole looked at Nathan. “He need not know.” A silent glance passed between the two vampires and I felt the weight of their stare like licking heat on my body.

The blood loss had made me feel drunk, but the feeding at my throat had awakened something primal in me. I felt desire for Cole spread like a flower opening deep inside my body. He must have sensed something because he looked down at me. “I cannot, it is akin to rape. She is in blood-languor. She would have sex with any one of us. And,” Cole said, stroking the flat of his palm over one of my nipples until it hardened, “Alexander would find what vampire would be the most fertile with her.” Nathan said, “Fine, but we must see if we can give her something for the gift of her blood.” A slow smile spread over Cole's

face and I lay there as they discussed having sex with me and found I couldn't work up to a point of indignation. What was wrong with me? My throat throbbed and my core moistened in anticipation for their attention. Slowly, Cole put his large hands at the hem of the skirt and raised it inch by slow inch until it was exposing the beautiful crimson panties. His blunt fingertip slowly teased the inside of the lace edge against my vulnerable opening, not reaching inside, just stroking the side of the panty. I moaned and my legs began to part of their own volition. I was deeply embarrassed, but too aroused to care. Cole gave a masculine chuckle and

inserted the one finger that had ridden the edge of the lace into me and was greeted by my slickness and he groaned. “She is so ready,” he murmured. His hand began to work a rhythm and my hips squirmed to meet it. Nathan had unbuttoned my blouse and was rolling my nipples in between his fingers as Cole moved a finger in and out of me in a slow and delicious pull. I looked up at his glacial eyes, watching him down the long line of my body as my skirt sat bunched around my waist and his hand was busy inside me. I was building toward a shattering orgasm when he surprised me out of my languid stupor by pressing his mouth against my clit, flicking it once, twice,

three times. But it was the cool press of the fangs against my opening that jerked my hips up into his seeking mouth, my orgasm ripping from my mouth in a scream that Nathan caught in a kiss. Cole gently pressed his forearm against my lower stomach and shot his tongue into my core, spearing it as he lightly bit along my labia... and another orgasm shattered me as he speared his tongue in and out of me over and over, finishing me by lapping at my entrance, slick with my orgasms and his attentions. Nathan released my mouth reluctantly and Cole sat up and away from me. I lay there with my legs spread before a stranger, a vampire. Who had just given me the best sex of my life

without using his cock. He bent over me once more and kissed my most private part and I shivered, my hips moving of their own accord. He worked his way up my body, my hand rising to press against his head and his hips lay cradled between my open legs and I could feel his arousal between them. “Why didn't you take me?” I asked. Mad, frightened and sexually frustrated all in one confused mess. “You are not yourself right now. I would not have our first time like this, when blood-languor is upon you. It will be your choice who you mate with, and Alexander's.” A cloud of some dark emotion crossed his face at the mention of the leader's name.

With a tender finger along my jaw he said, “You taste perfect, you are perfect.” He kissed me. I could taste myself on his mouth and it made me moan underneath him and he shuddered. “You undo me. I must go.” Nathan was above me and looked longingly at what Cole had just done. Cole straightened my panties and skirt. “You must be hungry.” Not anymore, I thought dreamily. My core throbbed for something other than food. Nathan shook his head. “Let us take her to the Gathering Room.” I was very woozy after the blood loss and the sex. Each man helped me to my feet, one on either side. My eyes

found the shattered cell phone and I pulled out of Cole's grip, my senses beginning to right themselves. “I texted my friend.” I snatched my hand out of his, backing away from both of them, the aftereffects of the bloodletting slipping away in a rush. “You know... the one you let the cop rape.” Cole's expression darkened and my gaze went to his mouth, thinking about where it had been but minutes before. A flush rose to my face. I was trapped with these two men. I had allowed one of them to do things to me and I was instantly angry. How could I have let him? Them? I stomped to the door, catching

myself from falling against the jamb. Cole was instantly there, supporting my elbow. “You are not at your full strength. You need to eat. We could do nothing for your friend.” “Yeah, I know... cattle,” I said, tearing my arm away from him and glaring at Nathan. They stared back at me, Nathan reaching forward and opening the door. I walked in the hallway and immediately felt unsure of myself but my residual anger from being bled, manipulated and essentially used sexually while I was physically vulnerable fueled me onward. I swung around, still dizzy and leaned against the wall, my vision dimming, my anger and

frustration at my circumstance burning hot tears in my eyes that refused to fall. Cole got real close to me and whispered in my ear, “You are not well, let me carry you.” I shook my head and my vision swam in streamers of color. He was definitely not going to touch me again. I ground my teeth together as I began to slide down the wall, my palm dragging against the cold stone. “Just pick her up!” Nathan said. Cole did, easily scooping me up in his arms and I hit him in his chest with weak fists. “Put me down...” my head lolled against him and the first, hot tears stained his black shirt and I fainted where I lay, safely pressed against him.

CHAPTER 8 I stirred, waking in another room with Eve peering anxiously over me. “They should have never bled you before you had taken food,” she said, patting my forehead with a damp cloth. Hunger slammed into me when I smelled a bowl of something that made my taste buds come alive in a roaring inferno. I sat up too quickly and dizziness assaulted me. Nausea kicked in and I said, “I think I'm going to be sick.” I slammed my feet down on the cold floor and ran to the bathroom, but my weakness caused me to stumble and I put my hands out to brace my fall and I was

in his arm's again. Cole's. I was too weak to struggle and lay there, my stomach heaving from blood loss and lack of food. “You fool! She can hardly walk... she is sick to her stomach! Could you have not waited?” Eve yelled at him and I lay still, listening for a heartbeat that wasn't there. I watched Cole's eyes close, the iciness gone for a moment then he looked down at me. “Forgive me, I would not harm you purposely.” I was too tired to be angry. I said nothing and he sighed but the urge to throw up had passed. “Give me the soup. I will feed her.”

Eve pursed her lips and gave him the bowl. Cole carried me to where I had lain, using only one arm, the soup in the other hand. He sat down and tenderly brought me to a sitting position and my stomach lurched. Instinctively I put a hand over my mouth. He scooped up some of the fragrant broth and lifted it to my mouth and I parted my lips for him and a fine sweat appeared above his lip. It was then that I knew that he wanted me for himself. It didn't matter what their leader (Alexander) thought, this vampire would be as territorial as he needed to be. I would use that as leverage and escape this place. It didn't matter that the

sex was great. The fringe benefits weren't sounding too hot at the moment. I ate half a bowl and allowed my head to fall back against his chest again, playing the weak female card for all it was worth. It wasn't that hard. He clenched me tighter and stroked my hair. Eve said, “Don't get attached to her. You know better. Alexander will make a match that is best for a breeding pair...” “I know that better than most!” he spoke to her harshly and she cringed away from him. “Have you stopped to think that the Druids should not be matched for biology solely, but for love?”

Eve shook her head. “You know that is not the way of it, Cole. Think with your head,” I watched her press a fingertip to her temple, “not your emotions. You have always been thus.” “I am not ashamed that I wished to be mated to a Druid and not share her with others.” “That will never happen,” Eve said. “At the very least, she will have two mates. It cannot be avoided, there are too few.” Cole let out a frustrated breath and it moved my hair, his arms crushed me to him and I smiled. Gotcha. *

I had regained some strength and Eve managed to convince them all that I was ready to partake in the ceremony. Albeit after there was something solid in my stomach. I approached the cavernous room, noise echoing and bouncing off the walls. There were many women (and some men) lined up at a huge banquet table piling food on plates. Many of the women were pregnant. Many looked alike. Druids, I thought. It was the first time I had ever felt a sense of belonging. Momentarily, I felt a comfort but the life I'd had came crashing down on me. This was some kidnap worship crap and I

needed to stick to the plan. I needed to pretend, and get out of here. My eyes flitted around from one person to the next, finally landing on the huge vampire leader, Alexander. He wasted no time, moving toward me in a rush, his actions a blur. I had a sense of vertigo as he approached and steadied myself against the wall I had stuck close to. Another vampire, who looked vaguely familiar held a plate of food. Vegetables, roasted chicken and a small amount of fruit sat atop it and he handed it to me without a word, his eyes watching the pulse which beat in my throat as if mesmerized. “Cole has told me what has

happened.” I blushed a fine, true red. Completely embarrassed about him knowing the intimate details of the sexual encounter that transpired between Cole and I and to a lesser degree, Nathan. I put my chin down and refused to meet his eyes, he lifted it with a finger. “Let me introduce you, Pureblood.” He didn't know, I thought. I looked around for Cole and there he was in the shadows of the room, watching me covertly. His gaze was a weight on my body. I shivered at the look he sent me and tried to calm myself. My body remembered how it felt to have that sultry attention, betraying me

even as I angered. I looked away hurriedly, following Alexander out into the center of the room, my hand gripped in his. “This is Rachel Collins. She is the first pureblood Druid to enter our kiss in one hundred years.” There were murmurings all around. Apparently, it was big news. I stood there waiting. Finally, Alexander gestured for me to sit and I did gratefully, taking small bites of my meal and realizing I was starving. I ate as quickly as I could. The food stuck in my throat as five vampires came to stand before Alexander. “Two of these vampires will be your mates. Maybe... more.”

I shook my head, my stomach lurching in a sickening way. “I didn't say I wanted them.” Alexander frowned, I guess he wasn't used to a “no.” But I had to play along so I rushed on, explaining, “I want to have a choice.” I looked and saw Cole glower. He thought I'd be choosing someone else. I was choosing to escape but that was for later, for now I would play along. “Let us see who amongst these are a good breeding selection for you.” I stood and walked to the vampires, my heart racing. They were all huge males, vampires. The eyes were the same, they watched me with anticipation

and I approached them warily. What would this mean? Nathan was among them and suddenly I felt cold. I repressed an almost insane urge to look for Cole. Why was he not amongst them? They circled me. One came from behind and another came forward pinning my arms to my side and crushing his lips to mine. “Submit, Druid,” he said, his hand going right for my crotch. I squirmed against steel bands and struggled, hardly able to breathe. They weren't doing anything, they were no better than the men that Cole had saved me from. “She has such spirit, look at how she tries to fight.” He tore at my panties

and began to dig his way inside me and I threw my head forward into his and he stumbled back, his hand retreating while I was bodily picked up by the vampire behind me, swung around and pressed to the floor. My head was ringing and the vampire I'd hit was coming toward me again to join in some kind of gang-rape. I screamed and Cole was there, his fangs bared and his arm shooting out. His hand wrapped the throat of the vampire that rode me, his knees spreading my legs. Cole lifted him by his throat, heaving him into the stone wall and I scrambled backward on all fours until I was pressed against Cole's shins. “Alexander, how can you allow

this?” Cole yelled as Nathan held back the other three that would have rushed Cole. “Calm down, Reaper. You know she must be used by all so that she may become pregnant right away. Can you not smell her, she is fertile.” Cole said nothing and Alexander's eyes narrowed. “You do know. Have you been with her?” Cole shook his head. I whimpered and pressed my face harder against him and he moved his legs apart so I fit more securely against them. “Let them have her, Cole. She may choose a mate. Afterward.” The one that Cole had thrown watched me at Cole's feet like a feral

animal. “Please, don't let them have me,” I pleaded up at him, and his eyes held mine and I had a stab of guilt, knowing my intent was to leave this place and use whatever emotional attachment he had for me against him. “I will check her fertility,” Alexander said and Cole growled, his fangs tearing out of their encasement of flesh. “You will step away from the Druid, Reaper.” Cole relented with a grunt of disgust and I was left alone on the middle of the floor as Alexander approached me. He wasted no time getting down on the floor, between my legs as a hundred

people looked on he lifted my skirt and plunged a finger inside me, moving it back and forth. I tried to close my legs but he easily pressed them apart. His breathing came faster as he positioned himself between my legs using his other hand to pull down his pants. Cole, from so much closer than I thought, said quietly, “You are not to have her either, Alexander.” Alexander slid his hand out of the slickness of me and I swept my legs closed, knowing every vampire in the room had seen what Alexander had. The vampires had their eyes latched to me, pupils dilated. Alexander stood, fastening his pants with shaking hands. “I forgot myself.”

All eyes turned to me and I kept my legs together and tried to look as appealing and vulnerable as I could, it was all the leverage that I had. Nathan was especially enthralled, licking his lips and waiting for his chance. The other Druids looked on with horror as Cole came and lifted me to a standing position on shaky feet. I couldn't stop the naked accusation that filled my eyes. We had managed to stave off the inevitable only because Alexander himself lost control. As the leader, he was looking pretty bad right about now. I could still feel his probing fingers inside me and couldn't contain an involuntary shudder.

All that talk about what a precious commodity Druid Breeders were was lost before his lust. The female vampires looked at me like something to squash underneath their heel. Wonderful position I was in. Leaving sooner rather than later would be better. “She has three days of fertility. You know the rites, Cole. She will have to submit to five Reapers. It is the way. After, she can be mated with two,” Alexander shrugged, his momentary faux pas, like a pink elephant in the room, forgotten. Cole wasn't going to forget. I could sense it, tasting his reluctance to comply like a fine wine on my tongue.

CHAPTER 9 The community supper had been awkward as hell and I had suffered through it while taking furtive glances at the five that were going to gang rape me in front of everyone. I wanted them in my sights. I ground through my meal, knowing I must eat in anticipation of fleeing this place. I wasn't going to stay any longer than I must. When I was eating I sat between Cole and Eve, who kept a diligent eye on what I consumed. I covertly scanned the room and picked up on the other Druids. They seemed easy and sure, their vampire males doting on them. Some women seemed to have two

or three partners. I couldn't believe they could accept this life. A life where a different specifies held them captive and bred them like prized mules. It wasn't for me. Eve and Cole walked me back to my room and I could feel the other vampires' eyes on my back the entire length of the hall. I turned when we reached the door. “Why in front of everyone?” Cole understood exactly what I was asking. “We have had some issues in the past. It is best that a coupling happen in full view initially so there cannot be question as to whom has had a rightful turn,” he shrugged with clear distaste

cloaking his face. I had to ask and I could see in Eve's eyes her burning desire for me not to. “Why were you not amongst them? Why didn't you warn me?” I thought of Alexander's unwanted fingers inside me and my face leaked my thoughts all over the place. He looked pained (if a vampire can look that way). “I asked him to hold off. I explained about some of our... activities and the taking of the blood. Alexander indicated he would wait.” “But he didn't tell you outright.” He shook his head. “He thinks I've become too attached to you. He thinks I am too 'alpha' to be in a breeding pair.” “Alpha?” I asked, my eyebrow

cocked and I heard Eve sigh. “Some of the vampires don't have the disposition to share their mates,” she expounded. Cole glowered. Eve looked up at him. “You brought it on yourself, Reaper. She is ready, fertile. You stumbled upon her in a dangerous situation from which you extracted her. Don't forget your duty to your race. Do not be as the rogue.” Cole glared at her but she continued, turning to me, “Alpha is the way they all are, it is a natural disposition for vampires. But some are born with an extra portion.” She was talking to me but looking at him. “Fine.” He looked at the two of us.

“I could not stand by and watch her being mauled. She needs more time. That is one thing that the rogue believe: that she should have a choice.” “You saw Alexander, he will not give her too much more. She has what? Two days? Leave Cole. Do a mission, find another of Druid blood. Ease the sting from our leaders' decisions by bringing more to this place. Be gone for the rite.” “Wait... you are what... getting women all the time?” I asked. Wondering about this faction of vampires that did not live with them. That were outcast, that disobeyed rules. He nodded. “It is what Nathan and I do. We scout.”

“Reapers...” I whispered, my comprehension complete. He saw my expression and nodded acquiescence. “We harvest.” And with that, he walked away, his leathers marking his progress in the hollow emptiness of the hall.

CHAPTER 10 I lay awake in my small bed while the moonlight illuminated the bones of the furniture that stood at stark attention in the shadowed corners. Eve had elaborated about the rogue. They did not believe that Druids should be shared, they wished to not follow the “old ways.” But, Eve warned, they also took Druids, and mated with them... and forced them to stay with them. They killed whatever vampires that stood in their way. Vampire scouts like Cole and Nathan would be killed on sight and a small battle would ensue to ascertain their success. The scouts were at their most vulnerable after they'd acquired a

Druid. The chance of a rogue on their tail was high. I deliberated. That was why I had hardly been at the police station for any length of time. If they'd scented me out, the rogue would not have been far behind. Effectively shadowing the trail left by the Reapers. A soft knock sounded at my door and a female vamp walked in. Taller than I at almost six foot she approached the bed and I warily scooted back against the wall, the pillow between cushioning me from the coldness of the stone. She held up a palm in placation. “Fear not, Druid. I wish to help you and thereby help myself.” She attempted a

smile but when her fangs were revealed I cringed at the sight and the smile faded. Her lips were terribly red and my eyes latched onto them as my heart beat harder. She exhaled a shaky breath and I realized that she was fighting her thirst. She began without preamble, “I desire to be with Cole. I have mixed ancestry and may be able to breed.” She seemed to need an answer so I nodded slowly. The crazy bitch. Who was I to argue? She took my silence as acceptance and went on, “I have brought some things for you to wear to help you escape this place. You will be unable to return to your rightful home. They will try to

reacquire you there...” She trailed off and looked at me. Hope glowed in my eyes that was impossible to dim. I so wanted out of here and here she was handing it to me on a silver platter. An image of Cole entered my mind and I shoved it aside. Stick to the plan, Rachel, I chanted to myself. She leaned forward and from behind her back she slowly pushed clothing and a small pack onto my lap. I was so thrilled with the prospect I missed her hand as it snaked out, coiling around my throat. My neck felt like a flower stem that had been caught in the mouth of a lion. I didn't move as her mouth lingered over mine and issued the

warning, “Do not return, Druid.” I moved my chin up and down and she released me. Her long fingers trailed softly along my collarbone as she moved away. It stole my breath. She backed away from me with her hand planted over her nose. When she reached the doorway she paused with her other hand on the frame. “Change and go to the furthest door at the end of the hall. It will be unlocked. After you pass through, follow the wall at your left and there will be a gate at its end.” She looked into my eyes and I could feel her pressing her will on me. It was ineffective because I was a pureblood. I did a mental eye-roll.

She huffed her frustration. “It will be unlatched as well.” “Wait,” I called after her bravely. She turned and her pale eyes glittered against the moonlight reflectively and I flinched, thinking again of a lion. “Why do you want him?” She smiled and it was menacing, not happy. “He is a fine warrior and will breed true, every female wishes to mate with him. He is not like the others.” Her expression changed. She was reconsidering my rescue and maybe substituting it with my death. I saw her mind mulling it over. I interrupted her thought process, “I'll go.” “Self-preservation. Very good.” She

turned on her heel and silently left the room. **** I slunk down the dark hall dimly lit with sconces that flickered with candlelight. I knew that every vampire in the compound must be awake but not one was anywhere to be seen. I let out a shaky breath and continued, the moonlight streaming through the windows lighting the path before me. My hand glided down the wall and the rough texture of the stone tore softly at the flesh of my palm as I neared the door. Once there I could not see a handle

or latch and felt around until I found a cup-like indentation carved along the side where it met the frame. Scooping my finger inside it I pulled. It didn't move. I pushed and it slid open soundlessly. The night air rushed in and robbed me of breath. It was so cold that I stood stock still. Huddling inside the parka that the female vampire had given me, I made my way along the outside wall, using my left hand to space myself and the moonlight to secure my steps. As I came to the end of the wall I saw the gate, slightly ajar and standing in a sea of stone that was a wall ten feet high. I moved to the door and gave it

brief examination as I slid through. It would not have been something I could have moved. It reminded me of stories I had heard about castles with moats and such, it was formidable, tall, roughhewn and too heavy to swing. She had left it open, my mind supplied unhelpfully. Better not to dwell on the strength disparity between me and her. In fact, maybe I should hustle my ass along before she changed her mind. I did, making my way into a wooded glade with only the moonlight to guide me.

CHAPTER 11 I felt like I'd been walking for miles (I probably had). My feet screamed and I decided that I'd made enough distance that I could safely rest and inspect my pack. There wasn't a lot I noticed, rummaging around. I had a bottle of water and a sandwich. I was sure it was whatever had been left over from the elaborate banquet. A feeling of unease stole over me as I thought about the female more. She had packed hardly anything. Yet, she hadn't killed me. It was puzzling and my mind felt as if it was circling the answer but hadn't reached the center of the maze yet.

I ate half the sandwich and was recapping the water when I stood and stretched, throwing the pack on my back and readying myself to locate a road. Distantly, I could hear traffic. I'd walked for, I looked at my watch and figured two hours; maybe five miles or so? A small noise startled me and my heart sank when I saw five vampires exit the woods in a loose circle around me. None of them looked familiar. But I knew they were Vampire, my body tingled in recognition. Their clothes, bearing, everything was different from the compound I'd just been in. Their eyes shone like onyx in the moonlight. That's when it hit me, their irises

were not silvered like the others, but shone like blood does in the dark. Black. The rogue. I ran. The backpack bounced on my back as I fled, the branches crashing and whipping at my body as I pushed through the dense tree cover, the cold biting my hands, nipping them painfully. I was roughly pulled from behind by my hair and I yelped before a hand covered my mouth. Pulling me in against his body a vampire said, “Quiet, breeder. We have lost your trail only to be reunited.” “Zach, can you believe our luck?” another one said off to my right.

“Actually, I cannot,” he said, running his fangs up and down my neck as he kept it taut and long, using my hair to turn me as he wished. I realized the female vampire hadn't been so crazy after all. She sent me out here as bait. She knew the rogue would be after me like sharks in the water, scenting blood. She could wash her hands of my death, feign innocence when asked and know I'd been dispatched. I was out of her hair and she could have Cole. I despaired. * The one they called Zach released

me abruptly and I stumbled, pinwheeling my arms as I almost fell. I rubbed my head where it was sore from his treatment and tried to keep the remaining four in sight. For all the goddamn good it would do. They were fast and unbelievably strong. If they wanted to play cat and mouse, I was sorta out of options. “We almost had you...” Zach said, coming toward me slowly, his saunter showing me he was in charge and there was no escape. No options. I squelched my feelings of hopelessness. I had never given up on anything in my life. I wasn't going to give in without a fight. Where was the sun when I needed

it? That'd fry their asses. I looked at the moon, riding full and high above me and scowled as I massaged my scalp. He laughed and the other vamps did with him, the eeriness of it echoing in the openness of the meadow that was surrounded by trees. “It will not be daylight for how long...” he tapped his finger on his head with the beat of my heart. He whirled on me and my heart skipped a beat while he laughed again. “I do hear it, Breeder.” My heartbeat. He was listening to it. I backed up until I could feel the tree biting against my back, the sharp bark a comfort against me. “Two hours more until dawn. We

will squire you away safely by then,” another said. Zach's face grew serious as he said, “Have they had you yet, Breeder?” I could feel the blush rise to my cheeks, the heat of it a burning torture. Was there nothing I could have that was private? I thought of Cole, he would have been a safer bet than this group. I sighed. “No.” One of them cackled in delight and another male said, “Alexander must have had to put it in a knothole to keep it out of this one!” Charming. The whole group. “You jerks must be the rogue,” I said with a bravado I didn't feel. The one that had just made the crack narrowed his black

eyes to slits and in a rush was up against my body, his hand latched to my breast. I cried out, I couldn't help it. “Not so brave now, Breeder, with my hand feeding on your tit,” and for emphasis he squeezed it just on the good side of pain and I whimpered. He smiled as his other hand went for my crotch. “Leave her,” Zach said dismissively. “There is plenty of time to partake of the breeder upon our return. Besides, where she is, they will follow.” Reluctantly he took his hands off my body and placed them above my head on the tree bark. He went in to sniff my neck and I leaned away from him. “This one smells of something different,” he said. Serious now, where

before he'd been playing games with my raw nerves. Zach was near me in record time, his dark colored clothes a gray blur as he moved. I closed my eyes and moved my head to the side, both vamps at either side of my neck, skimming the flesh with their faces. Finally Zach raised his head and the other vampire said, “What is it?” Zach shook his head. “It cannot be. But it is,” he leaned forward and ran the length of his fangs along my neck, piercing it with the barest of strokes. A single drop of blood flowed down my neck and his tongue flicked out and captured it as my tears fell down my face. They trembled at my jaw and fell

on his cheek as he came away with his blood prize. * Zach's eyes flicked to my face as I stood staring up at him. He straightened, a small fleck of ruby on his lip, looking like a black dot in the night. “Pureblood,” he said. The others crowded around me but he held up a hand. “We need to exit this place immediately.” He looked around at each face gravely. “They will never stop hunting for this one.” He grasped my chin in his hand and moved my face from side to side. “Matthew,” he called softly, never looking away.

“Yes?” “Let her ride on your back, we will run.” I broke free again, taking them by surprise but they were on me in a flash and I struggled underneath the one that had pawed my body. Finally I screamed, “Get off me!” in his face and he backhanded me playfully. It made my ears ring and I saw stars. And it had been a light touch. “You heard her, viper, get off.” Cole. I hiccuped back a sob of gratitude so loud that it echoed in the meadow, the silence swallowing it whole. They backed away from me, all except the one that had been on me. He

fisted his hand in my hair and dragged me after him. I screamed. It felt like pinpoints of fire bursting all over my scalp. I was vaguely aware of something flying over my head, coming over my body in a wash of muted color and then my hair was released, leaving my scalp to throb to the beat of my heart. I heard a protracted gurgling behind me and cautiously opened my eyes and saw Cole, his thumbs buried to the connective tissue through my attacker's throat. The remaining group surrounded him. “Cole...” I rasped, “look out!” He stood, all lean and heavily muscled grace as Zach, Matthew and the

two which remained closed in around him. I scuttled back against a tree to watch. Zach came at Cole and the two collided, each grappling for the other. Matthew put a choke hold on Cole and the two others began sharp jabs at his torso. Cole head butted Matthew from behind and he stumbled away, blood spraying from his nose. Cole punched Zach in the jaw with his free arm and he staggered while Cole tore the arm off the one holding his arm with a wet pop. An arterial spray of blood shot up in the night sky like black oil. I began to feel shocky as I watched it all unfold. Like I was having an out-of-body experience. I

could hear this strange wheezing sound and I belatedly realized it was me. Zach began to savagely jab Cole in the side while the other vampire came for me. Waking out of my stupor I leaped up and flung myself behind the tree but he was faster. He lashed around with his wrist and grabbed my arm, pulling me with such force I gasped at the pain, so much more than anything I'd ever experienced and he jerked me to him. I came easily into his embrace, all loose limbs and in a haze of pain that stole my strength to scream. Cole heard me. He laced his hands together and drove them into Zach's face and he slumped forward. Cole caught him, pushing him away from his body

like so much trash. Those silvered eyes fell on the vampire that held me. They flashed with fire and rage and I felt his arms stiffen about me as he debated on the merits of my life versus his. His won. He let me slide down his body and with a moan I lay at his feet, my shoulder a throbbing nightmare. At this point I didn't care if they killed me. I hurt so bad and my arm was numb from wrist to shoulder. I watched Cole come for him. He tried to fight him off but Cole was the superior fighter and finally the ratio was fair. Cole dispatched him by slamming his head on the tree so hard his skull

split and his brains splattered on the trunk where my body had been. As if in a dream, his face appeared above me. His buzzed head and curled tattoos winding alongside his neck looked like black claws. His eyes held mine as he tenderly ran a finger down my jaw. “Why did you run, Rachel?” his voice asked, sounding like grinding rocks. I shook my head. It didn't seem like he'd kill me but... “A female...” I sucked in a breath and continued, “she told me to leave, she wanted you. And I wanted to get out of there. I don't want...” “Shh...” he said and looked at my shoulder, frowning.

“He has torn some ligaments and muscle,” he observed as he probed my shoulder and I shrieked in agony. “I am sorry.” He looked behind him at where Zachary lay then turned to me. “He is not dead and we must go. It will feel terrible to move you but we need to make haste before sunrise.” I nodded. Anything to make the pain end, I thought in a daze. He gently pushed his arms underneath my body and lifted me like I weighed nothing. Of course, the vampires could bench press small cars, my weight probably didn't register. Nathan came into the clearing and they regarded one another. “How does she fare?”

“She is damaged, they have hurt her shoulder...” “Did they...?” Nathan cocked an eyebrow. “No. Insufficient time. They will not again.” Cole shook his head. He had made sure. “You can't come back, you know,” Nathan said. Cole nodded. “I know. But they will not have her. I cannot abide...” he sighed in frustration. Nathan held up a hand. “I understand, my brother. Fear not, I will say only what I see here.” He looked at him steadily. “I will miss you.” “And I, you.” They looked at each other, then at

the sky, which was a soft black. It heralded the day to come. “Where will you go?” Cole shrugged. “Somewhere unknown.” “He may hunt you. And then, there is the rogue...” “Let me concern myself with Alexander and his. The rogue is another matter entirely.” “You know how to meet me should you wish contact,” Nathan said. “I do. Thank you, Nathan.” “You are most welcome.” Nathan walked over to me and I stared at him with wide, pain-filled eyes. “She is a gem,” his eyes flicked to Cole's. “Take care of her. She may be our future.”

Cole replied, “She is. My future.” I listened to them through my pain and knew that my life was forever changing. I thought of Michelle, my job, my life as I'd known it-- gone. I was captured by this man, this vampire. Born of blood and thirst and myself with an uncertain genetic code that mastered my destiny into what it had become. Nathan looked at me one last time and then turning, he melted into the dark forest.

CHAPTER 12 Cole ran with me in his arms. It was graceful considering the awkwardness of the hold and him taking every back trail in existence. Finally we were skirting around the city and he set me on my feet where the woods ended and suburbia merged with the perimeter. I swayed where I stood, my shoulder a throbbing wasteland of pain. I bit my lip to keep from crying but useless tears fell as I stood there. Cole brought me into his body. “We need to make haste to your dwelling and assemble your belongings to take with us.” He looked at the neat lawn of a human's backyard and returned his gaze

to mine. “I think there may be something I can do to ease your suffering, heal what was done to you. I am sorry I could not stop it.” I shook my head, negating his guilt. “You killed them so they couldn't take me.” I swiped a tear away using my good arm. “If it hadn't been for you, I'd be with them even now. I'd be going from the frying pan to the fire.” I twisted in his arms to look into his face and he cocked an eyebrow. I smiled. “I'd go from one bad situation to another.” “Ah.” He nodded in understanding. He gathered me to him again like a precious commodity.

* We made our way to my apartment, which was located on the top floor. When we arrived at the door I saw the bright yellow crime scene tape barring it like a sad ribbon. I frowned, remembering my text with Michelle. So, the cops had crawled all over my apartment. I let out a breath and looked at Cole. But he only had eyes for our surroundings. He was scanning every dark corner of the hall. Expecting the devil to spring out like a jack-in-thebox. He tried the knob and it was locked. He gave a vicious twist and it snapped

apart and the door swung soundlessly inward. Moonlight filled the inside of the apartment and I swung my good arm to hit the light switch but Cole grabbed my wrist softly. “Do not.” Right, don't alert the troops I'm back. Duh. I let my arm drop to my side and went straight to my medicine cabinet. I caught my reflection in the mirror. Startled pale blue eyes floated above what looked like bruises from the combination of lack of sleep and pain. I opened the cabinet quickly and grabbed the Ibuprofen. Grabbing three, I slugged them back with some water, gulping greedily. My nose felt cold and my hands shook with the effort to not go into

shock, get warm, stay sane. I shut the cabinet and Cole was in the reflection behind me. I yelped and dropped the bottle. “I did not mean to startle you,” Cole said, putting a hand on my shoulder and I winced. His eyes met mine in the mirror and he moved his hand up my neck while bending down until his lips met where his hand had been. I sighed, loving the feel of his palm on my flesh. I turned into him and he kissed the fragile length of me, his lips moving to my jaw and working their way until they were pressed against my mouth. He worked over the top of them, lifting and feeding off them until they felt almost

swollen. He pulled me into his arms and lifted me. He took me to my bed and laid me down. His large hands brushed the few hairs that impeded his kisses away. But he did not kiss me, instead he said, “I will heal you now.” He removed my parka, which was a terrible struggle made even more so with the slowness necessary to keep the arm immobile. I bit my lip and whimpered. I hated my weakness but couldn't help it. He lowered his head to kiss me, raining soft pressure on my face, cheekbones, everywhere his mouth touched he worshiped me with it. Finally, when Cole thought that he'd given me enough of a reprieve, he

removed the most difficult part and I screamed my pain and he captured it with his mouth, gently pushing me back onto the bed. His warm mouth left mine and he got a pair of scissors and cut off the shirt so my bare skin was revealed. As was the delicate lace of my crimson bra. His eyes held mine then traveled across my breasts and finally to the wounded shoulder. He placed his palm on my shoulder and I gasped. His flesh felt feverishly hot. I started to pull away and he looked at me. “Keep still, Rachel.” I stayed where I was by sheer willpower. The heat radiated from the point of contact and spread throughout

my entire body. At once the shoulder ceased its endless throbbing, which was replaced with heat. The warmth radiated and as the pressure increased from his hands there was an interior explosion of pain and my body bucked, fighting the sensation. I looked up at him with frightened eyes. He reassured me, “Your body is mending the wound.” “Why does it hurt?” I asked in a small voice. Cole shrugged and the leather he wore rubbed against itself, making a pleasant crackling sound I'd always associate with him. It went on forever but when I glanced at the clock it had only taken

twenty minutes. It was nearly five in the morning. Daylight was coming. Cole saw me look at the clock. “Almost... there,” he said, his hands easing on my shoulder. They began to make lazy, light circles in the injured area and I clenched my fingers as he lifted his hands from me. I sat up and rotated my shoulder, lifting it to my ear in an exaggerated shrug then letting it fall. A stupid grin filled my face. I watched Cole grin at me for the first time, his fangs glowing softly in the faded moonlight that speared my room. A feeling of happiness burst within me for this man.

The vampire. Some of the worst of my tiredness began to fall away as the pain left. I got to my knees and hugged him around his neck. His arms wrapped around me instantly and I breathed into his ear, “I want to be with you.” He pulled away and it was the only time I'd seen his face soft. “And I you. Had you stayed, I could have helped you. Do not run again.” I laughed. “I don't think you have to worry about that.” We gazed into each other's eyes, making an unspoken commitment. My breath caught in my throat as Cole stiffened in my arms, his eyes widening.

I looked over my shoulder and there stood Erik with a gun. The creeper from my work. Cole pushed me violently away from him and turned to Erik and that's when I saw it. A dart stuck out of his back like an evil exclamation point. Zach filled my doorway and saw me lying on the bed. Cole staggered into Erik, trying to get the gun and Erik shot him again. I jumped off the bed and Zach calmly walked around the bed and pointed a gun to my chest. I threw my hands up and screamed, “No!” Too late, Cole, drugged and slowed, threw his fist into Zach's temple. But the

force was too little. Zach turned and used both hands to shove Cole halfway across the room. He landed against the wall, dazed. A huge dent caved in where he'd hit. Erik said, “I want to fuck her bad.” His eyes swung to the bed as I rushed to where Cole lay. His head lolled to the side and his eyes were glazing over. Zach gave Erik a look and he cringed away from him. He stalked over to us and crouched down to face Cole, their faces inches away from each other. He grabbed a fistful of Cole's black shirt and jerked his face even closer. “You should have killed me when you had the chance, Reaper. Know this... she will be mine within the week.”

Cole struggled weakly and tried to grab me to him but Zach chuckled, wresting me away from his weak grasp. “I gave him enough tranquilizer to put two elephants to sleep. He'll be out when the sun rises; a crispy critter in three hours,” Erik said with smug satisfaction. I was wrapped in Zach's arms and didn't struggle, my heart felt like a dead lump in my chest. The first, hot tear made its way down my face. It trembled on my jaw then fell onto the hands that held me captive. My eyes never left Cole's. He shook his head like a dazed bull, trying to rid himself of the fog that he found himself in.

Struggling to stand, Erik came to Cole and slammed the butt of the tranquilizer gun into his temple. I screamed as Cole staggered back against the wall. “Enough,” Zach said. “You have your uses, Intimate. Don't make me rethink them.” Erik was breathing heavily, I could see he wanted to lay into Cole but Zach was his master here. Erik looked at me. “You're so stupid. The rogue used me for months to spy on you. They were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to take you from underneath their noses,” he said, gesturing with the gun at Cole. “You talk too much. Your singular

job is to watch the Reaper. If he moves, shoot him.” “He ain't gonna move. He has two darts stuck in him!” Zach's hand lashed out so fast I couldn't track it but Erik's head rocked back and he stumbled. A spot of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Do not underestimate the Reapers. They are the elite of the Vampire. He will try to reacquire this one. It appears that he has bonded with her. Fool... do you not understand what that means?” Clearly, Erik did not but continued to give Zach his sullen regard. “As long as he lives, he will seek her.” “Then let me do him right now!”

Erik said in frustration. Zach shook his head. “It is best to leave him. Let him live or not. Let the others deal with him. He is as sought as us now. He cannot return after he has bonded with this female. He is obliged to share in his kiss. Correct?” Zach swung his gaze to Cole. Cole just stared back at him. Zach dragged me backwards and Erik trained the gun on Cole. Cole's dull eyes were full of rage and grief as they flicked from the human that held the gun on him to mine, anguished. Zach laughed at Cole's look and he surged forward. To rescue me. I watched in slow motion as Erik

depressed the trigger, the meaty sound of the impact striking through the inky cloth of Cole's shirt. The light died in his eyes, as he slid down the wall. Erik looked at me with triumph and turned to Zach. I struggled to get away, to go to Cole, to be away from Erik and the rogue. It was futile. I was tossed over his shoulder as they moved down the stairs. As we exited the stairwell I saw the long black SUV waiting at the curb. Smoke from its exhaust curled lazily in the chilled night air. Erik opened the door and from my view it looked like a huge mouth waiting to swallow me

whole. I beat at Zach with my fists and he held me to him so tightly I couldn't breathe. Finally when he tired of my struggling he looked at Erik. “Give it to me.” An evil smile overcame his face from the front seat and he handed back a cloth soaked with something foul. Zach covered my face with it and my last thought was of Cole. I was in the hands of the enemy. The rogue. I saw, as if through dark water, a huge figure stagger down the staircase, a blurred silhouette in black. Zach saw him too and a smile curled his mouth. With two fingers he

pointed them ahead of the car and said to the driver, “Go... now.” Cole rushed the car as it sped away and the last words I heard before consciousness left me was, “You did not use near enough tranquilizer.” Cole's howls followed me down into the endless spiral of unconsciousness and I knew no more.

THE END

When Rachel is taken by Zach of the rogue she is determined to resist him. But her unique Druid biology controls her and she slips perilously close to succumbing.

Cole searches for the one Druid that can make his life complete. While his comrade Nathan, in a heroic maneuver to help him, suffers at the hands of their sadistic ruler, Alexander. While searching for Cole, Nathan discovers another Druid in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could she be the catalyst that brings two enemies together? Is Holly more than she seems?

BLED A Druid Series Novella Volume 2 New York Times Bestselling Author

MARATA EROS All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2011 Marata Eros No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,

actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Marata Eros Website Marata Eros FB Fan Page Font art by Bookish Brunette Designs Editing suggestions provided by Hazel Novak

CHAPTER 1 I awoke with the feeling of an iron spike being driven through my right eyeball, my throat a parched desert. I cracked open an eyelid. Being careful not to move my head too quickly I took stock of my surroundings. It was déjà vu for sure. I was back in another room, but there was no stone on these walls. It was homey and comfortable. There was just one problem. Erik. The putz from work was leaning up against the wall, one heel propped up behind him. He pushed off when he saw that I was awake and sauntered over to

the bed. A satisfied smile proclaimed his smugness. “Hey sleepy-head. Finally, you're awake,” he said, reaching out as if to touch me. “Don't touch me dickhead,” I said through my teeth. “Brave words, considering your position here.” He indicated my hands that were bound behind my back. I tugged and felt the material bite into my wrists, my feet were unbound. “I bet ya your vamp boss won't like you working me over when he's not around,” I said, raising my chin defiantly. His smirk fell away. “He's left it up to me, I'm in charge of you while my

master's away.” I watched his hands flex and clench. Creepy Erik didn't like that. Good to know. “Why don't you be a good little slave and fetch me some food?” Maybe he'd do something to me I could survive but would get him off watchdog duty. It would be great if he wasn't around. I didn't trust him, he made my skin creep off my body. He whipped his slicked back hair off his face and leaned down close to me, his rancid breath preceding his words, “Watch it, I can do what I want with you while the Master isn't here.” He reached out and grabbed my breast. He gave my tit a painful crank until

he got the reaction out of me that he wanted. I whimpered and he released me, my breast felt like it was on fire and a heat rose to my face. I wasn't embarrassed, no way. Any man that would grope a woman, a bound woman, was a coward. I was steaming pissed. “If ya don't want more of that, you'll keep your smart yap shut.” I waited until he was leaning away, a little off-balance and swung my leg into his ugly retreating face, smashing the side of my foot into the bridge of his nose and blood sprayed out in an arc, splattering me. “You bitch!” he hollered. One palm smashed against his nose to stymie the

flow, his other balled into a fist. He moved toward me and I turned my head at the last critical moment as his fist rose above me like a dark moon. I squeezed my eyes, anticipating the blow. Some small sound alerted me and my eyes flew open. Zach stood there, the fist that had been raised to abuse, held in a hand that was twice as big, his onyx eyes boring into mine. “Argh...! Let me go!” Erik screamed in agony. “You do not strike the breeder. She cannot breed if she is beaten, fool,” Zach said reasonably, the hand that held Erik's fist squeezing slowly. He was crushing Erik's fist. Sweat

popped up on Erik's upper lip, his eyes widening. “Please Master...” he wheedled. “Please what, Intimate?” Zach asked coolly, as if he wasn't crushing a man's hand in his. “I will not discipline the breeder.” “Why? Tell me why?” “Because... because,” his Adam's apple bobbed as he took a hard swallow, “I don't have the right,” Erik finished in a miserable tone. “You are not Vampire. You will not touch her again. If you do...” Zach opened his mouth wide and his fangs elongated, filling the space of his mouth. He leaned forward and put the tips delicately against the tender part of

Erik's neck. “I will tear out the vein which pulses so strongly here.” My eyes unnervingly sought and found the pulse under those fangs where it beat frantically like a trapped animal. “And worry at it like a canine with his favorite bone,” Zach said with dark promise. A terrible smell filled my nose and I looked down at the floor where a puddle was developing. Erik had pissed himself. * Zach had made Erik clean his own pee off the floor while I watched. I looked into his eyes as he watched

me and Erik was bent over the task at hand. “Very good. Now be about something else,” Zach said, dismissing him neatly. Erik scuttled away like a good submissive, backing away until his ass hit the door. I was relieved to see him leave. My eyes flicked to Zach's and he had his obsidian stare trained on me. I couldn't read his expression. There should be a law against eyes that dark. Things were looking down, Erik gone, the rogue vampire alone in my room. Trapped. He eased down on the end of my bed. “I do not think we were properly

introduced,” he began. “Oh, yeah, we were. Totally. Introduced,” I said. He smiled, the fangs flashing briefly in his pale face. “I think you've got me mixed up with some other chick. I don't have anything special... you can just drop me off... wherever,” I said with the straightest face I could manage. Zach held up a hand. “Do not. We can smell what you are. Our intimate...” I gave him a puzzled expression. “The one whom you call Erik?” he cocked an eyebrow, confirming his identity. I nodded. “He is who we use during the

daytime for interface.” He shrugged. “With who?” I asked. “The humans, of course.” Oh. “Not a really great choice. He's a big-time perv and he's violent. Obviously.” He smiled. “The dumb cattle are the ones easiest to manipulate.” There's the cattle term again. I scowled at him and he laughed. “What is the look for, Breeder? Do you hold your species in such high esteem? Truly?” I really didn't but I wasn't going to let King Asshat know that. I crossed my now-free arms underneath my breasts and scowled at him. “Us mere humans may not be up to

your physical standards but we're not racing around bleeding everyone out. So, don't get on your high horse about how civil and superior you are. It isn't gonna wash with me.” The humor drained from his face as if it'd never been. He was suddenly so close to my face he was blurry. “And humans are so non-violent in their exploits. So restrained, so integritydriven. Yes, so worthy. You are quite right, I was remiss.” He tucked a hair behind my ear and I flinched. “You have nothing to fear...” “Rachel,” I said. The smile was back but just a small one, the fangs in hiding for the moment. “Rachel...” he rolled my name on

his tongue like sweet candy, “we need to speak about what has happened, your history, why you have come to be with the rogue.” “Forgive me, Zach, but I'm not buying. You kidnapped me from the 'good vamp',” I made airquotes and his frown deepened, “and then you, the bad vamp, came and took me with the help of your pervy sidekick creep, Erik. That makes you someone I don't need to trust.” I threw my hands up in the air, landing them on my jean-clad thighs with a resounding smack. “I am not the supposed 'bad vamp,' as you imply. Rather, our history is rich and varies from those vampires which held you in their breeding nest.”

Yuck, I thought, shuddering. * “Many years ago the Vampire and rogue were one.” He made an elaborate gesture of dismissal, “But no more. Vampire insist on breeding one Druid to two or more vampires. The rogue follow the human model; a single vampire to a Druid. They have left the ancient ways in their desperation for procreation.” I cocked a brow in disbelief. Forgive me if I was having a tough time coming to terms with their existence. If you add in the whole underlying faction angle... well, it was utterly unbelievable.

“I see that you disbelieve me,” he stated. “It is pretty unbelievable.” He opened his mouth to reply, his fangs gleaming in the low light of the room but I rushed on, “I do believe that vampires exist, obviously. But you have to recognize that I didn't know who I was until yesterday. Then I was assaulted by their leader...” “Alexander?” Zach said, his voice ringing with knowledge. I nodded. “I supposedly have too much Druid blood to be put under 'compulsion', so he had to...” I gulped back the lump in my throat, the memory of his invasive fingers inside me one that I wouldn't forget any time soon.

Zach's expression darkened. “He forced you?” My eyes met his black ones. “He tried, but Cole...” it was then that the mention of him brought back the events of the last ten hours. Why was I talking to him anyway? He took me from the one vampire that had actually given a shit. Now I sat here, unprotected, with the vampire that had tried to kidnap me in the glade. I crossed my arms, glaring at him. “What?” he said, his eyes studying my face with glittering intensity. “You took me from the one vampire that was actually protecting me! From you!” “Is that what you think?” he asked in

a low voice. “Yes! After your stupid thug jerked my arm out of my socket, he healed me. Cole did. While you were too busy worrying about taking me to do it without violence.” There, let him chew that and swallow the bitter pill of his choices. How could I believe he meant what he said when the way he had acted yesterday was in direct conflict? “Of course he healed you. Any of us would have done the same. An injured breeder is not worth anything. How can Druids carry our seed if they are weak or hurting?” I watched as his pupils dilated, nearly the same color as the iris and started shaking my head.

I backed up on the bed until my spine pressed against the cold metal of the headboard. “Don't try your effed up mojo on me!” He smiled, crawling across the bed until our faces were inches apart and I turned my head away, ignoring the pressure that pulsed from him. The need to look at him as he wished for me to. I felt heat flush through my system and he hadn't even touched me yet. “It is true. Most Druids will respond well to compulsion. But some are most resistant. But I am special. That is why I have been chosen as the acquisition leader.” My eyes flicked to his and were

instantly captured. It was different than with the Vampire... or Cole. His eyes held heat and a question. I didn't move, I didn't breathe. My head told me he was the enemy, but as before with Cole, before I knew what they were, my body responded for me with a seductive whimper. His face came closer, hovering briefly above mine. Then his lips pressed against mine, not harsh like I'd expected, but a languid and tender pull begun on my bottom lip. He sucked it in lightly, his tongue entering after his fangs had chewed the softness of my skin without breaking it. I groaned as his tongue moved inside my mouth, my ass sitting on my hands so they wouldn't

touch him, and still he pecked and dove, exploring my mouth, his breath a male spice like early fall, cinnamon, apples and cider. I was lost to it. Still he didn't touch me with anything but his mouth. I gave up, kissing him back, my mouth moving with his, my hands still buried underneath my weight. An inner resolve took hold over Zach, one palm cupping my face. It was so big against me it palmed most of my face and his touch electrified me. He put his other hand on the opposite side of my face, dragging me closer and I let him. Still I held myself in check... until his hand wrapped around the slim column of my throat and his thumb began

to move back and forth over the erratic pulse that beat there. I could feel his will pressing against mine and a dam broke. I sat up on my knees and he mirrored my movement, both of us facing each other, he inches taller, his mouth never breaking our kiss, his hand enveloping my throat. My hands became less rigid at my sides, they trembled with the effort not to touch him. Finally, his mouth left mine and began to travel the hollows of my throat, his large hands moving to the small of my back and pressing our hips into an intimate kiss of flesh. He swept his tongue back and forth over that pulse then pulled back. His hands latched onto my body

were the only things that kept me from falling, I was that moved, that exhausted from resisting him. “You will respond, eventually,” and he smiled. His eyes traveling my flushed face and soft, ragged breathing. I stared at him, feeling my resolve like the thinnest thread of willpower, ready to unravel. Once undone, I would collapse on him and I would become the aggressor. “Take heart, Breeder, you are rare amongst your kind, as am I.” I took a shaky inhale and sat back on my heels, his hands falling away, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “What are you?” I whispered. “I am your foil. I am the one that no

Druid can withstand, no matter how pure the blood.” “Why?” I all but yelled. My misery was acute, knowing that at least I could choose with the others, tears burning the back of my eyelids in frustration. “I am Druid as well.”

CHAPTER 2 Zach had left with a satisfied smirk on his face. The bomb dropped, he left me to deal with the debris. I tried to sort through what he'd told me and why it should matter. The bottom line was I was in over my head, at a different place, still held against my will. Then there was the problematic attraction thing. It's like no matter where I turned or how I intellectualized the whole shebang, those vamps had it goin' on. Zach was a problem but I could manipulate him. It was Erik that was the wild card. I'd seen the look he'd given me as he left my room.

He'd be back and I'd have to be ready. I looked around the room, completely different from where I'd been held by Cole's group. It was an old house, the floor boards scarred with a hundred years of use, thick moldings wrapped the lone window and old door, a glass knob winked in the light cast from the window. Strolling over to the window, I peered out at the yard below that wavered through the old glass like water running over its surface. No fence, I thought. Maybe escape would be easier. Definitely their numbers were down, I thought with satisfaction, remembering the damage Cole had done

to the other rogue. There was no love lost, I shuddered, remembering the one who'd hurt my shoulder. I rotated it tentatively, only a mild twinge proved the injury had ever occurred. It made me think of Cole. What I'd told him. Guilt assailed me, I had told him I'd stay with him. It didn't matter how circumstances had brought us together. My former life was screwed beyond repair, I'd always be hunted. Better to be with someone that would defend me. And I did care about him. I sighed. My eyes caught sight of a pile of clothes on the very top of a freestanding wardrobe against the wall. I approached, watching my reflection as I

came nearer, my face pale, purple smudges running underneath the blueness of my eyes. I looked like I'd been set on spin cycle in a washing machine. Surveying the damage made me ache for a shower. Seeing another door, I reached out, the clothes in one hand and my other touching the solid glass knob. I turned the handle and pushed open the door into a small bathroom. Maybe a shower would clear my head? Better yet, maybe Cole would somehow find me...? I thought uneasily as I set the clothing next to the claw foot tub positioned underneath a small window. Turning on the tap, I glanced at the water, thinking of Cole, pushing thoughts of Zach uneasily away....

* Cole Cole came awake with a bone crusher headache thumping like dull knives stabbing his temple. He lay astride Rachel's bed. It was up on end, he had thrown it against the window as an additional barrier against the dangerous orb of the sun. The bastard rogue had taken her shortly before dawn, it was the best he had managed. Rage set in immediately. They had Rachel, and that damn coworker of hers, Erik, was a male without honor. He knew that Zach would not harm Rachel. But he would try to bond with her

immediately, making it impossible for Cole to be with her, impossible for him to return to his kiss. With Rachel, he would have to share with his brethren. Without her, he would be condemned to a life of servitude for going against vampire law. There was not a single mate for a Druid. It had not always been so. Before their females became sterile, a male could choose who he wanted. For love. But no more. Now it was two to three males for one female. And finding a Druid with sufficient blood quantum was difficult. Nay, impossible. Rachel was very rare. And Zach of the rogue had her. Cole checked his breathing, forcing

himself to breathe evenly. He must feed, then he would find her. Somehow. He would contact Nathan. He may have additional intel that would reveal a basic idea of the locale of the rogue. Cole's eyes flicked to the clock, almost four p.m. But it was his body that told him night was nigh. Like all Vampire, he was finely-tuned to nightfall. When that invisible switch flipped that told Cole night had fallen like a great obsidian blanket, he slipped out of Rachel's dwelling, snapping open his cell as he did. He went west, where the car had taken the breeder.

Rachel. Mine, he thought as he put on a burst of speed, scenting the air for prey. For blood. * Nathan snapped the cell closed, a fine sheen of sweat on his upper lip, his eyes sliding to Alexander's. “Does he believe you?” “Why would he not?” Nathan answered. Alexander walked toward him until their noses almost touched. He struggled against the three that held him, a hiss escaping his mouth. “How dare you show aggression

against me!” Alexander said, clenching his fist and jabbing Nathan in the solar plexus. It momentarily stole Nathan's breath, but he had seen its advance and tightened up accordingly. “Hold him, fool. You better have not uttered a code of some kind. I want that Reaper back here by nightfall, apprehended and subdued. He lost us that Druid and I will take it out of his hide.” Nathan accused, “You just want to breed with her yourself!” his breath coming shallowly from the hit. Alexander's eyes narrowed. “No single vampire can have a Druid, you know that,” his eyes betrayed his intent,

his answer neatly deflecting the question. “But you will bend the rules for what you want. And it was not Cole that allowed her to escape.” Alexander grabbed the back of Nathan's head and jerked him forward, his breath like death on him. “Then who was it?” “I do not know! But it was Cole I came upon in the meadow. It was he who fought the rogue to reclaim her!” The other vampires that held them shifted uneasily, their gazes lighting first upon Alexander then on Nathan. “Lies!” Alexander said as his fists rained down upon Nathan, his blood spraying as the signet ring that

Alexander wore tore and ripped at his flesh. The ruby in the ring flashed as his fist rose for a final blow and Nathan said in a fierce whisper through the gore in his mouth, “You do not deserve to lead.” The fist fell like a great meteorite, crashing into his skull and his vision wavered, growing dim, then gray. Nathan knew no more. * Cole kept to the woods, hugging them closely, their shape masking his own. Long ago he had ascribed to the all-black wardrobe, instinctively understanding human's weak sight and

all the camouflage that simple decision afforded him. He put himself against the rough bark of a Spruce tree, recounting the strange conversation he had with Nathan but minutes before. “Nathan?” “Yes, it is I.” Cole clutched the cell tighter, his acute hearing picking up on a subtle tension in Nathan's voice. He shifted his weight, thinking. “Are you alone?” “No.” Treading carefully. “The rogue have taken Rachel. They have a dangerous Intimate amongst them. He will have her at the

first opportunity. Even now it may be too late.” “Let us rendezvous.” “Is Alexander there?” “Yes.” “You are going to give me the latest location of the rogue?” “Yes.” “He will kill you if he finds you have helped me, Brother.” “I know.” Nathan told him the whereabouts of the rogue. Where they suspected the rogue to be. He had also warned him by alerting him to their leader's presence. Subtly. Alexander thought to reacquire Cole there. He might even think himself

lucky enough to get Rachel back. For himself. Make no mistake, that bastard Alexander wanted her for himself. She would give him what he was after: a Pureblood Druid. The prophesy could be true. That a pureblood would be the one to allow vampires to walk during the day. Daywalkers. A pure vampire and pure Druid mated could mean offspring that would free the Vampire from the night. Free to live in the sun. Free.

CHAPTER 3 Zach's eyes bored into mine, his revelation a burning phrase that stood between us. The moment's ticked by as we stared at each other. Finally I broke the silence, “I know that I can't hope for the life I had before. My cubicle job with a boss I hated, my friend Michelle... my cat. Gone,” my voice broke on the words. There was a grief in me for the familiar, the comfortable. It wasn't that my life had been so great before. It's that... it was what I knew. And now, with this stupid Druid blood in my veins, I was a sought-after commodity. That I'd even been comfortable enough with Cole

proved that there was something to the biology of it all, whether or not I wanted to accept that reality. It was. Zach looked at me as we sat facing each other, his hair, maybe red in his human existence, was a burnished copper, so different from Cole. I watched his jaw tighten on his next words, “We are not without compassion. What do you think the rogue is about? We do not rape, we do not force unions with many,” he said as he rolled his massive shoulders into a shrug. “But, we are not beyond the manipulation of our genetics for the betterment of all Vampire.” He clenched his eyes closed for a moment, the soot of his eyelashes like

black lace against the paleness of his cheekbones. He opened them, momentarily dazzling me with the color of them... a shade of fine Merlot not found in nature. “What about Erik? How does he fit into the picture? You may not be 'about' the things you just outlined, but he definitely is!” I crossed my arms beneath my breasts and stewed at him. He smirked. “It is not so easy to procure willing humans. We are vulnerable during the daytime, we must trust who we can.” He looked at me thoughtfully then said, “You are familiar with the phrase 'keep your friends close but your enemies closer'?” When I nodded he continued, “That is the

caliber of what we choose. They long only for the superficial that we can provide, never caring for anything of real value. Erik,” he said the name with some distaste, she noticed, “is but a tool. A tool in our acquisitions. It is the same for Cole's kiss.” There was just the barest trace of sadness and I wondered at it. The origin of it a speculation constantly turning in my mind. I opened my mouth to ask another question but he pressed a finger to my lips, the boiling heat of the contact going straight to my core. I gasped at the electricity of it and his eyes widened. Nice to know it wasn't just me. He snatched his finger back as if shocked but recovered, finally saying,

“It is time to eat and for you to... become acquainted with your new surroundings.” I stood, unhappy that I had half the answers to twice the questions. Maybe, in the pie in the sky dream that I had, I would escape all of this and get so far away none of them would find me. Zach led me through a series of strange hallways which reminded me of my aunt's house back east. When I was a child, I'd spend hot summers there and the halls turned and twisted, maze-like, until you'd get lost. These were like those. Doors at every turn, the place was ginormous, the biggest old house I'd ever been in. Finally, we reached the top of a staircase, the massive newel posts standing sentinel at the apex.

Zach turned his eyes to mine, the deepest color of red, I could't believe I'd thought they were black. “Watch your step, Rachel.” I smirked up at him, “Like I'll fall with you here. Precious-ass Druid that I am!” I laughed, thinking that I was already half-nuts for not being more scared or stunned at my situation. But the whole thing had a surreal quality to it, unbelievable I felt like I was going along with it, playacting, no more. I guess it would get serious when Zach put down the sexual hammer, wanting to bang me day and night, I thought with a smile. I'd be long-gone before that happened. My hand trailed along the smooth

wood of the handrail, Zach at my elbow. “Did you know Cole before you became rogue?” I asked, keeping his mind on questions instead of breeding me like a prize mule. His face hardened and as we got to the last step, he took my elbow, frowning slightly, “You grow too thin, I can feel your bones.” I shrugged, gently removing my elbow from the bigness of his hand. “It's been an exciting few days. I haven't had proper rest or food since before I was taken.” I looked down, rolling my lip between my teeth, biting softly, trying not to let that sadness over the loss of my old life overtake me. Zach turned me and put a hand

underneath my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his. “It will all work out toward the best end, Rachel.” I held his gaze. “So you say.” We turned together on a sigh and headed to the large kitchen. My body needed more than physical sustenance. I realized he'd never answered my question about Cole. * Cole Cole let the body slide away from his grasp, licking the blood splatter around his mouth where he could. Drinking was a messy, yet necessary, task.

Cole gazed down at the alreadycooling corpse at his feet and reveled in the luck of finding this one. Criminal as he was. Cole knew that he could find a victim that needed to pass into the Other by just cruising certain likely establishments. Like this one. His gaze traveled to the neon sign. “Kodiak,” it read. It was a known hangout for the edgy young crowd that liked to dabble. Cole had found there was always enough of a certain element that wish to do wrong. They were normally in large enough numbers for Cole to satisfy his blood lust. He toed the male's body like so much garbage. He'd been forcing a human female in the dark recesses of the

alley, her glazed eyes and soft pleas for him to stop loud in Cole's acute hearing. The male never knew what hit him. The female's eyes widening was the only warning before he struck. “Run!” Cole had hissed at her when she stood like a deer in the headlights. The body of the male thrashed underneath fangs that had sunk deep into its carotid artery. The sweet nectar of his neck pulsed directly into Cole's mouth. A burning highway of fuel he greedily gulped. The female's eyes latched onto the sight, then found Cole's. Thinking faster than she had but moments before she scrambled away, falling twice as she raced to safety. Cole was not usually

viewed as a savior, he thought with mirth. No matter that her assault in progress would have been a terrible ordeal and vile memory for years to come, his mouth pressed on the male as he succumbed to the blood letting would not be easily forgotten by her. Or believed. He turned on his heel, thinking that the rogue would be blamed for his hasty feeding. Already he could feel the blaze of power feeding an energy pipeline to his extremities. He lifted his nose to the air, scenting. Catching something very faint, he spun in that direction. He ran.

**** Zach made me laugh again and I was struck that I was laughing with my kidnapper. My smile faded, my appetite lessening. He saw my expression and put hair that had fallen forward across my face behind my ear, his touch lingering at my temple. I pulled back and his hand fell. “I will not hurt you,” Zach said. I shrugged. “Having a hard time convincing myself of that with how things went in the glade... “ He nodded his head as if he understood. “Sometimes my comrades can be overzealous.”

Overzealous my ass, I thought. My shoulder still throbbed if I moved it wrong. I unconsciously touched it and his eyes tracked my movement. As heat rose to my face I immediately scolded myself. I was not some blushing virgin to be intimidated by his touch. Still, it was so different than what I knew. And I was pretty inexperienced. I thought of Michelle and immediately set those thoughts aside. She was not here. I wouldn't see her again. As soon as I got outta here, they'd go straight to my old digs and try to reacquire me. Zach stood, pushing my half-eaten food away. “Does your shoulder still hurt you?” I nodded silently as he moved

closer, his hand a burning flame when it began to knead the skin that lay at the base of my neck. “Here?” he asked in a whisper. Oh my god, his hand felt so good, the smoothness of it rubbing and gently grabbing my flesh, stroking and bunching it at the junction where my neck connected to the injured shoulder. I couldn't help it, my head fell back and my lips parted. His hand tightened and drew me into the cradle of his body and my legs began to tremble as I felt his mouth a hair's breadth over mine. “Tell me not to kiss you and I will not.” The words stuck in my throat, I thought of my past life, Cole, whatever I could, but in the end, biology won out

and with a soft groan I wound my arms around the vampire rogue who had kidnapped me from another, pressing my body against his. With our bodies married hip to head he moved his mouth over mine, flattening his huge hands at the small of my back and pressing me against his hips. His shaft pressed against me and I involuntarily ground against it. His sharp intake of breath startled me but he swung me into his arms and sprinted up the stairs as if the burden of me was light. Things were moving too quickly and I struggled, out of breath and he fell on me as I became pinned beneath him. He clasped my wrists and held them over

my head, blazing a trail of hot kisses from my mouth then pecking his way down to my nipple. Aggressively sucking it through my thin tee, it hardened and became a stiff pebble of aroused flesh in his mouth and I groaned at the assault. As his fangs maneuvered around the delicate area, the barest thread that led from my nipple to my core throbbed with each pull of his mouth, each suckling. I was soon panting and out of breath. My resolve weakened, my resistance, gone. He spread my legs and tore off my jeans with a jerk. I began to close them when he pressed them open again. I struggled against his hands. “No... I'm not ready for this...”

His eyes met mine, my fingers driven into his hair and straining to keep his head away from my pussy. Which in no time he'd find was soaking wet from his foreplay. What defense would I have then? “I but wish to taste you, give you pleasure. I do not ask for sex yet.” I dropped my head back, beaten. He dipped his head down, moving a finger along the lace of the panties I wore. Back and forth that blunt finger worked until I was about nuts. Just as I thought I'd beg for him to stop or do more, he slid my panties to the side and planted the flat of his tongue on my clit. My body shuddered and I moved the slightest bit against his seeking mouth,

all the while feeling ashamed at my behavior. I meant to leave, not lie here, legs spread, shoving my pussy in a vampire's face. But oh... what he did to me. Zach knew female anatomy and lifted his head to ask me what I liked. “Do you like my tongue like this?” he asked as he stabbed it inside my wet hole. My hips jumped and he put a forearm down on my belly to hold me in place as he fucked me with his tongue. “Tell me you like it,” he purred against my ripe opening and the vibration of his voice reverberated against me as I got closer to orgasm. A small part of me felt like I should say no, get away... something. But my blood roared to meet his in a heated call I

couldn't ignore. I didn't know him, but my blood did. He felt the same, groaning as he licked and sucked along my delicate folds of flesh. When I felt his finger enter me I arched my back and grabbed his copper hair again, jerking his face off me even as his fingers dove in and out of my channel, pulling rhythmically, getting me closer to that delicious explosion I was helpless to stop. “Please... “ I began. “Please what?” he murmured. My hands fisted in his hair did nothing to stop his motions. If he'd wanted to go down on me again he could have. His eyes were deep and drowning obsidian pools, liquid and heated.

“Please more,” he whispered. I nodded even as my brain said no. I nodded yes. He plunged his mouth into my pussy and tore his hands out of me and shoved them underneath the small of my back, lifting my hips to get better access to my pussy. Spreading me wide, he rubbed his face back and forth across my sensitive skin and with a final plunge of his tongue I orgasmed. In his face. Again and again. * We lay together afterward, Zach spooning me from behind as I cried my frustration into his muscular arm.

“What is it? Did I not pleasure you?” he asked, tenderly kissing the side of my face while the tears soaked him. “You did! That's not the point!” I wailed. “What is wrong then?” “I am not like... that. I don't do those things with everyone, anyone.” “It is not your fault. Think of it as a biological imperative. You are drawn to us sexually. It was what you were made to do. Females of Druid blood are the only humans with whom we may breed. It is true that we can have sex with any human female.” The caveat hung in the air. I turned to look at him. “But what?” He looked a little embarrassed and

that was saying something. None of the vamps I met seemed to lack confidence. “It is always pleasurable but it is so much more with a breeder. And a pureblood?” His eyebrows shot up and he sighed, dipping his head into the crook of my neck. “With a human female, we wish only to relieve our needs, take what is necessary.” I scowled at him and he laughed. “It is true, I dare say. But with the Druid, it is our biological imperative to give pleasure. It is in the fabric of our very design.” His lips lay a trail on my neck, then went to my collarbone and as he sat up, he moved to the dip at my waist. Finally, he landed at my hip, his lips spreading

and kissing a hot circle where the bone met the roundness of the side. “Stop,” I whispered, the heat flaring like an ember brought to life between us. His eyes rolled to mine and in one fluid motion he carried me to the bath, giving the tap a viscous jerk to the left. The water sprayed out, steaming as it landed in the porcelain. His eyes grew dark as he said, “I have patience aplenty. But I do mean to have you. And do not think that Cole does not seek you even now.” I looked around, naked in his arms, thinking Cole would come through a crevice in the house. His eyes lightened and he chuckled. “He does not come through walls, even

him.” I looked into Zach's eyes. “We have shared this together, you know.” I watched his face as the knowledge that Cole had tasted me also cloaked him. His expression grew fierce. He drew me closer and said, “Has he buried his flesh in yours, Breeder?” He scared me and the truth flew out of my mouth, “No!” He relaxed his hold on me. “I will not rape you. But, know this, if I can have you when you are fertile, I may be able to bond you to me and me only, then Cole would be out of the race for you as mate.” Wow, this was looking bad. I couldn't even think of when I had my

period last or anything. The bonding thing seemed pretty permanent. “Am I... ?” He shook his head. “No... but soon.” He turned the spigot off and placed me in the tub slowly, the almost hot water moving in around me like a wet shroud of warmth. He pinched one of my nipples and I shivered underneath his touch. My core blossomed for him, opening like a wet and ripe flower. My lip trembled. I was hating how weak I was to the vampires. I had to get out of here. But first I had a question. He saw it on my face. “What do you wish to ask?” “So... I'll just lay there and spread

my legs for any vampire because of having Druid blood? I have no protection against any of you?” A hot tear rolled out of my eye. I didn't care that he said it wasn't rape. I knew what I didn't want intellectually but my body chose for me. Therefore, zero choice. Zach shook his head. “No, vampires with Druid blood, Reapers. Those two groups. Lowly Vampire, no. We would, none of us, ever waste a Druid on degenerate Vampire stock. And,” he swiped the tears on my face away with the gentlest of strokes, “your blood knows which to choose. Those reactions you had to me while I …” a hot blush rode to my face and he sucked in his

breath, watching that enticing blood bloom underneath the surface of my skin. He took a shuddering exhale and began again, “Were it me to take you. Take you then. Your blood knows which it calls to most. It will decide for you.” “What of rape?” I asked, thinking of that vampire that had nearly torn my arm off. He shrugged. “It can happen. Any vampire will want you more than any other female, vampire females included. Our blood knows which female will ripen when she takes our seed within her body.” I slid down into the tub. I thought about being raped by one of them. It wasn't something I'd survive. I knew it.

He saw my barely concealed fear and spoke again, “You are well guarded, a treasure. The rogue understand your importance very well. Without the Druid, we will be no more.” He spread his hands wide as if defeated. “We need you, you are too important. Only the derelict would assault a Druid and live to tell about it.” “Has it happened?” He nodded, expression somber. “It has.” “What... what happened?” Zach didn't answer immediately, but slid a long, tapered finger along the rolled rim of the tub. Finally he looked up, his wine-colored eyes boring into mine. “He was rough with her... he

shattered her pelvis and broke her jaw.” I gasped in a breath, covering my mouth, my eyes widening. “Why would he hurt her?” “He held her face and used a hand on her hip to hold her still while he...” his eyes flicked to mine and when he saw I understood he went on, “We were unable to save her.” “What about him!” I cried, the water lapping the edges of the tub with my movement. He smiled. It wasn't a smile of pleasure but one of retribution. “The rogue pulled him apart while his heart still beat. The Druid female watched even as her life bled out of her,” he finished softly.

I realized he cared. He had cared about the female. “Who was she? Who was she to you... ?” His eyes never left hers. “My sister.”

CHAPTER 4 Cole Cole slowed his run to a jog. He was very near the coordinates that Nathan had given him but dawn was close. He must find shelter and resume his search, make it finer. Looking around he spied a heap of rocks. After exploring it thoroughly, he saw that it was but a covering for an old mine shaft, plentiful in this area. They thought nothing of blasting whatever piece of the environment would yield a resource of value to exploit. Especially in the era he was most familiar with, post WWII. That is when he had been turned.

And needed for his task. The harvest of Druids. There were few Reapers. Many recruited, few chosen. There was a certain component for successful acquisition. He had done very well. Alexander had been pleased. Until Rachel. He burrowed under the earth, dreamless sleep sucking him under, thoughts of finding her in the next twenty-four hours foremost on his mind. * Nathan paced back and forth in his cell, already his face healing from the damage Alexander had meted out

through his low Vampire. Drones, really. But they were still effective when it was one against four. There was no way to warn Cole. They would drag him out to the place he had been forced to reveal. It was the true coordinates. Although the rogue was near, they would kill Cole. They would reacquire the Druid breeder, forcing her to breed with at least three of the Reapers. Their mission was clear. He remembered Rachel's fire. The taste of her blood, the feel of her skin beneath his fingers. It was better that Cole have her than he. He had a debt to his warrior friend, and he intended to keep it.

* I stared at him after that proclamation. I didn't know what to say but said what I could, “I'm so sorry.” “It has been many years,” he looked up at me sharply and continued, “but I have not forgotten the lesson taught therein.” “And what was that?” I asked softly, beginning to make a lather with shampoo for my hair, so glad to be in a position of getting clean my modesty at his intimate presence didn't faze me. Even if the subject discussed was so sad. “He was her guard. She had become close to him. When he made an advance, she thought nothing of it, but when she

realized it was not a casual overture...” “What?” I asked, my hair a soapy turban on my head. “She tried to break away, but he was consumed by blood lust and lust for her body, of course. She struggled and he broke her body to keep her still. It was not until we pulled him off that he realized that in his fervor to have her, he had killed her.” “What was her name, Zach?” The soap stilled in my slick hands. He bent over the tub, taking the soap from me and dipping it beneath the steaming water then lathering. He began to move the soap over my bare back and I almost moaned with pleasure. Hands so strong, capable of so much damage,

moving softly over my body. I thought he would not answer but when he was behind me he said, “Jasmine.” “Like the flower,” I clarified. I could almost feel him nod, although no sound escaped his lips. He moved around my body and I let him, our silence had its own rhythm. He washed my toes, then my ankles, when he reached my sweet spot he gently lathered and took his time, moving a finger along the folds and swirling the soap and water around it with an erotic pull. It was exquisite torture and he knew it. Just when I thought I would scream from the sexual tension, he moved on, working his way up my body,

ending with a gentle kiss on my lips. “I will not let it end like it did for my sister... with you.” He had not forgotten what we'd been talking about, he had just taken a break from the gravity of it all. I rinsed the soap off my body and he stood, a plush towel in his arms. He opened it for me and I stepped out of the tub and into the towel. Into his arms.

CHAPTER 5 Cole Cole's eyes snapped open. Disorientation slipped away on the wind. He could feel the pressure of the moon, on the wane but still ripe, an insistent pressure against his mind. Velvet reassurance that night had fallen. He thought briefly of feeding, then dismissed it. He would have to press forward, getting by on his last feed. He exited the old mining shaft and scented the air around him, stretching his limbs, feeling himself again after the horrible sedative that human had shot him with. He would die. Cole remembered

that Rachel had seemed to know the human. He did not like knowing that she was possibly in his care. He had watched her quite closely and in the brief time that it had taken the rogue to acquire her he was more anxious about the Intimate's involvement than the rogue. The other may damage her. Zach of the rogue would not. He sighed. Finally, after a few minutes of tracking, he caught the slightest trace of her fragrance, vaguely like fruit and spice. He ran toward it. The scent. Rachel. *

Nathan had been released, healing from the beating he had received at his leader's fist. He had never been a supporter of Alexander. But it was his rage over losing a breeder that he wished for himself that had caused him to become unhinged, beating one of his best Reapers because she was not within his grasp. And Nathan had abetted her escape. Not initially, but letting Cole go and not alerting the coven of Rachel's escape and Nathan taking her had been an unpardonable error. He had been punished. Now, starvation and the need to feed was a burning blood lust in his body, every nerve ending on fire. He struggled

outside, on the prowl for the first poor soul that he could find. Alexander had all but thrown him outside the coven doors. Nathan remembered his directive, “Do not return until you have something worthy of this coven. A Druid, Reaper. Keep in mind what we have lost, what we may never have. That the rogue now take pleasure in.” Nathan had gone. Alexander's resentment tasted like bitter ash upon his tongue. He roamed the back alleys, getting closer to the university campus. Normally, he would have cruised the

seedier sections of town, finding a male to ravage, one that was about to commit nefarious deeds. That is exactly what he preferred. Now he would be forced to bleed a female while burying his shaft to the hilt inside of her. Alexander had thrown him out and made many vulnerable because of his blood lust. It had turned into a beast of its own, now sexual need combined inexorably with the blood lust. Neither easily separated. His ears pricked at the sound of feminine voices coming his way. Two females, his nose told him. His blood roared to be satiated. He came out of the alleyway into full view of the females, his huge body tense and ready to spring.

* Holly laughed at what Jill said, throwing her scarf around her neck. Damn thing kept coming forward. The smile melted off Holly's face as she watched Jill's face fall, filling with fear. What the hell? Holly whipped her head in the direction Jill was staring, her feet pegged to the ground and a dazed expression on her stunned face. In front of Holly stood the biggest man she had ever laid eyes on. Forget WWE, this guy made them look puny. Holly's heart raced, he stood stock-still, all black menace and grace. He was coming at them in a jog, intent on his

face. Holly wasn't gonna stick around to see what he planned. She screamed at Jill, “Run!” Holly turned and in one moment, her scarf that she had secured more tightly around her neck was the thing he used to jerk her back against him. Ah hell, she thought, her vision growing dim, as the scarf became a noose. Holly collapsed against Nathan, her airway constricted by the scarf, fear choking her into unconsciousness. Jill fought him as he dragged her off into the alley. The other human female was tucked safely underneath his arm, she was so small it was simple.

Too simple, really. He set the unconscious female down on the ground, careful not to let her hit her head as the other kicked and fought, screaming. Nathan could not have that. He looked into her eyes. “Be silent.” She stopped mid-scream. His pupils dilated and he licked his lips, the fragrance of her blood enticing a clamor he could not deny. He did not need to kill this one. After all, he had two. He gave the command, the chill of the air making fog of his breath, “Spread your legs, female.” Jill did, her mind roaring to stop, her body mechanically doing what he

asked. He tore off her tights that she wore for warmth underneath her skirt and she felt his fingers prob the hot recesses of her pussy. Missing nothing he pushed a finger inside her and a moan escaped. Nathan smiled, the human females were so easy. He just willed their compliance and they were instantly aroused. Spread and ready for the vampires use. He pumped his fingers inside the female until her pussy was slick with her honey and looking around for others, seeing the alley was empty, he positioned his throbbing shaft above her. Pressing inside her he rocked forward then back, his face a mask of tenseness, relief not in sight yet. The

female moved her hips up to capture his rod, forcing herself higher upon him. He tore her blouse open, exposing her throat, the tearing material the only sound in the alley. Ice dripped from the hot roofs in the background while he rutted on top of her. He tensed then said, very close to release, “Turn your head.” She did, even as she rose to meet his hard thrusts. He was burying himself to the root inside her, she was taking all his hard length inside. She would be very sore tomorrow, he thought, shoving himself in her tight snatch harder. As he fought orgasm just a moment longer, Nathan felt his fangs elongate, readying him for ejaculation. They punched out of his mouth and

the hand he had cupped underneath the female's neck forced her close to his face as he struck, his cock spurting hot jets of seed deep inside her slick channel as his fangs penetrated the tender flesh of her throat. He orgasmed and bled her simultaneously. Her body writhed underneath him, even as she slipped into unconsciousness, her pussy milked him, throbbing around him like a pulsating fist. He threw his head back, blood dripping from his fangs. With a groan he pulled out of the female. He arranged her clothes and licked the wounds he had made. He did not like killing females. It had been a near thing because his control was precarious at best.

He looked around the alley, the female in his arms. Seeing the first door he could find, a quick glance at the second female, laying there. He frowned, the cold of the ground would be leeching through her clothing. Time to hurry. He kicked open the door and laid the female he had used inside the door of the warm dwelling. Good. He arranged her so when she awoke she would not be vulnerable. Nathan felt better. He did not like to use the human females but he could not impregnate them and that one had been no virgin, her pussy accepting his girth like she was meant for it, key to lock. He smiled, moving toward the other female. Her smell assaulted him.

He stopped in his tracks. How he had missed it when it was right underneath his nose he did not know. But the siege of blood lust had been upon him when he captured and bled the first victim he had found. The other female was Druid. He could smell it like a fine wine on his tongue. He sprinted to her side, lifting her off the cold ground. Her stillness worried him. He cocked his head, listening for her heartbeat. It was strong, she lived. He cradled her small body against him and sprinted for a location of privacy. As he passed underneath a streetlight he caught sight of her face and stopped in his tracks. The female looked

exactly like another Druid. Exactly. Rachel. He had Rachel.

CHAPTER 6 Holly Holly came awake and her vision was instantly filled by a huge form, his silhouette overwhelming her. The memories of the attack flooded her mind in a slipping sludge and she screamed, her voice box going hoarse with it. A large, cold hand covered her mouth, the size so large it cupped her face. Her scream died against his flesh. She looked up at him, her bladder clenching uncomfortably and knew she would die. Instinctively, Holly knew that they were alone, Jill gone. Fat tears ran down her face. She would die here with a lunatic. He might do things to her.

Holly thought of how young she was, inexperienced. She was just a freshman in college. A virgin. Her wide blue eyes flicked to his, glittering marbles of deep inky black fire stared back. Then he spoke, “Be still. I mean you no harm, Druid.” Holly listened in confusion. What was a Druid? She was a woman, she didn't know what he was talking about. And she didn't believe him on the no harm thing, either. “If I remove my hand, will you stay quiet?” his brows lifted. She nodded her head. He was huge. If he wanted to subdue her, he sure could.

He slowly lifted his palm away and sat crouched back, ready. She crawled away until her back met something solid. They regarded each other and after a moment he said, “You are safe with me.” Holly shook her head and asked, “Where's Jill?” His eyes shifted away then came back to her gaze. “She is safe.” Holly's voice trembled and she asked, “What are you going to do with me?” Nathan thought about softening the blow but thought that her knowing may secure her compliance... or not. “Breed you. I will breed you.” Holly was stunned into silence.

Then she looked at him, her eyes taking in everything. There was something otherworldly about him. His eyes had looked black but with the moonlight coming through a dirty pane of glass they had silvered, reflective in the strange bluish-white light. “What are you?” she whispered, her voice quaking. “I am a Reaper,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “What... what is that?” “I am Vampire,” Nathan said. Holly made a move to leap from her perch and he was there in a blur of gray, her eyes unable to track his speed. Her breath came in a hitching gasp and he held her while she squirmed

against him, his shaft growing against her with her movements, arousing him. “Please...” Holly begged, “please don't rape me.” Nathan kept her against him and as she struggled to get away, he captured her chin and easily forced her gaze to lock with his. “I did not say I would rape you.” Holly stopped struggling, his erection straining between them. “If you aren't going to rape me then what are you going to do?” Nathan smiled, his path clear. “Keep you, protect you... breed you. Maybe, eventually, you will come to care for me.” Holly sagged in his huge arms, she

felt the heat climb her body beginning at her feet and knew that she was in the first stage of shock. Being captured by a mythological vampire that wanted to have babies with her would do it. Nathan gathered the small Druid in his arms as she fainted for the second time that night. He clasped her against his chest protectively and studied her face. He had been wrong. She was not the Druid that Cole had rescued. But she was a relation. Of that he had no doubt. Their features were uncannily similar, except for the size. This Druid was built like a doll, and very young. Untried. He would be her first.

Very soon. **** I stretched my arms above me, feeling Zach beside me. He had not pressed me for more, sensing my conflicting feelings about Cole, about my circumstances, about my internal emotions of escape. I didn't know what to think. What to do. If I escaped I would have to find shelter, with not a cent. I sighed and Zach's eyes snapped open, instantly alert and ready. For anything. He wrapped a muscular arm around

me and pulled me close, kissing me softly and I stiffened. Too confused to even pretend to know what to do. He pulled away with a frown. “You will warm to me eventually,” he said. Zach got out of the bed and dressed, his ass clenching and flexing deliciously as he put on some soft pants and turned, catching me admiring him. I watched as his cock grew in the pants and met his gaze uneasily. “Do not worry, we will go at your pace. But my body grows impatient. And that, I cannot help.” With a sigh, he threw on a tight Tshirt and strode to the door. His hand clenched the door frame until the knuckles bled white. “I will return in

one half-hour to escort you for breakfast.” I looked at the night sky out the window. “But it's...” He nodded. “It is breakfast for us. It will be something you grow accustomed to as well.” His face grew wistful. “Maybe one day, the night will not be my prison.” I pulled the sheets up to my chin. Because of me. The Druid mates could supposedly tolerate daylight. Because of me. Because of my blood. He smiled, seeing my internal machinations and strode out the door. I exhaled in a rush, my thoughts a distracted tangle of two men, my life and escape.

I began to dress when I heard the doorknob rattle. What was he doing back so soon, I wondered? He'd said one half-hour. I put my pants in front of me, shielding the view of my panties. My bra was half exposed through the shirt I'd thrown on and I met Erik's hungry gaze. Oh fuck, I lamented and turned to run, slamming the bathroom door behind me. I turned the lock just as his shoulder slammed into it, the wood giving and splintering against the lock. He came through the door, slamming it against the wall and I ran behind the tub, my hair still damp from the bath chilling against my skin, damp with stress and fright.

“Get over here you uppity bitch!” he hissed at me, his hands balled into fists. “You're gonna give me what I need and that stupid vamp isn't around to stop me.” He grabbed his crotch with one hand and my stomach fell. All this talk of not raping Druids and how important they were to the Vampires and this loser human was going to rape me. It didn't matter how precious I was to them, he didn't care. I was just another woman to abuse to him. My importance to them became lost in the face of his perversion. * Cole

Cole came upon the house easily enough. The scent of the rogue was thick in his nostrils. The lair was within reach. But he mustn’t just charge in. There would be too many guards. He would watch and see the perfect time to infiltrate their hideaway. He looked up at the place, maybe at one time an old hospital from the war, built stout and large, it looked like it was the right size to hold a coven the size of the rogue. Cole chose his perch carefully and began his grim watch. All the while knowing that Rachel was within those walls. His nose told him so. It also told him she was near her fertile time. He sat for a moment or two and

heard a high keening noise. It was a sound that made him leap to his feet. He would know it anywhere. The sound of a female in distress and under attack. He moved with a speed he did not know he possessed. * I struck Erik in the face with the back brush that was located beside the tub I'd just relaxed in. His nose opened cooperatively and blood fountained out of it like a fire hydrant. He swung with his body and backhanded me, sending me careening into the wall. My head struck first and I

saw stars. He was on me that fast, wrapping his hand in my long hair and crushing his mouth to mine, blood and spit mixed in with his assault. He dragged my panties down and grabbed my sex roughly, hurting me. I moaned in pain with the last little bit of consciousness I had as I clamped down on his lip with my teeth, nearly meeting them together. He howled, staggering backward and I slid down the wall until my bare butt hit the cold tile, panties at my ankles. My bell had been rung by the blow and I didn't have the strength to pull them up. Even when Cole blasted through the window I didn't stir. It couldn't be him... he was, I couldn't think where he was,

glass spraying in a brittle rain all around me. “Rachel!” he roared, coming at me. I pointed to Erik thinking thickly that he needed to have his ass taken care of. Forget me for the moment. Cole turned to where I pointed and in a spinning leap he was on Erik who mewled for mercy underneath him. Too late. Cole plunged his fangs into his large throat and tore out his esophagus. I felt my head go light and threw it between my knees. It spun when I closed my eyes, a vision of Erik's breathing tube like a grotesque worm on the tile, his vile blood spilling everywhere. Then Cole was before me, gently

lifting my face to meet his. The first words out of his mouth were, “Has he had you?” I began to cry and he shook me gently. “Has he?” he asked softly, his eyes belying the tenderness of his voice. I shook my head. He'd been very close to having me, I thought dismally, but by some stroke of luck they hadn't. Probably because Zach was good. Somehow, he was Vampire but he was a good vampire. I began to laugh and Cole looked at me, puzzled. I realized that getting hysterical was not good. Didn't matter, I couldn't stop laughing then the laughter turned to sobs. It wasn't until the other rogue filled the

doorway and I met Zach's eyes that I stopped crying. Cole pulled my panties up one handed, my dizziness slowing the awkward maneuver to a snail's pace. * Cole jerked Rachel behind him, his anger beating a staccato rhythm in his temple. His vision of Rachel half naked and her face bearing the mark of a fist made him want to kill everything in sight. He took in the human, his windpipe laying beside him and wished with a vicious lust he could have beat him with it had he still been alive. Zach also took in the scene. Rachel

had been beaten and his Intimate dispatched. His eyes shifted to hers and he felt a remorse more profound than any he had ever known. He had tough choices to make. Not the least of which was: if he harmed Cole, without knowing more of her relationship with him, would she ever mate with him? Yet, if he did not get rid of the primary competition for her affection, all was lost. Zach smiled coolly at Cole. “I see thanks are in order, Reaper.” Cole met his eyes, Rachel a trembling presence behind him. “I thought that you would take better care of a Druid of this purity,” Cole responded. Rachel saw Zach's eyes

flinch. “Yet, here she was, ready to be savaged by a human. Common livestock,” he enunciated with derision, his palm indicating Erik. Zach's eyes narrowed. “I was negligent. Leaving him to guard her when I knew there was a disobedient streak with that one.” He looked at Rachel. “I am sorry that I left you unprotected with him.” Rachel didn't know what to think. They were a violent people, race, whatever. It was a stalemate. She knew that Cole would fight for her. But as she looked at Zach, the stern lines of his face, the determination etched there said the same.

They squared off. Cole moving forward. Rachel clenched her eyes together, the wind from the broken window chilling her skin into a riot of gooseflesh. A rogue rushed into the room, causing both vampires to swivel into a defensive crouch toward him. “Captain!” Zach straightened, focusing one eye on the newcomer and one on Cole. Cole was honorable, he would not attack another vampire unawares. “What?” His eyes narrowed on the rogue, who shifted in nervousness but said, “There is another on the grounds.” Cole's eyebrows shot up and,

picking up Rachel as to avoid the shards of broken glass on the floor, he traveled to the window, scenting. He would recognize that fragrance anywhere, Druid. His nostrils flared and he picked up another. A familiar scent wafted on the wind, hitting his acute network of olfactory senses. All of them ringing together, matching the signature to the vampire. Nathan had come. And with him, another Druid.

CHAPTER 7 Holly was cold. The mammoth creature by her side did not generate a lot of body heat and between being terrified of the next five minutes and feeling dazed because of fainting she just wanted to check out on reality. It was impossible for her to believe that just three short hours ago she and Jill had been walking back from study group. A boring thing, more of an excuse to get together and gossip about guys and the latest scandal than to get any practical work done. She was too much of a coward to ask about Jill. She didn't know if she wanted to know. It was pretty daunting

just holding her own with the male that was named Nathan. At least that's what he called himself. Then he'd told her that he'd caught the “scent” of his buddy, Cole. Of course, Holly thought, he hadn't called him his buddy, but “comrade.” He spoke really weird. Holly couldn't put her finger on it but he sounded a little like that hot guy out of the old movie, Kate and Leopold. Her initial fear had quieted. Holly was innately practical and knew that if she wanted to get away from this freak that she'd have to bide her time. She had to admit though, when he wasn't looming over the top of her and talking about breeding all the time he had a real pull on her.

Like a magnet. It was a little scary. She'd felt him up against her when she struggled and he was built huge. She didn't want that inside her. She wanted her first time to be with someone she loved, not some crazy guy that sucked people's blood. She felt a hysterical bubble of laughter well up inside her and recognized, on some level, she was in a state of shock. She stood next to Nathan. He looked down at her dark head and pulled her in closer to his side for warmth. For protection * Nathan stood underneath a great

sweep of trees, the small Druid pressed to his side, his weapons cold comfort against his body, necessary bulges underneath his lightweight clothing. Vampires were naturally impervious to the cold. Looking up at the old building he saw a curtain like a gauzy flag waving out of the shattered pane, loud voices coming from inside. His sensitive hearing picked up and triangulated the position of a familiar voice. Cole. He would know what to do. Together, they could escape. There would be a chance with the women. He would not return to Alexander's coven. There the Druid virgin would be passed

around like meat, their only motivation to impregnate her and get their coveted vampires that walked in daylight. As long as Nathan had breath in his body, he would not let that be her end. He pressed her closer while he made his way toward the structure. * Cole stepped away from the window, his vision picking up Nathan with a Druid clutched under his side. She looked like a girl, not a woman. Cole frowned. I didn't see what Cole was looking at but he turned with purpose. “Do not follow me. Leave this alone, rogue.

Leave Rachel alone,” he commanded. Zach narrowed his eyes as Cole backed us toward the open window. “I cannot,” he said softly and rushed Cole in a blur of speed. Cole pushed himself backward with one arm pressing against me as we fell backward out the window, the cold air hitting me like a punch in the gut. He did a spin midair that made me want to throw up and landed on his feet, scooping me against him as he fell. Zach barreled into the two of us and my body slipped out of Cole's grasp and I tumbled into the snow, my bare legs instantly soaked and freezing. I wouldn't last long in this weather without proper clothing.

The vampires went at each other in a flurry of hands. Too fast for me to track, the meaty sounds of flesh connecting with flesh were the only noises in a forest surrounding a building gone silent except for them. The remaining rogue poured out through the door, circling the fighting vampires cautiously. I stood on shaky legs. My feet were screaming with pain in the cold snow, my body starting to shiver, teeth chattering. Behind me I heard a small noise. Turning away from the fighting I saw a girl that looked about nineteen. Even in the gloom I could see we could have been sisters. She looked so much like me I gasped in surprise.

Holly looked at a tallish woman in nothing but panties, bra, and half a ripped blouse, while two huge men beat the snot out of each other behind her, blood splattering the snow like oil flung, the blackness pockmarking the whiteness. She tried to leave Nathan and go to the other woman but he held her. Holly felt immediately connected with her. Her chest tightened uncomfortably. I came toward the girl and the... Reaper. I could definitely tell what he was. I remembered him from the meadow. “Nathan?” I asked. And suddenly

Zach and Cole were beside me, their ragged breathing and beaten faces tense. Nathan hissed and stepped in front of the young Druid while Cole tried to tear me away from Zach. I found myself wanting to sleep. The beginnings of hypothermia were setting in. Cole gave me a worried glance and picked me up where I stood. Zach said, his mouth bloody, “The rogue will not let you take her, Reaper.” Holly looked at the two vampires. Because that was what they were, their fangs sprung and dark, wearing the blood of each other. The one that was slightly bigger held the woman in his

arms, cradling her. Her hands and feet were turning an alarming shade of blue. Holly looked around Nathan, his big body blocking hers and met the stare of the male with silver eyes. Something clicked inside Holly like a hammer on a gun drawn and ready to strike. It reverberated in her chest, a bell struck. Zach looked at the small female before him, pressed up against the Reaper that claimed her as protector and felt something integral in his chest slide into place as if it had been waiting for this moment to come together. His body righted itself. Holly moved toward him before she realized she was and Nathan roared,

“No!” in a bellowing wail, rushing Zach. Cole backed up, realizing how the tide had turned. A true mate had been imprinted upon. It was the rogue and the new Druid. They were meant to be together. A true mating pair. A thing of legend. Cole would have to stop Nathan. He looked down at Rachel, her warmth perilously slipping away. She would die if he could not attend to her. Holly ran for the man in front of her. Needing to touch him, connect to him, as if he was food and she was starving. She didn't question the instinct, but acted on

it like a compulsion. Her feet propelled her forward into the dark, into the arms of a vampire. He was the one for her. Zach saw the girl come for him and he rushed forward to meet her even as he saw a group of vampires enter the clearing. * Alexander entered the clearing with his finest contingent of Reapers. They had scented the Druids to these coordinates. The very location they knew to be a rogue coven. He saw Nathan and Cole, a rogue and the two Druids. One was Rachel.

His mouth salivated as he thought of his fingers buried in her core and what he almost had within his grasp. Shoving his lust away with an effort he looked at the other breeder, who bore a startling likeness to Rachel. He compared the two. Then something strange happened. The young Druid rushed the rogue and leapt onto him, causing him to stagger back, the moonlight revealing wounds that had been inflicted by fists. He knew that damage. His eyes shifted to Cole, who was holding a shivering and comatose Rachel. His jacket was wrapped around her to conserve her body heat. Why she was in her underthings remained a mystery. She had better not

have been tried, he thought, signaling the Reapers to flank the group. * Cole brought Rachel in closer to his body and with one arm put a restraining palm on Nathan. “No!” Cole yelled, straining against Nathan's charge. Nathan whipped his head around to Cole and said, “She is mine! I found her, she is not for the rogue!” His eyes were wild and pinned on Holly. “Look with eyes not consumed by lust!” Cole shouted. “They are a true, mated pair.”

Holly slammed into Zach and got up on her tiptoes and began to kiss him, touch him. The blood on his face was inconsequential to her. She could not get close enough to him. He groaned into her mouth and wrapped her up in his arms, picking her up against him, even as his eyes took in the leader of their enemy coven. Zach felt every protective instinct he possessed fire up and come together into a pure rage, focused at the threat at hand. He watched the Reapers spread out and surround their group. He turned with the young Druid in his arms, assessing where his vampires were and saw that the match was even, their bodies already poised for battle.

He let the girl slide down his front and felt a loss at their parting. Holly whimpered to the man that held her and clung to him. She knew that she shouldn't feel like she did but every fiber of her being screamed for him. Zach stroked her hair, pressing her face against his chest, hissing at the newcomers. His fangs dripped toxic venom onto the snow. * Alexander entered the deepest part of the clearing, taking in the two Reapers that appeared weary, the rogue that had been beaten and had all the protective

hallmarks of a mated vampire. His eyes flicked to the girl pressed against him, mewling and whimpering in the first throes of Impression. If that rogue fucked her, she would be unable to bear offspring with another. Worthless. Alexander made up his mind quickly. “Take the Druids, kill the others.” He did not need Reapers in his coven that did not follow orders. Or who took a female breeder he wished to have for himself. Cole barely had time to lay Rachel down on the cold ground, her breathing shallow, her skin freezing in front of him

before the first Reaper was on him. A Reaper he had been paired with before in battle, against others, who now fought him as an enemy. Nathan fought by his side, as before. Cole stayed in front of Rachel and the other Druid. Even though it was clear he could not have her. Duty prevailed. Protect the breeders. Zach moved Holly behind him protectively. “Stand back, little one,” he said to her, caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. She wrapped a small hand in the back of his shirt and clung to him. He turned and removed her hand. “I cannot protect you while we are under

siege.” “Look out!” Holly screamed and Zach ducked as the swipe of a hand ending in talons narrowly missed where his head had been. He turned and launched himself at the Reaper, his own talons punching out of fingertips that had lengthened to accommodate them. Holly got low to the ground, crawling to the woman that lay there in the center of the firestorm of fighting. Immediately Holly saw that she was slowly freezing to death and took off her own shoes, putting them on the woman. She took off the parka she wore over another jacket and wrapped the woman's bare legs in it. It was the best she could do and not freeze to death herself.

She covered the woman with her body and watched as the vampire she could hardly breathe without pummeled the other that had come to take her. Holly saw a large vampire advance on her and the woman and she burrowed in deeper beside her, making herself smaller. He looked bad. Worse than the one named Nathan. Nothing like the one that defended her. Cole watched Alexander advance on the women and redoubled his efforts to dispatch the Reapers. Nathan and he worked in tandem very well. It was no different now. Nathan got a strangle hold on with one Reaper, the

breath torn from his body and Cole stabbed him in the skull with a talon, twisting it at the last moment, so the brain was scrambled, its signals--gone. The Reaper's body imploded into a pile of ash, as effective as removing the head. He and Nathan turned in time to see Alexander grab the young Druid and she shrieked. For the rogue. The rogue turned from the body of a Reaper he had just decapitated, dumping it like trash at his feet and flung himself toward Alexander. His Druid's blood made him choose rashly, impulsively. For Alexander was a thousand years old and this rogue was no match for his stealth.

Cole could see the killing blow blossom from Alexander's hand. And then Nathan threw himself in the path of it. Committing suicide, saving the rogue, giving Cole the chance he needed. His chest tight, Cole attacked Alexander even as the last of his Reapers fell, a remaining rogue standing in triumph over the body, his face a bloody mask in the moonlight. Cole pierced Alexander from behind, his talons sinking deeply into his back and with a gurgled yell he flung the girl at the ground and Zach scooped her up against him, sprinting away from their fight. Powerless to stop it, Cole felt

Alexander shift to heal his wounds, Cole's hand in the middle of it. Then he was away, his huge wings taking him into the air and over their heads. Eyes that glowed red looked down on the group for one--two heartbeats. He sailed off, swooping over the tops of the trees, splattered blood on the snow the only sign that Cole had pierced a lung. Alexander had escaped. Cole looked for Rachel, took in her strange wardrobe and scooped her up against his chest. Her life was held by the most fragile tether with the blade of the elements against it. Ready for severing.

CHAPTER 8 Cole stood over the frozen ground, the slight hump of the dirt the only marker that his friend, his comrade, Nathan lay beneath the dirt. Not in rest. In death. He turned from the hasty grave, the tightness in his chest loosening. His sacrifice would not be in vain. He would take the Druid women and they would flee. He came into the structure of the rogue, a fire blazing in the heart, shutters that kept sunlight out of the interior completely, open for an hour longer. Dawn was approaching. He could feel it pressing at the edges of his

consciousness like a warning. He looked at where Rachel lay, a full grown woman swaddled as if she were a papoose. Still, she would need his blood. Again. The third time she had his blood would be the last. Their bond made unbreakable. Only sex, true penetration, would cement it sooner. Right now, to save her extremities he would have to give her blood. He had also needed to trust the rogue. Zach. It went against everything that Cole had been taught in his home coven. But the realization of Alexander's treachery was a fresh and rotting taste in his mouth. Nathan's death motivated him

to trust those that before, would have been an impossibility. He could still smell Zach on her body. He knew they had been together intimately. He seethed. But Cole also knew the hold a mixed blood could have over a Druid. And their final act had not been consummated. It was a breach of trust which struck deep, causing every territorial urge to roar, to scream to take her now, before another could claim her. But as he looked at her fragility by the fire, he was unable to do it. He would feed her, then they would settle this unrest between them. As it stood now, watching Zach with the new Druid, Holly, curled up in a sleeping ball on his lap, that one would not be

after his potential mate. His perfect mate had been handed up to him on a silver platter moments earlier. They regarded each other across the room. Both unsure of the future of the other. Could they reconcile their innate differences? Overcome them enough to flee together, begin anew somewhere else? Cole's eyes narrowed on Zach. He did not know. The rogue clutched the small Druid closer, stroking her hair and she made a sound in her sleep, her hand balling into the material of his shirt in a fist, burrowing in closer against him. His eyes darkened in response and he pressed her ever nearer.

I opened my eyes, sweating lightly. My arms were pressed against my sides and when my vision cleared I could see Cole, his intense eyes black in the firelight. Guilt swept over me. I'd let my captor ravage me. I'd responded and all the while Cole had been making his steady way toward me. Never faltering. I closed my eyes against the rush of emotion. Tears escaped, leaking out the sides of my eyes. Then he was there, his arms grasping my shoulders. “Rachel,” he said in a low tone of inquiry. I opened them and what I saw there was acceptance. Not happiness, not yet,

but hope. “I'm sorry. I was confused. I thought I would die... then Erik tried to...” I turned my face away and he brought it back. “You did nothing wrong. I know how the rogue progress. He would have been a fool not to try and mate you. You could not have known what had become of me, where I was.” He looked down for a moment and when his eyes locked with mine again, they flashed silver with anger and I shrank back against the fierceness they held. He unwrapped me from the heavy woolen blanket and when he sat me up, he grasped my shoulders, giving me a small shake. “But you are mine. And

soon, we will make it permanent.” His eyes searched mine and saw a mirror of his own, uncertainty, hope and fear in a confusing mix. “I will not force you, but you realize it would be one group or another after you constantly, no matter where you were. You must be mated to cease their pursuit.” He rolled up his sleeve and tore into his own wrist. “Drink,” he commanded. I shook my head. “If you do not, you may lose the use of your hands, feet,” he indicated with a sweep of his arm. I knew that the more blood I had from him, the tighter the pull... bond, whatever the hell he called it, would

become. I didn't want to be owned by someone, no matter how they made me feel. I looked at my hands, white even in the firelight and knew he spoke the truth. I grasped his forearm with both hands, unable to get around the girth of it and pressed my lips to what was offered. It was tangy and sweet, an exquisite assault to my taste buds. Not like the salty taste of copper when I'd bite my lip. I rolled my eyes up to meet his and he moaned his pleasure at my drinking from his vein. The harder I pulled from him, the more I wanted. It frightened me. The neediness. My greed. Gently, he extracted me, his hands slightly shaky. “Enough.”

He pulled me next to him and with a final look at Zach, and the Druid sleeping against him. He fell asleep with one eye open, staring for a beat at the remaining rogue, guarding the door while we slept. The Vampire, one of the rogue and one of the coven of Alexander, shook off the bruises and scars of battle while they slept, their bodies repairing themselves for their next endeavor. Escape.

EPILOGUE They ran but remained one step ahead of Alexander. Throwing themselves across the frozen terrain of Canada they slept were they could, fed on the criminals that were so plentiful, and gathered human food for the women. Little progress was made in their romances. Their matings. It was primarily about survival. Cole had a goal. He and Zach had become tight conspirators together. He ruminated on their conversations. *

Cole pointed to the map, tapping the route and Zach interrupted him. “No, I believe White Horse Crossing is the very best straightaway.” He met Cole's eyes. “The cattle will mask our scent, Reaper.” He narrowed his eyes on Cole and he realized that Zach held him partly responsible for Alexander's pursuit. Zach had a short memory. After all, it was he that had taken Rachel from Cole. His Intimate the one who had perpetuated the worst betrayal. No, if blame was to be meted out, he would share equally. Zach thought about his next words carefully. “You propose we move toward Seattle, a low-light area.” He shrugged. “That latitude, although not

ideal, will be enough.” Cole nodded. Hopefully, he would see reason. They needed to put their differences aside in the hope of a unified protection of the Druids. Their mates. That is what they would be shortly. When this tireless running stopped. Cole planted his large hands on his hips, smelling Rachel approach even before she made noise of it. She came from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head against him. Cole drew her into his body, smelling the hotel shampoo in her hair, thinking it lovely. But it was Rachel. Everything about her moved him. Her fragrance, that which she applied and what was intrinsically her.

Something he never tired of. Holly also came to Zach, their relationship different. She was extremely young. Zach may have deliberated the taking of her entirely because of her age, earmarking her acquisition for the future. Nathan had obviously been overcome, beaten and tortured by Alexander, in the insatiable grip of blood lust, he had taken a Druid that was not yet ripe. Cole had to give grudging admiration to Zach, who as Holly approached, took her tenderly, stroking her jaw, cupping her face like a fragile egg. It was obvious to Cole that the Imprint was true, only their sexual communion needed to finalize it.

Rachel began with her nightly wheedle of him. He understood her need for some human contact but it was dangerous. It was the very thing he wished to avoid. “Please Cole,” she implored. “Just take us to a bar. We'll blend, I swear it.” Zach chuckled. “Yes, our females blend so well.” His sarcasm spread thick like jam on toast. Cole gave a grim smile and seeing it, Rachel sighed. He was always so serious. It had been weeks since the threat of Alexander. She crossed her arms across her chest, cradling her breasts. Cole tried to tear his gaze away from her ripe breasts with an effort. Sleeping together and light kissing was

all they'd managed. The four of them needed to find a safe place to land. And it was not here. In this time. It would wait until Seattle. Holly gave Rachel a grateful look. “Very well, we will escort you to the human bar. We will eat...” “We'll eat,” Holly giggled and Rachel smiled. The vampires would get their meals outside. In the cold. On the hunt. Rachel knew and shivered. Knowing their victims were the criminal dregs of society didn't make it any easier to justify. Although, when Cole had relayed the type of blood victims he picked, I couldn't get too worked up about them.

Date rapists? It was a kindness that they didn't castrate them. Jerks. They got bundled up and the vampires went ahead of Holly and I, doing a careful reconnaissance before circling back around to pick us up. It had been three minutes but I had felt uneasy about Cole's brief absence. How fast I'd gotten used to him in the role as protector. I felt like a weak female, a role I wasn't accustomed to. But that was before creatures of the night began popping up all around me out of the weird-ass toaster of my new life. “Where are they?” Holly asked impatiently. “They'll be here, they're just checking to make sure it's safe.” I liked

Holly but sometimes our almost ten year age gap made an appearance. Zach didn't seem to mind. They were some kind of “mated pair.” Like some preordained thing. I was trying to wrap my head around the existence of vampires. Check. I'd done that. Then I was trying to further believe that some strange witch’s blood concoction running through my veins made me a viable breeder for vampires. Blood suckers, creatures of the night. Check. But this? That there were certain Druids that were perfectly suited... no,

only suited to one vampire of mixed descent. It was almost too much. Like winning a damn lotto ticket or something. I stifled a giggle. It was almost funny. But then I saw them with my own two eyes and it was the most obvious and natural pairing I'd ever seen. It gave credence to that old saying, “meant to be.” Zach hardly let her go to the bathroom without him there. And now they had not returned. I kept a neutral expression as Holly began to pace. When it became ten minutes since we'd seen them I went to the hotel door, a room bought from the spoils of the vampires.

Their blood kills. Cole's voice echoed its warning even as I cracked the door. Don't ever open it. Don't advertise your scent, your whereabouts. I wasn't worried. I opened the door about two inches and met the victorious face of Alexander. I slammed the door and it burst inward, clipping my injured shoulder. I fell on my back as Holly screamed, running to the bathroom, a vampire behind her in a blur, he ripped her off her feet, covering her mouth. But it was Alexander that I couldn't take my eyes off. I scuttled backwards from him but he advanced on me.

Hunkering down next to me he whispered, “Where is your precious Reaper now, Druid?” He lifted a chunk of my hair, smelling it the same way Cole had. But it was so different. Utterly different. I wanted to be sick, impotent rage filling me. It beat like a deadly pulse inside my body. I slapped his smug face. His expression darkened, my handprint made a livid mark on the paleness of his cold skin. He backhanded me almost playfully and my head spun. I fell on my back, stunned. My face went numb where he'd struck me.

He hadn't even been trying. Not really. My eyes met Holly's from the floor, hers wide in a face leveled by fear. The vampire that held her pleased beyond measure. Tears ran down our faces, identical agony. Alexander jerked me to my feet, pressing me against his side. I swayed and he held me up when all I wanted was to get away from him, my head spinning in streamers of color. They dragged us to a huge SUV, the exhaust making a lazy spiral like chimney smoke. Holly struggled mightily but the vampire overwhelmed her, she was so tiny. I didn't struggle, my head hurt so bad I was fighting throwing up

because of the hit. Alexander shoved me in first, and got in right after, Holly on the other side with the vampire that held her effectively sandwiching them inside the vehicle. The driver turned, a small smile on his lips. “Where?” “North,” Alexander said, a secret smile on his face. I hung my head in despair, meeting an identical expression on Holly's face. Why hadn't Zach and Cole returned for us? The car pulled away, the town becoming a small, dark dot in the distance as we drove, my hope dimming with my vision.

**** Cole woke in an alley close to the hotel they were in, his vision filling with Zach, his throat a raw disaster. He crawled over to him, his head swimming. He did not even want to know what his injuries were. But there was one thing he did know. Alexander had been the cause of it. The dull ache in his chest told him all he wished to know. There would be frantic tracking ahead of them. He tore his wrist open like he had done for Rachel by the fire, his teeth clenching at the memory, his fangs puncturing the inside of his own mouth.

He let the blood drip, first onto the wound at Zach's throat, then into a mouth he parted with his strong fingers. Gradually Cole watched Zach's Adam's apple bob, accepting the lifeblood of their kind and his eyes snapped open, the realization and fear that filled them for one thing and one thing only. Holly. His Druid soul mate had been taken from underneath their noses; the ratio of enemies against themselves so high they could not prevail. While they fought for their lives against ten of their kind, Alexander swept in and took their mates. Their brides.

Cole looked at the moon, close to setting. He was calculating how much time they would lose when they could finally resume their tracking at night. A full day. Cole screamed his rage into the night. Once again Druids were unprotected. Because that was what it was. Rachel would not die. Holly would not die. But they may very well wish they could. Before the end, they may wish for death. Long for it.

THE END

Rachel and Holly escape from Alexander's clutches only to fall into the hands of his Reapers.

Can Cole and Zach save their chosen before they are claimed by another? Will the Druid women fulfill their destiny to change the race of vampire forever?

HARVEST A Druid Series Novella Volume 3 New York Times Bestselling Author

MARATA EROS All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2011-12 Marata Eros No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,

actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Marata Eros Website Marata Eros FB Fan Page Font art by Bookish Brunette Designs Editing suggestions provided by Hazel Novak

CHAPTER 1 Zach and Cole worked in tandem, going on pure instinct. The Druids had been taken in a car, while the ground lay frozen all around them in icy stillness. It was at its most difficult to scent when the temperature was below freezing, as well as the challenge of auto travel tracking. Unfortunately for Alexander, being a Reaper had its benefits. Cole had extraordinary nasal sensitivity at his disposal. The getaway car, as it were, was unique to his kiss' compound. Therefore, it had a signature that he could trace. That he did trace.

Then there was Zach. Zach had fallen into a true mated pairing with Holly. One in which he was bonded to her by blood. They had shared blood more than the mandatory three cycles. It had given Zach, of the shared Druid ancestry, daylight privileges. Cole had also taken from Rachel. As a pureblood she gave him that benefit as well. He could only pray to whatever was holy, that Alexander had not thought to pierce the veins that lay beneath his grasp. Essentially, a blood rape. His large hands clenched into meaty hammers of violence with just the thought of their predatory former leader harming Rachel. Taking what was not his to have.

Cole's thoughts turned to Holly. She was obviously related. He and Zach and he had conferred and they were of matching blood. Rachel and Holly were siblings, there was no doubt. Who were the relatives that had given the girls up? Had it been done purposefully? As a measure of protection? Or, was there something other afoot? Many questions without answers. Cole thought through all these things, running seamlessly in his mind as he and Zach ran the frozen terrain together, sleeping little during the day, waking to feed during the night. Their pursuit of Alexander and the gap therein, closing with each minute that passed.

They drew close, Rachel's unique biological perfume proliferating everywhere he scented. Maybe they had bedded down somewhere that had another vampire contingent? That possibility snaked its way down a spine that was stiff with apprehension. They moved as one toward a local bar, nearly to the Alaska/Canadian border, backtracking. “Are we near?” Zach asked, eyes drowning pools of black ink. The light all around them bright, undimmed by the night, the moon full and luminously brilliant above them. Cole nodded, not speaking. They were here to feed. They needed to be fully vested with blood if they were to

engage Alexander and whatever contingent he had garnered on the three day journey since the women had been taken. Zach and he moved to the back alley, where there were always the human dregs, scurrying about in the dark. Like the rodents they were. * My tears had dried, my sobbing gone unheeded. The cloth pressed between my lips and that bound its way around my skull was pulled tight. I rolled my eyes to where Holly was, hers wide with fright.

The women hung, suspended. Their toes barely grazed the concrete floor, shoulders numb. Alexander smiled. Everything he had dreamed of possessing was here before him. He would have them both, he had decided. Who was to tell him differently? When he tired of them, and his blood lust was well sated, he would turn them over to whatever Reaper had sufficient ancestry to breed them out. It was a perfect plan. Fool proof. His eyes roamed the form of Rachel, ripe and curved, her blood a fragrant wine ready to be consumed. He moved forward, the muffled sounds of the other Druid, muted by the binding stuffed in her mouth.

I watched Alexander come closer, violence in motion and despaired, he would have me. Bleed me. And judging by the way he looked, the other as well. It was all because of my moment of curiosity at the door. I should've never opened it. It put myself and Holly at risk. Right now, I felt like a goddamned loser. I'd let Holly get taken. It was my fault. Whatever he did, I was determined to survive it. For Cole. I felt my guts clench at the first stroke of a finger along my jaw. I couldn't help the involuntary flinch for anything in the world.

Josiah looked at their supposed leader and felt disquiet enter him. Alexander had once been a great leader, meting out Druid fairly amongst the Druid vampire, Reapers especially. How had the circumstances lent themselves to the debauchery at hand? He was unsure. But he could not abide two pure Druids, the kiss having gone so long without one of pure descent, to be treated in this despicable manner. And why would Alexander be tormenting the women as he was? He gave a hard gaze to the other Reapers, the few that had survived the massacre at the rogue's stronghold and they nodded back. They were of one mind.

The three moved forward to overwhelm their leader. Their leader who appeared to have gone mad. Alexander felt the Reapers at his back before they were upon him. I widened my eyes in the only warning I could give as the closest Reaper approached Alexander. A tremulous hope blossomed within my soul that there may yet be freedom as the first talon buried itself within Alexander's back. Alexander felt the pierce of talon to flesh as he twisted around to meet the

assault with one of his own. He buried his fingers, turned to sharpened claws, into the underside of the jaw of the one who attacked first. Another Reaper used the fighting as a distraction to take Alexander's head. With a sweeping blow, he struck Alexander from behind, relieving him of his thought process forever. His head rolled away like a bowling ball on the concrete floor in a spray of blood and gore, the mess spreading as it flew. The Reapers looked down at Josiah as he gasped for breath, his eyes trained on Andrew's face. He made a decision. Using a claw like a knife, he released the bound Druid who was closest. She

fell into the arms of his brethren and he gave her a look. His eyes slid to the pile of ash which used to be Alexander. Their leader's custom made clothes lay atop his remains. Andrew gave a grim smile and said to the Druid, “You will need to give this Reaper blood. Now.” I sagged into the arms of the Reaper that held me in abject relief, watching the one that had decapitated Alexander. I was so grateful I could spit but of course there would be payment. I knew this. I narrowed my eyes at his request. Cole had told me that every drink of my pure Druid blood brought the vampire closer to walking in the light.

The sun would no longer be their enemy. Fear seized my guts. It would not be just one sip. They'd bleed me dry. I knew it. I struggled uselessly, weakened by everything we'd been through, my arms swinging like loose noodles at my sides. Andrew dragged her to Josiah, his neck a ruined disaster, his gasping breaths that rattled made her back up even as she was pulled forward. Andrew placed her wrist at his mouth. Josiah sucked in a huge breath and clamped down on the proffered wrist.

I couldn't help it, that much pain as the fangs sunk into my wrist was more than I could bear. I wailed as they struck. The one named Andrew was beside me instantly as I whimpered in pain. “We do not wish to hurt you purposefully. He dies. He will die without what you possess. If there were any other way, we would not force this.” I nodded. What could I do? While he sucked at my wrist, mewling like a cat with cream as he lapped my blood, I closed my eyes. Shame, terror and something else warred together in a confusing wash of emotions. All this accomplished was buying myself some time.

When I could think past the pain, my eyes met Holly's. Her's were wide with terror, mine with resolve.

CHAPTER 2 Cole and Zach circled the group that they had discovered. Vampire. They had been careless, running across their own kind, the wind blowing the wrong direction to alert them until they were upon them. The male Cole took for the leader hissed at Cole, warning him off his prey. As if Cole would consider it, he could smell the drug-addled blood from here. He was welcome to it. “You are not of this region. You smell foreign. By what rights do you hunt here?” the leader asked, the blood from his victim making his mouth resemble

that of a clown. Zach and Cole gave each other a full glance. They were sorely outnumbered, five to two. He would play the civility hand and see where it got him. “We are but passing through. Actually, we are in search of Druid.” The leader's brows quirked. “You are Reapers?” His eyes slid to Zach. “I am not. I am rogue,” Zach said. They regarded one another for a moment then the leader said, “Yet... you hunt together. A Reaper and one of the rogue. In search of Druid flesh.” He chortled out loud. “That is the first I have ever heard of such a thing.” Cole knew that he sought

information but would not aide them. He moved to leave. The leader of the four other vampires gave a subtle signal to his comrades in arms. They surrounded Zach and Cole. They moved closer to each other, back to back. * Josiah looked up with rapture as the Druid offered her life-saving blood to him. Albeit reluctantly. But who could blame the Druid women their wariness? Alexander had been cruel to this breeder, true. And the other, who he had not given so much as a glance to, would

have been treated similarly. Why he had become a tyrant when he had once ruled with fairness, he did not know. When Josiah felt that he could breathe again, his ruined esophagus mending itself as he drank, he released the Druid's wrist. But not before he lapped at the wound, the ragged edges an embarrassment. His usual finesse had been absent in the face of the scent of her blood and his death a near thing. The Reaper finally released my wrist after licking it for what seemed like forever. The saliva he'd used like a salve. It wasn't a burning mess anymore. I cradled my ragged wrist against my chest and gave accusing eyes to Andrew.

He shrugged his shoulders. “It was no small thing to kill Alexander. Our leader. Our leader for millennia.” His eyes never left mine. I gulped and backed away. Into Josiah. The one I'd just given blood to. Wow, that was speedy. I whirled around to defend myself against the impossible and he was smiling, revealing fangs. “I would no more hurt you than I would myself, breeder. We will not give you the end for which Alexander had planned.” I didn't ask what that end would have been. “But neither do we feel inclined to return you to our comrade, Cole.”

Andrew elaborated. I opened my mouth to protest but Holly threw herself in my arms just as I would have given old Andrew a piece of my mind. Where my bravery came from, I didn't know. But I sure as hell was tired of being passed around, pursued and now... caught. I was on the bad side of pissed off at the vamp at my back. The one that met my eyes got it. Holly pressed against me in nearhysteria and I stroked her hair as she cried. “Cole has shared some of your history with me,” I said to Andrew and he crossed his arms, the ash of his leader as backdrop. I shivered, going on, “The

rogue he travels with is a true mate to Holly.” My eyes shifted to the tiny girl I was holding. So miniature I felt like she was a doll in the circle of my arms. “Nathan died to protect her, so she could be with Zach. It would seem to me that you vamps need to rein in your instinct to breed us long enough to think about what kind of parents we'd be to your offspring,” I paused, letting that soak in then continued, “if we're forced into relationships that go against your own rules.” That had been quite a speech for me but I saw the wheels turning in Andrew's head as he began to pace back and forth in front of me. In profile, with his hair bound by a leather tie, he looked every

bit the arrogant European, I thought randomly. “Are you certain?” he asked me, turning those hawkish features to me. I shrugged. “That's what Cole said.” “What does the girl say? Does she acknowledge the tie?” Holly pulled away, her face a tear stained mess and with a trembling lip, slowly nodded. “This little slip of a girl?” he asked in a derisive tone, flipping his palm toward her dismissively. “How old are you girl?” I could see what it took for Holly not to cower, her only sign that the crying jag was still within reach was a pouty lower lip that she clenched softly

between her teeth. But when she spoke, her voice was clear, sniffles gone. “I don't know what all this 'mating' stuff means. But what I felt for him, even knowing he's one of you guys... a vampire,” she looked at Andrew, and Josiah, who had made his way to stand beside the other vampire, “told me it's real.” She put her fist against her heart, her words only a little shaky. Josiah and Andrew looked at each other and Andrew said, “You will eventually come to care for one of us. We cannot just allow you to be with a rogue. As it were, we cannot even be sure why a true mating would come about with one of them.” He shrugged. I narrowed my eyes on them. “So

what you've just told us, if I'm understanding your jerkness here, is that you'll be mating with us anyway. It doesn't matter that even as we speak, there may be two very pissed off vampires on your ass.” Andrew smiled, then it faded as he thought of Cole. That one bore concern. The rogue was without concern. Except... if the mating was a true fact, that the rogue was indeed the true mate of the young Druid. He would stop at nothing to regain her. Nothing. Andrew frowned. “Let us leave this place. We will take of your blood and you will submit. This will allow

daylight travel.” He, Josiah and the three others walked toward us. Holly did cower then. I was resolute. They could take all they want. At the first opportunity, I would escape. After all, they killed Alexander to free us from his plans, only to put their designs on us without our consent. More of the same, I was thinking. Their huge bodies drew closer as my heart sped at their proximity. * Cole and Zach unsheathed their talons, the claws bursting their houses of

flesh instantly, a punching sounded as their fingertips released their charge. The leader circled, his talons at the ready. “We do not have to war with you and the rogue. Tell us where the Druids are and we will give chase. Our numbers are greater, concede our advantage. We will not harm the breeders.” He smiled and continued, “But we will breed them,” he said definitively, spreading his palms away from his body. Cole would not stop his pursuit of Rachel until the breath left his body. He did not need to confer with Zach, a true mate to a Druid was formidable. Cole was not yet mated to Rachel and now lamented his decision to wait until they

were settled. He was sure that Zach echoed his thoughts. “I see that your decision has been made,” the leader said in a low voice, attacking as the last word was uttered. Zach was rogue and did not know the meaning of fair fighting. He slung his bladed hands low, taking the testicles of the advancing vampire right at the root. With a shrieking wail, he fell where he stood, blood spraying out between fingers that held his nethermost regions in a stranglehold. Zach had crippled him, stunning his advance in its tracks. Let him grow a pair, Zach thought without humor, his thoughts already trained on Holly. He would do whatever needed to be done to get to her.

No tactic was beneath his notice. Cole would have laughed at Zach's cunning if he was not instantly engaged with the leader and who looked to be his first. Cole smashed his talons in the face of his first even as his downward stroke cut deeply into Cole's shoulder where he had just laid the strike. His arm was useless, falling numb under the assault and he took the enemy down with a skull scramble. Cole used his shitkicker to roundhouse kick the leader as he let his body fall backward to avoid a wellplaced swipe at where his head had been moments before. Two others came from behind as Cole was falling. They tried to catch him

but Cole was accustomed to practiced falls of avoidance and as his toe made purchase with the leader's jaw, crushing it on impact like so much glass, he used his good hand to balance his fall and both of his legs came above his head and twined around the head of one of the other's. Cole twisted his legs, his palm flat on the abandoned alley pavement, the cold leeching into his arm and shoulder as the strain of holding up two hundred and thirty pounds of tense muscle was executed on a dime of motion. He broke the neck of the one as the leader fell to the floor, unable to scream from a mouth that could not longer form words.

The rogue came for the last. The enemy saw his problem and the vampire came at Zach, odds as they were, and with practiced jabs was overtaking him. But Zach had one more thing up his sleeve, allowing his upper shoulder to be hooked by talons that went through his body and perforated his back with a grunt, he head-butted the vampire, stunning him. Zach smashed the Reaper's skull with the nubs of his partially extended talons. Like brass knuckles. The brains of the vampire slid out his ears, the Reaper's talons retracting automatically upon his death and slicing through the meat of Zach's shoulder with an agonizing jerk.

Cole lay on the ground. His shoulder was a numb disaster, his bell certainly rung and looked at Zach as he advanced on the injured enemy ranks. Seconds later, the Reapers were dead, three heads leveled against the frozen road. Zach held out a hand to Cole. He took it. They turned together, the soles of their boots becoming dirty with snow and ash. Scenting the air for prey, they did not have far to go. They fell on the group of drug addicts. Weak from fighting, the finickiness of before gone, the need for

food forgotten in the face of their need. Zach and Cole drank. Adding the bodies of their prey to the ashen snow which lay like storm clouds on the ground.

CHAPTER 3 I was laying in a languid stupor. One of Alexander's wonderful Reaper spawn cradled me against his chest, too weak to move. They'd had their pound of flesh. Or in this case, a pound of blood. They'd had just enough so that I was still conscious. Holly continued whimpering beside me. Apparently, when you were a true mate, having another vampire take blood was extra painful. Swell. The males had felt bad about taking from her. But not bad enough to stop. The Reapers surrounded an old

warehouse, the wind and snow howling around where they stood. I had my eyelids at half-mast, every fiber of energy going to keeping myself awake when Andrew spoke. “Josiah, Elias... get the women in there for the night to bed down. They are too weak by far to withstand the storm. My brothers...” The group looked at Andrew expectantly and what he said next made me want to punch him square in the face, “because of the richness of our meal, we will be able to travel with the sun one day hence.” There were muted cheers but the wind sucked away the sound of them. Good for them, I thought sourly. They kicked in the door that stood

between them and the heated building, its large windows intersected with many panes of glass, jewel-like in the moonlight which pierced their dirty surfaces. They gathered tough woolen military blankets that smelled like they must have been from WWII at least. They lowered me into a cocoon of them and wrapped me up like a fragile parcel. “Will she be well enough to travel tomorrow?” The one named Josiah asked Andrew. He looked at me critically before responding, “I think that if she rests, then consumes some food, she will be well enough.” I glanced down at my forearms,

punctured as they were with the pockmarks of multiple fang piercings and wanted to cry. I looked like Swiss cheese. Instead of crying, I let exhaustion take me and fell into an uneasy recuperative slumber. Little did I know that as I slept, Cole came for me, scenting the blood droplets that had fallen as the others feasted on my blood. His howl of rage never reached my deaf ears as I slept from exhaustion and blood loss, my forearms a throbbing burning rawness. Cole's mouth snapped shut, the echoing of his bellow of rage still

flinging its music around the space where they had discovered the trail. Cole and Zach had found the blood trail which told them that Rachel and Holly were now in the hands of his fellow Reapers. It also heralded the demise of Alexander. A superb development. But what enraged Cole was the scent of Holly and Rachel's blood everywhere. Then there was the scarf that Holly always wore. Zach had it clutched in his big hands, pressing it against his face like a cat rubbing its scent along a favorite couch. His eyes were clenched tightly. “They took her blood at the

neck,” his voice was low gravel tinged with despair. A grave insult to violate the intimacy of a mated vampire spouse. But they were not truly mated. Sexual intercourse was needed before that would truly happen with finality, bonded forever. “Why did I not take her before they did?” He was not talking kidnapping, Cole knew. He was talking about burying his cock and seed in the chosen Druid. Cole shrugged, understanding exactly their complacency. They never thought it possible that Alexander could best them. If they could have just made it to Seattle. Then they would've

disappeared within the folds of its concrete embrace and they would have been as invisible as needed. Now, because of their disregard for the potential of the Druid women's capture, they were gone, like so much sand falling through fingers. Cole picked up the silken shirt that had been Alexander's, the cufflinks falling to the ground at his feet, twinkling in the moonlight. He scooped them up, pocketing their weight. Easy pawning. Zach tucked the scarf in his pocket, so slight it hardly showed. They nodded at each other and easily picked up the trail. With the slimmest hope, Cole believed it was

possible that the Reapers did not know who followed them. But knowing Rachel as he did, she might have used the threat of them as a way to prevent or postpone just what had occurred. No matter, they fed on the women to run during the day. If they had traveled in a quad, then there were four Reapers. Cole smiled grimly. They had just done away with worse odds. As they ran, Cole spoke to Zach in the high speech of their kind, heard only by a lone dog in the distance. It howled at the unnaturalness of their speech, tucking its tail between its legs and burrowing into the safety of its den. One eye was kept on the dark

terrain outside his kennel. The dog was hopeful that the dead creatures would not turn in his direction. He slunk further inside his doghouse.

CHAPTER 4 I awoke naked and spreadeagled on the blankets I'd fallen asleep on. A vampire loomed a each of the four corners of my body. I sucked in a lungful and was about to scream when a hand covered my mouth. I looked up into the eyes of the one that had first taken my blood and realized that they wanted more than the pound of blood they'd consumed. I was thinking the pound of flesh hadn't been far off. Muddled thoughts of Cole stirred in my mind, but Andrew was between my legs and the heat that mingled with their blood's call to mine wasn't something I

could rationalize away. He saw that I had awoken and braced a forearm against my hips even as my panties had been torn off my body. “Spread your legs, breeder,” Andrew growled. I had enough resistance to attempt to close them even as he used large hands to push them apart. I gulped back a scream as Josiah captured the sound with his kiss. His tongue invaded my mouth, stabbing in and out the warm entrance, fucking it as I moaned against the invasion. Andrew mirrored the dance of his tongue with his fingers, pushing one deep in my pussy, pulling it out, adding a second and generating a rhythm as if

tailor-made for me. My breaths were coming in ragged gasps as he was bringing me closer. I internally damned my biology. A biology that put me at risk to fuck any Reaper or breedable vampire that walked by. One of the other vampires had my arms cranked above my head as my body was pushed and pulled subtly with the pumping of Andrew's fingers. Just as I thought I would blast an orgasm around his fingers he removed them and one of his foot soldiers took over. Instead of burying his fingers in my snatch, he put his tongue in me, sweeping it along my heated folds and alternately stabbing the warm, thick length of it inside my hot

hole. I couldn't help it, I spread my legs wider to give a vampire I'd never met before today greater access. He took it for the invitation is was and tore his pants open. His great cock sprung free of the trappings of his pants and seeing it like a great sword of flesh made me shiver in anticipation. He lowered himself on me, hovering above my wet entrance even as my hips strained to meet his. He began to inch the blunt tip of his staff inside my wet pussy. He groaned with pleasure as the beginning of him entered me and I thrust my hips upward to meet each inch he slowly shoved into me.His girth was large and my pussy had to stretch to

accommodate him. But the pull of his cock as it sunk in and out was delicious. As he reached the end of my channel, I felt the bump of him at its end and I cried out as the pleasure nearly overwhelmed me. Josiah came beside him and said, “How does the breeder feel wrapped around you?” he asked in a voice gone low with desire and barely masked lust. The vampire above me grunted as he pounded his length inside me and ground out, “She fucks true, my friend. As you'll see soon enough.” The vampires had let my arms go, satisfied to stand around me in a loose circle, while their comrade buried the flesh of his cock to the root inside me,

my body sliding back and forth by the pounding. I watched his shoulders bunch and flex as he buried himself in me and I spread my legs wider so he could get deeper penetration. He stabbed his length deep inside me one last time and shuddered his release. Hot seed filled my body, soaking my pussy, which throbbed its pleasure around his thick shaft, milking it of every last drop. He pulled out, and Josiah took his place. Guiding his flesh inside mine, cum leaking out from its predecessor, he slid inside me in one long push. Both of us grunted with the impact, my pussy wet and ready to receive his cock. He clenched his teeth, a flutter

appearing in his jaw as he rocked inside me. “I will not last long, breeding you will be a pleasure,” he said as he lowered his lips on mine, giving me a feather's kiss that tweaked my mouth open. He braced one hand behind my head, holding his weight above me as he plunged inside me, the other hand buried in my hair, training my head in the direction he wanted it to be. His lips moved over mine with force now, even as his body entered mine. As he drew closer, he licked a long line against my bottom lip as he pumped his last into me. His hands left my hair to slap the floor beneath me. Josiah arched his back, our hips met, married deeply within each other's flesh.

Andrew hauled Josiah off roughly, his shaft, now soft from use and release, torn out like a fleshy plug. “I have waited a long time to bury my flesh in a breeder.” I came to my senses and squirmed onto all fours, trying to scramble away. His total attitude screamed ownership, devour, plunder and I was intimidated. I'd never screwed two men in a row and wasn't wanting to make it three. Especially not with him. He grasped my hips from behind and jerking me against him, plunged a cock so huge into me that I gasped, the pleasure bordering pain. “Oh yes... she feels... perfect,” he grunted as he forced himself into my

dripping pussy. Wet with the cum of others. The more I tried to get away the harder he held my hips, pushing his engorged cock deep inside of me. “Hold still breeder, just a few more strokes of my prick inside your ready pussy and I will sink my fangs into you.” I really tried to move then and he plunged harder, my pussy making a sucking sound around his cock. The tight, wet hole, clinging to his prick as it rode me. “Now, you will be mine!” he shouted as his release shot up into my womb, the entrance sucking up all the seed he spurted out of his cock as he sank his fangs into the soft flesh of my

neck. His body arched above mine, his dick still pumping, my hips rising against my will, spreading and thrusting against him. His throat convulsed as he took my blood even as he sprayed his cum into my snatch. Andrew pulled out of me and pushed my head to the floor, my ass and pussy primed in the air, cum leaking down my inner thighs. He slapped my ass with a stinging softness that made me moan. I hadn't wanted to take pleasure in the fucking but it felt so natural for the Reapers to fuck me. Even as the next one moved into position behind my cunt I spread my legs wider. He found my entrance quickly and

slammed his dick all the way inside me. This one spared me nothing, finding my hole wet with others' seed, he plowed into my pussy, pumping ferociously. Using his vampire speed he slid in and out, rubbing deliciously over that spot up high that would give me what I needed. “Is she coming?” I heard one of the Reapers ask. “Not... yet!” the one that I couldn't see threw out through teeth that were clamped together. He was working his control to get as much fucking of my wet pussy as he could before his release. His dick moved inside me in a blur and as his shaft hardened, my womb opened and my throbbing pussy clenched around his cock, inviting his release in

an undeniable need. “Oh God!” he yelled and poured all the cum he'd been holding back inside me. He shoved my head down with a massive hand on my neck and held me still as he continued to pump his cock inside me. I moaned in pleasure as that fourth cock left my throbbing hole. I flipped over on my back and waited for any others, my pussy a burning mass of heat and desire. I felt like a bitch in heat as I lay there, legs spread, my glistening and well-used hole open for more. *

“Rachel, Rachel! Wake up!” I opened my eyes and gazed into Holly's worried eyes. My pussy was still throbbing. From the dream. That whole thing had been an erotic nightmare. It had been tasteable; it felt so real. I threw a forearm over my eyes, confused and relieved at the same time. It had seemed so real. I opened my eyes again and looked at the healing evidence of fangs and wondered about side effects. Maybe they took my blood and then... I didn't know. Holly searched my eyes. “You were moaning in your sleep. They wanted me

to check on you first, so you wouldn't freak out.” Right, not freaking out here. Just had the biggest orgasm of my life in my sleep but wasn't touched. I sat up, looking at my surroundings in the daylight. Blinking several times my eyes met those of Andrew's and he smirked. He totally knew. I got to my feet, feeling lightheaded from the blood that was taken and the residual effects of coming eighty times. I stalked over to Andrew and I said, “What did you do to me?” I stabbed my finger into his muscular chest to emphasize my words and he captured it, bringing it to his mouth, kissing it softly.

“Nothing you did not wish done, breeder.” “Bullshit!” I jerked my hand away and he laughed. “What... you come in and rape me in my dreams? Is that what this is about?” His face became carefully neutral. “It is only one benefit of the blood share. We have taken of your blood. For a few days now, we may walk in the day, glory in the heat of the sun upon our skin. And, we have access to your mind while you are not conscious.” His eyes held mine. “You begrudge us the encounter that we had with you?” No. “Hell yes!” I said. It didn't really matter that I'd ended up having some of the hottest sex of my life. If it

had not been for being Druid, would I have allowed it? My thoughts turned to Michelle, my friend that had been a lover of casual sex. Was I like that now? I didn't think I had come around to that mindset so quickly. But this biology. The biology of being Druid, was a sexual magnet to the Reapers. Then there was Cole. I was sure he was the one I was destined to be with. Once mated, I wouldn't be sexual fodder for the masses. I straightened my spine. “That was exploiting me. You want to use us as breeders for your offspring? You said you 'saved us' from Alexander?” My voice dropped to a whisper, being vampire, he didn't even strain to hear.

“You just traded one bad behavior for another.” My eyes searched the burgundy irises of his. “Fine. You've proven that I can't resist the pull of our blood.” Andrew's brows rose in surprise. I continued, “But all you did was play your hand, force it. Have some damn self-pride and conquer us the right way. Don't use...” “Trickery?” Josiah said with a grin. I nodded. “Yeah, that'll do.” Holly walked up beside me, looking like she had measles on her arms too. “Duly noted,” Andrew said. “We will not... indispose you in the future.” His voice became intense, “but know this, we will have you, all of us, and you will welcome it.”

I didn't say anything but I think my face conveyed what my silence did not: fat chance.

CHAPTER 5 Cole watched with anger as the bloody orb of the sun sunk beneath the horizon, low already because of the season. He knew not where Rachel was, but was convinced that the ones who had her had consumed her blood. They were daywalkers now. Not for long, no. But, they had lead time that he and Zach did not enjoy. Cole swore softly, beating his fist into his open palm. Zach swung his face to Cole's. “They have partaken of Holly's blood,” he said, seething. His face was a mask of rage and Cole clapped him on his back. “They are Reapers, Zach. With

Alexander gone, they will hold to the regime.” Zach looked at Cole. “That is what worries me. The rogue hold to one mate for one vampire. Your kiss practices multi-partner matings.” Cole sighed. “It has been the way of it for many years. However,” he pegged Zach with his intense stare, “in this case, there can only be two mates to the exclusion of all others. She will consummate with two. The key is to reach the Druids before they have executed this.” “Do they not wish to abide by the ritual?” Cole's face took on a grim look. “That is the way. But, in the presence of

pure Druids, for the length of journey back to our coven...” Cole spread his hands wide. “They would have to master a level of self-restraint that may be impossible. Think back on the challenge of it with the women when they were with us. Even with all the running, we still wanted them.” Zach thought about tiny Holly. A body made to fuck his. His hands shook with the need to bury himself inside her. In all her virginal splendor. Untried, but for him. Soon, he promised himself. Somehow he held out hope that the Reapers would leave her as she be, that only her blood would be consumed to bind and aide them in their travel back to their home coven.

But there was no guarantee. They readied themselves for pursuit. Yet again. * Holly and I clung together as we entered a boisterously loud and filthy tavern with one of the Reapers. The patrons yelled at each other, swinging full and frosted mugs of ale around to punctuate the points of their conversation. Holly looked shellshocked but I knew she hadn't been subjected to the Reapers brand of illicit entertainment while she dozed. Oh-no. They intuited that she might be damaged

from such treatment. Or so I hoped. I was not so sure that I hadn't been. I shook it off, looking for a server in the dim corners of the establishment. No one. I was literally starving to death, remembering my conversation with Josiah. “You will eat, if we have to force feed you. You have given blood and will now need to replenish it with human sustenance.” No shit, I thought uncharitably. So here I was, with Holly the nineteen-year old who needed

babysitting, tagging along. I was grumping because of the gnawing in my body and the uneasy sexual union that had been breached. And of course, my personal favorite, the future of being their prize breeding stock. No pressure. The Reaper, whose name was Elias, indicated for us to sit down in the booth. I slid in and turned immediately to look out the grimy window, all four corners shadowed with the nicotine of years of smoking but allowed no longer. Only the filth remained to tell the history. I looked away from the blackness of the night revealed outside. I was so tired my body ached and Holly's head lay against my shoulder, her hand in mine.

A waitress approached the table, chewing the cud of her gum like a cow. The corner of Elias' mouth turned up. I could almost hear what he was thinking. The Reapers were such an amusing group. Not. He greeted her and turned to us. “The women are quite hungry. What do you recommend off your extensive menu?” I almost laughed. Those Reapers, they sounded so natural. I did a mental eye-roll. The “extensive menu” was a greasy fingerprint-coated paper with five items. Loved the sense of humor on these guys. “I'll have a burger and fries,” I said quietly, keeping my amusement out of

ordering. Elias looked at Holly. “Make that two,” she said, the fear barely contained. She hadn't warmed up to the Reapers. After my story of the dream sharing, she wasn't feelin' it. I heard that. The waitress turned to me with eyes that were glassy. “Ya want cheese with that, miss?” “Yes, thank you.” Elias looked at me for a long moment. “It is not what you think, you know.” I thought it was everything I was speculating and more but didn't respond. Taking my silence as encouragement he continued, “We will not force you.

You will choose two Reapers.” His eyes slid to Holly and his glance encompassed her as well. She shivered beside me. Our food came and we ate like robots. I shoveled about half the meal before becoming too stuffed. A lot of that was probably just lack of eating. I bet my stomach was the size of a walnut. I looked at Holly, who I was sure was about one hundred pounds. She shook her head, pushing her half finished food into the center of the table. Elias cocked his brow. “It is not good? I was told this was the best greasy spoon in the area.” I barked out a laugh. What he said sounded so contrived. I didn't think the

vampires got out much. Holly turned and smiled at me. She got it. He looked confused and I relieved him of that, “You guys need to work on blending in. Ya know, verbally. Nobody on the damn planet says 'greasy spoon' anymore.” He scowled at me and I smiled back sweetly. I did a mental tally on my side. Whatever gave me a little advantage with the group pleased the hell outta me. He threw cash on the table in a semi-huff and we walked outside. I wouldn't have been so cavalier had I know what was going to greet me when we returned to the place that the Reapers had broken into.

* Holly and I watched in shocked horror as four Reapers screwed human women, in various stages of fangs latched onto veins. Holly had to turn away into my shoulder and I hissed at Elias, “Oh yeah, this is really warming us up to your cause.” He returned fire in a low voice, “We have needs, Druid. Unless you wish to provide those needs, both sexual and in blood payment, I suggest you let us have our way with them. Besides,” he looked at the carnal orgy in front of him, “they enjoy our attentions immeasurably.”

Rachel watched as the four Reapers rutted above women, spread and moaning. One shrieked as she came while a Reaper bit her, her rapture at the intensity of her orgasm as he drilled her from above was obvious to even the least astute observer. “They're raping them,” Holly moaned. Elias turned to her, lifting her chin with a finger. “No, little one, they are being pleasured by vampire. They will give their lifeblood to us so that we may live another day.” Holly jerked her face away from Elias and he turned away from her, shrugged out of his jacket. He moved with an almost predatory glide toward a woman who lay on the floor under thrall,

her eyes locking on his as he moved toward her. “Spread your legs, human.” I watched as she did it, her heels almost horizontal to her body. He tore off her panties and said as a command, “You are aroused, wet for the taking. You cannot wait to have my cock inside you.” The woman writhed on the floor, her hips rising slightly, her pussy folds glistening with moisture and open to receive his cock. Elias opened the fly on his black leather pants and a cock as thick as my wrist filled his hand. He slid it into the woman, her hips pushing aggressively against his entry. She shouted at the violent thrust. I

watched as his ass muscles clenched and loosened as he plowed every bit of his meat into her waiting hole. None too gentle, he was giving her his entire length and she was taking it, her legs shaking... then she came, trembling all around him and he sped to vampire speed, his tight ass a blur as he plunged into her waiting cunt. I looked around at the others, noticing some of the vamps had moved on to the women's asses. The pussies so completely used, they'd taken a new hole for their pleasure. Putting fingers into the pussies full of cum, scooping some out, they put fingers into the tight asses of the women. All of them with their hips high and their faces planted on the floor.

Begging to be fucked in the ass. The orgy unfolded all around me. The vampires worked in unison, plugging the waiting asses of the women, they had used their cum like lubricant and were pumping away on the women's tight rose buds. As I watched, one Reaper gave a light swat to one of the women, his prick buried in her bud to the root and she moaned, shoving her hips backward against him for a deeper lock on his flesh. He grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, looking at me while he did her, bucking into her so hard her breasts smacked against each other making a fleshy sound of their own. I met Andrew's eyes and knew he

was thinking of the dream where he'd ridden my pussy as he was riding this human woman's ass. I turned on my heel and took Holly with me, we escaped to another room. Anywhere not to see the vampires latched like snakes on women that would be whores for them under their compulsion. I was disgusted by them. I was also aroused. Having had a taste of what a vampire could make my body feel as he buried his tool of flesh inside of me. I clenched my eyes, keeping my thoughts trained on Cole. Please come quickly, I pleaded silently. Before I become a slut for the Reapers.

Holly whispered in my ear, “They're going to do that to us soon.” I shook my head. “Only if we say yes. They can't use thrall on us.” Holly's lip trembled. “I'm scared, but it's exciting too.” I looked at her. “What do you mean? You told me you'd never had sex.” She looked at me, embarrassed. “I haven't,” she rolled her lip into her teeth, biting it softly. “But, it makes me hot here,” she said pointing to her pussy. I guess the Druid biology was already working. Priming her for use. Untried or not. She may not have that title for long. I shuddered to think about a virgin

in the hands of Reapers. All four. Elias walked in just then, he looked at Holly, sniffing the air. He gave her a smile. “You smell of heat and sex, Druid.” Holly cowered against me and I said, “Don't you touch her. You just had a human, you don't need her.” His eyes were hooded and he looked at Holly. “Do you want my fingers and tongue inside you, little Druid.” Holly stood and began to take off her pants. “No!” I yelled. “Holly no!” She didn't listen, tears streaming down her face. “I'm sorry, I just have to have some relief. Zach took me to the

brink, always saying he'd finish it when we got somewhere safe. I want to be a virgin but I have to … I need...” “I know what you need, little Druid,” he said softly. And before she could react he was on her, tearing her panties down to her ankles and I stood there and watched helplessly as he buried his face in her pussy, lapping at her cunt while she whimpered and begged for more, helpless before the biological directive that we shared. Holly felt so guilty. She was the perfect mate of Zach, but he had made her sexually frustrated. She spread her legs as the vampire put his tongue on the nub of her clit and sucked it until she

cried out. Holly knew that he might fuck her but she couldn't stop herself. Her pussy felt so ripe. As he suckled her clit she shoved her pussy in his face and he chuckled. “So eager,” he murmured. He began to put a finger in her hole. “Oh... so tight. You feel so tight. Please... little Druid, let me put my shaft in you until I reach your barrier.” Holly knew she should say no but it would technically keep her a virgin, her barrier still in place. She let her legs fall open to receive what he offered and Rachel said, “Don't Holly.” Holly didn't listen, her pussy dripping with honey. Elias couldn't wait to penetrate this

Druid. He would not really be taking her virginity but he would explore the tightness of her flesh as far as he could. He did, pushing his shaft into her wet folds, the tightness of her almost unbearable, like a velvet stranglehold she caressed him. He wanted to shove his length inside her the whole way, pinning her beneath him but he held back. He began a slow pump and knew he wouldn't last. She was so fucking tight it was irresistible, and even with only two inches of his ten inch length fucking her she begged him to fuck her the whole way, but he held back. He pushed his cock into the tightest hole he had ever had the pleasure of fucking and reached a tight shield. He

pulled back, surging forward to meet it again. He fucked that tight portion of her pussy again and again, stretching her tight cunt. In a frenzy of partial entry he felt his balls seize up and he spurted his hot seed into the shallow cavity of her pussy. He released a huge amount of cum that slid harmlessly off her barrier. He lay on top of her spent. Tearing the shirt from her breasts he began a lazy suckle on one nipple, bringing the pink tip to an erect point of pleasure as she lay beneath him. It had been the best fucking he had ever done, and yet he had not buried his flesh in hers, not truly fucked her as she ought to have been. He felt a hand on his back and he

was hauled off of the Druid, her legs still spread. “What have you done? Fool!” Andrew hit Elias and he went careening into the wall. “You need but wait for the ritual to breed her!” Elias wiped dark blood from his mouth and answered, “She is a virgin, I but went to her barrier.” I watched the dark intent form in the eyes of Andrew. “Of course!” He smiled at Elias. “She is technically untried but you get a taste of Druid flesh. Brilliant really.” His eyes found mine, then sliding away, he took off his pants and positioned himself above Holly, who in the throes of her first real sexual

experience, didn't know how to react. “No!” I yelled, trying to go to Holly. But Elias was there, holding me back. “Do not interfere. She will be pleasured, you but need watch.” I watched as Andrew put a finger inside Holly, searching for her virginity. Satisfied it was intact, he began to sink his cock inside her. I watched as her hips rose, encouraging a deeper thrust. The thrust that would threaten to fuck her into nonvirginity. “No you don't, breeder,” Andrew said through clenched teeth, there will be time enough to make you ours. He slid in and out, about a third of his cock disappearing as it came out again. He

began to move quickly, his movement a blur and murmured, “She's so tight... her flesh grabs mine. It begs for more,” he said as he rocked back and forth into her tight snatch. She grabbed the ass that rode her tight cunt, writhing underneath his thrusts to seek deeper entry, crying out softly while he speared her innocence. He stiffened above her and came, his body shuddering its release into her pussy. Holly shouted her own release and I could see Andrew's restraint not to shove the rest of his length inside her. Two more reapers lined up and one said, “I can go the whole way inside her rose bud. I could plant my seed there and my entire cock.”

Holly lay with her legs spread, having put her ass up in the air as an offering and the Reaper put his fingers into her pussy, scooping shallowly for the cum he could find then inserting it in her tight bud. He moved his fingers in and out, finally, he replaced his fingers with the blunt tip of his cock. As he inserted his dick slowly into Holly's ass she rose to meet his gentle thrusting. Soon, they had developed a rhythm and Holly was bumping against the whole length of him as he buried his shaft in her virgin ass. He gave another thrust, then one more hard one, groaning as he released his cum in her ass, it puckered and throbbed around his cock, milking him of his juices even as she screamed

her orgasm to the room. The Reaper fell away, sliding a finger inside her tight bud one last time with a sigh. The last Reaper came behind her and positioning behind her snatch he followed the example of the others before him, making a shallow thrust, he met the resistance of her virginity shield and fucked her to that point. I could tell that he wanted to plunge deeper, groaning as he met the resistance too soon, but pulling out at just the right time to not breach the barrier. It was no easy thing as Holly didn't act like a virgin, but like a willing slut, throwing her pussy against him even as he pulled away. Finally, he could not stand it and

he spilled his hot seed into her hole, much of it sliding out around his prick and her pussy, the lack of full penetration aiding its release. He rolled Holly over and Elias went to her, leaving me in stunned surprise. He kneeled between her legs and said, “I will clean you now.” “Yes,” she whispered, allowing her knees to fall open, displaying her foamy cunt to Elias, who began lapping at her. He couldn't resist, sinking a finger into her snatch, he moved it back and forth in her flesh and when he thought she was ready and he had cleaned her, he sunk his tongue inside her pussy. She yelled her pleasure until her

throat was raw. They finished with Holly and without a word, left her cum filled and quaking in the room with me. They left to hunt.

CHAPTER 6 Holly sat straight up in the bed, her hand pressed to her chest, gasping for air. Her eyes found Rachel's. It had been a dream. “Did you have a nightmare?” I asked, watching Holly closely, her face reflecting the way I'd felt earlier when I was torn awake from a sexual liaison beyond any I'd ever known. She nodded slowly. “They all... took turns on me.” She put her face in her hands and cried. I wrapped my arms around her. We needed to get out of here. The Reapers were pressing their agenda on us. I

thought it would get more intense as time went on. Before we knew it, the lines would blur and the dreams would become a reality. I took Holly's small face in my hands and searched her eyes. “We're gonna have to get out of here, or what you did in the dreams is going to happen. That's what all this dream sharing is about. They had our blood and now they're connected to us. This'll just keep on happening.” “I want Zach. Not them!” she wailed, flinging her arms out. “Shh... I know, Holly. But it doesn't matter how we feel. That's what I'm trying to tell ya. Because of this goddamned Druid blood, we're like...

susceptible or something. To them, the Reapers.” I brushed a tear off her cheek and thought of Cole... and Zach. Where the hell were they? I didn't know if we could escape. They had to sleep but would it be enough? I hung my head, pressing my forehead against Holly's. * Cole and Zach circled the run down motel. The scent of the Druids filled the air all around them. They were inside those brick and mortar walls, Cole knew it. “When?” Zach asked impatiently, clenching his huge hands into fists. Fists

made for punishment. “You will have opportunity, my friend,” Cole replied, keeping his eyes trained on the building. “If I know Rachel, she may even now feel our presence. Having taken my blood.” Cole kicked a rock and it shot off like a rocket, suddenly angry. What if they had made Rachel have their blood? That would negate her sensitivity to his. Too much speculation, not enough fact. He did not elaborate to Zach, who was strung taut, his true mate held inside with a quad or more of Reapers in intimate proximity to pure Druids. A volatile situation to be sure. Cole focused on the building and pushed his energy, his individualism in a

singular pulse toward it. If Rachel was within, she would feel it. He hoped. * I scrounged around in a closet that had two lone hangers standing at attention on an old wood pole for some kind of bag. If Holly and I were going to leave, we'd need something. Water, blankets? I hit paydirt when I discovered a small trap door at the base of the closet, partially covered by the grossest shag carpeting I'd ever had the bad luck of encountering. Inside of the dark recesses of the cubbyhole was a survival kit. It was definitely from the last world

war. It made perfect sense. The building had obviously been a housing establishment for troops then later converted to the seedy motel it became. I took stock of what was there: 4 glass water bottles, two wool blankets, twelve packs of dehydrated food, and a first aid kit. I chucked that. I figured if I needed first aid, I was already a goner. A grim smile took over my mouth, holding it hostage as I searched and packed. Finally, Holly asked, “What did ya find?” I showed her the nearly full backpack and she smiled. “Maybe we can get away.” Her expression hopeful. I looked out at the frozen landscape,

picture framed in the glass from the dirty window and sighed. We'd more likely freeze to death than anything. I opened my mouth to offer weak assurance when I felt it. A warm surge of heat burst in the center of my chest and slid to my extremities in a warm pulse. I gasped. It was the most pleasant and disconcerting sensation I'd ever known. And I knew the source. Cole. He was here. I jerked my head to the door. “Come on! While they're hunting, let's find Zach and Cole. Holly resisted. “What? What are you talking about?” I didn't really feel like we had time

for me to explain but I said, “I took Cole's blood, he's found us. It's like a beacon. His blood calls to mine.” Holly grabbed the duffel and we flung the cheap motel door open, the first smile of the week on her face. It faded as she looked into Andrew's face, darkening by the second. His eyes slid to the duffel, then to mine. “Going somewhere?” Holly took me at my word and screamed, “Zach!” And he was there, a blur of muted grays, barreling into Andrew. That's when all hell broke loose and we watched as a Reaper and rogue, took on the foot soldiers of Alexander's kiss.

Cole heard the desperate cry and with barely an acknowledgment, he and Zach triangulated the position and came at Andrew together. Cole allowed Zach to plow into the Reaper while he watched for the others. Where there was one Reaper, there were more. He was not disappointed as the three that had been melded to the shadowed border of the building came forward. Each one held a weapon of the kiss. Cole had nothing. He hazarded a glance behind him and saw the rogue was banging the head of a large Reaper against the concrete sidewalk. He had fought beside Andrew

in battle. He knew the tenor of the male and girded his loins to kill the other Reapers. Males he had fought beside. Cole felt the talons slide out from his fingertips, the usual small stab of pain nothing to what he felt as he walked into certain melee. Josiah and Elias flanked Cole, one with the preferred curved saber. The ultimate tool for relieving a vampire of their head. The other had one set of talons in stark relief, moonlight glinting off the polished ivory of them. Cole did not hesitate, as one who he did not know, came from behind him, he rushed the two Reapers, he slid toward

them, using the ice beneath his stout boots for momentum and spun in a twirling spiral, both his hands coming out in front of him. He slashed downward at two targets that were nothing more than a blur of color, but with his acute night vision they slowed before his assault, his talons cutting a path down ribs, sinew, broken and torn flesh. They fell like mighty trees. He was too late for what happened next, as the Reaper at his back impaled him with all ten of the talons he had seen silvered in the moonlight. Cole staggered forward as Rachel screamed, coming for him. “No!” he barked at her, hoping she

would stay back, seek safety. Anything but getting in the middle of battle lust as a Druid female. He could not think of a worse mix if he had planned it. Zach saw two of the Reapers fall, and another come from behind Cole. He dropped the Reaper and flew to intercept the one which attacked Cole but was too late. He hauled the Reaper off Cole and the talons punched their release of his flesh. Rachel threw herself on Cole and he wrapped an arm around her even as his lungs filled with blood. I saw the Reapers come for Cole

even as he slid along the icy ground and propelled himself into a spinning tornado, using the down stroke to slice through the chests of the warriors who came for him. When the one who had been behind Cole, stabbed him with his long claws, I screamed and raced into the heart of the fight, ignoring Cole's harsh warning to flee. My ass. I wasn't going anywhere, he was hurt and I knew what to do. My blood would cure his injuries. As I avoided, by a hair's breadth, the Reaper who grappled with Zach his claw caught my shoulder, and sliced me cleanly. I fell where I stood, the agony so far beyond screaming I fell to the gravel silently, graceful in my pain.

Andrew got on all fours and shook his head. The rogue had done his best to make a hole in the concrete with his skull. His gaze slid to his left and he saw his opportunity. Holly watched Zach rush the Reaper that had stabbed Cole with the worst claws she'd ever seen on anything. She covered her mouth, shock creeping in at the edges of her consciousness and backed away. A small noise made her turn her head but by then it was too late. She was held in an unbreakable embrace. Andrew's. The one that had sent an orgy to her in a dream.

She screamed and Zach turned to see his soulmate in the arms of a Reaper. The one he had not finished. He took the head of the one he fought almost casually, heaving the body to the ground as he sprinted for Holly. Holly felt the talon slide against the tender flesh of her throat and felt her bowels clench. She thought she'd known terror before but she hadn't. Not really. Her eyes met the silvered eyes of Zach and she read many emotions there. But the main one that held true was fear. Fear for her. “Stop!” Andrew yelled, taking in the scene of Rachel giving blood to Cole, Josiah and Elias on the ground

gasping like salmon out of the sea. “Do not come further or I will harm the queen!” His glacial eyes blazed out of face gone hard like chiseled granite. Zach of the rogue stopped entirely, stunned into speechlessness. I took my wrist away from Cole's mouth. He rose to his feet, hauling me up, swaying and lightheaded to my feet. Had I heard Andrew right? Cole tucked me underneath his arm and dragged me to where Andrew stood. “What are you saying?” Cole asked, then added, “Do not hurt Holly. You of all vampire understand her value.” Andrew face showed a wash of different emotions. Finally the right one

took residence on his expression. He slowly released Holly and she rushed to Zach where they crashed into each other. He rained kisses all over her face, while murmuring soft words to her. Zach turned Holly into his body and watched as the wounded Reapers rose to their feet and gave Cole a look. Cole was not wholly steady but one look at Andrew told him he was in charge of the Reapers who approached. Their gaping slash wounds began to close even as he watched. * The group made an uneasy truce and went into the large suite the Reapers had

procured through compulsion. Finally, after much situating the three Reapers who lived faced off with Cole and Zach. Andrew pointed at Zach and said, “This one may not understand or be privy to the law. The ancient order. But you, Cole. You understand much.” Cole sighed. He thought he knew what all this meant and he pulled Rachel closer to his body. He never thought he would have seen this day come. He nodded. “It is possible. But...” “Unbelievable,” Andrew supplied. Cole nodded. Holly looked out from the circle of protection of Zach's strong arms. “What? Why are you all looking at me?” “Tell her if you like. She has

already been involved in the mating ceremony through dream share.” He looked at Holly significantly and she blushed a deep red. Zach growled low in his throat. He knew what a dream share was. That they would have mated with the one that was meant for him was beyond apology. He put Holly behind his back and moved toward Andrew. “Wait, friend,” Cole instructed Zach. “Why should I?” he said without turning. “This one has admitted that they violated Holly while she slept.” Cole looked at Zach, his body poised for violence, his hands clenched and ready to beat and pound.

Zach turned and regarded Cole. Cole spread his hands and began the telling of the ancient vampire prophesy. “Centuries ago, in the Book of Prophesy...” “The Book of Blood?” Zach asked. Cole nodded. “If you like that name.” Zach went back to Holly, throwing a scathing glance at Andrew behind him. “In any event, it promised that there would come a pure blood Druid, a virgin. And when she was bred by one not accepted...” “Rogue,” Josiah said in a low voice. Cole continued, “Then she would serve three others. From this singular

event, she would sire kings. Vampire kings that would be daywalkers. All the good of vampire, but without the disability of walking only by the moon.” “That cannot be!” Zach seethed, looking at a scared Holly. “I am sorry, Zach. Taken with the presence of Rachel...” Cole began. “What do I have to do with all this prophesy crap?” I asked. As if there weren't enough things to keep me pissed off. Finally, I was reunited with Cole after what seemed like one long nightmare of running only to find out Holly was some kind of whacked out Vamp Queen. No. Cole chuckled. “Rachel, the prophesy tells of two Druid women who

are kin. That the older will guide the younger. She will be the confidant to the queen. A helpmate of sorts.” I was Holly's sister? I mean... I'd noticed the resemblance but no way. I was adopted, there were no other relatives. I told them that. Vehemently denying relation. “I was adopted too,” Holly said. We looked at each other. Elias and Josiah said in unison, “Protection.” “What?” I asked harshly, my hands planted on my hips. Elias came forward and I scooted back a little toward Cole. He stopped moving. “We have spoken much and think that there is a contingent of Druids

that know of our kind. Actively seeking secrecy by hiding pure offspring.” “Okay, say that's true. Then where are all the others?” Cole interjected, “They may be breeding themselves. Keeping things quiet.” “But that doesn't make sense,” Holly said. “If I was so important then why would they give me up?” She swiped a tear away and Zach curled his massive body around her protectively. “They may not have known. It was probably the best contingency they had. There may be more 'soulmates' amongst those pure Druids that are hidden from us. More that could be with their vampire mates. If it were not for this

faction,” Andrew elaborated. “What does this mean for me?” Holly asked, pleading for an answer that wouldn't be what she thought it might. “To be perfectly blunt, the arms that hold you are the ones you will reside in. But you are destined to be the mother of vampirekind. For that outcome, this one must claim your virginity, then allow the three of us to spill our seed within the ripeness of your womb, sealing your destiny forever.” Holly looked at them in horror. When Elias saw her expression he said, “Was the dream share really that awful?” Holly's face became red as Zach said, “What if I do not want to share

her? My one true mate?” “What if your sons could be daywalkers? Vampires of the sun?” Josiah asked, brows to his hairline. Zach was quiet for a heartbeat, thinking of the enormity of what that meant for their race. Cole spoke up, his voice ringing with finality, “I have not said the last.” All eyes were on him. “The queen will begin a new coven, a coven of one who is not Reaper, the rest will be of Reaper bloodline. And most importantly, the Book says that she shall be as a beacon to other Druids, her light casting a call of such brilliance and sound, that all will answer.” The room lay silent.

Holly was overwhelmed and put her head in her hands. I was pretty sure when she'd gone to study group a few months ago, she'd never planned on being a queen. Queen of the vampire.

CHAPTER 7 safe The house was old and drafty, roomy. But the vampires warmed our chilled flesh. I hadn't really gotten used to where we were yet. Not running, living a life that seemed like a dream. Even with as modern as I thought I was, the Reapers, and Zach, had an ancient logic, which they applied. The house stood above Seattle, the city buildings and their twinkling lights winking back at us as we worked in the kitchen, Holly and I. She cut vegetables that only we

would eat. I sliced the tender cut of meat into long strips that would stir fry up into the fajita mix they'd become. Holly paused in cutting, looking at me over the steam from the frying pan, butter and an aromatic mix of spices wafting through the kitchen, rising to the ten foot ceilings above. “I'm scared,” she said, using the knife to slide the remainder of the veggies off the wooden cutting board and into the pan. It sizzled as it made blunt contact with the buttery heat. I turned, placing a hand on my hip. I lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I trust Cole. They didn't traverse a frozen landscape of two thousand miles if they weren't serious.” I searched her eyes.

“I had a plan, Rachel. A life!” Holly said in a loud huff. I thought of my life in the cubicle, my cat, my stuff... it just seemed so long ago. Had I been happy? I thought... I'd been content. That was the most accurate assessment of my former life I could make. But how to convey that to a nineteen-year old woman. A woman that was actually my sister. I felt my face soften. “I understand. Nine years ago I was your age. I had the world by the testies.” I squeezed my hand into a fist and Holly giggled, turning to stir the meal into cooperative completion. “But,” I spoke to her back, her hair

a black sweep between her shoulder blades. “It wasn't some great adulthood. I had a best friend that was superficial and we were looking for different things. I had a job I could barely stand...” I let my sentence trail off. “Here we are unique. In this life, with the vampire, we matter for what we are in a way that others can't. We have purpose.” I smiled suddenly, feeling the caress of one of my deep dimples. “And then there is the lifespan advantage!” Holly glowered. Taking the food and pouring it into a bowl, I then loaded the tortillas with the guts of the meal, ladling a spoonful of sour cream and salsa. Perfect, I thought, watching the colorful goodness of orange and red

peppers steam on our waiting plates. We sat down on the bar stools by the elevated breakfast bar as Holly picked at her food. “I don't know if I wanna live forever. I don't know if I want to be a queen. I'm nineteen. A few months ago the most I had to consider was what class to sign up for.” She swiped a tear that had fallen, threatening to land on her food. I folded my hands. “Listen, I know this is really overwhelming but this is what it is. If we believe what the vampire say about the prophesy, the Druid lineage, all of it, then, this is where we were meant to be. And believe me, I'd rather be with these dudes than that creepy Alexander.”

Holly shuddered, thinking about the stories I'd told about my short stay in that coven. “There would've been no choice there. Free will, gone. Here, you will be a queen. You will be respected and they'll be devoted to you.” “I just want Zach,” Holly said flatly. “Okay, so it's not so hot that they all have to have sex with you for this,” I put my fingers up and made air quotes, 'ritual of royalty'. But, it could be worse. Even Zach has conceded it.” I stared into her eyes, so like my own it was eerie. “It doesn't mean he's not doing the alpha male jig and having big cows and stuff.” Holly laughed despite herself, sticking her first mouthful of food in her craw and chewing thoughtfully.

“Look at it as a task you have to accomplish,” I said with mirth. I held up my hand and started ticking off the points, “You have to have sex with four males. The first one, your soul mate, will take your virginity. Then each subsequent male will grovel before you sexually, doing all in their power to bring you to orgasm, while you watch their hotness in the throes of passion.” I laughed and continued, “I think it may be something you can bear?” That got the grin out of her I was hoping for. “I'm scared,” she said again. “They won't hurt you, obviously.” “I know, but I've heard...” she began.

“It is,” I answered for her. “But that only lasts a little while and they'll be priming the pump, so to speak.” I grinned and she returned it. “You'll see,” I said, scooping the juices that were running out of the tortilla and taking a messy bite. We looked at each other as we ate, then I looked at the clock. Time was moving toward the big ritual. Holly a virgin no more. For me, I was quaking with anticipation of finally being bonded forever to Cole.

CHAPTER 8 Queen Holly looked resplendent in her flowing gown of white. Josiah, Elias, Andrew and her true mate, Zach, stood in front of her. It was like a weird wedding. But, unlike other weddings, this felt more real and right than any I'd ever attended. We'd spent hours in a bath, talking and getting Holly ready. After trying a million different hairstyles, in the end, simple had been the order of the day and Holly looked perfect, blue highlights shining in the sweep of raven-colored hair that graced her body, falling nearly to her waist.

Zach came to her and took her hands, Cole presided. In his grip was a thick book, darkened to a deep bronze with age. He began, reciting a ceremony designed to give the Vampire hope. A species separate from humans, but forced to live among them. At the top of a food chain that was too great in number to conquer and too necessary to exterminate. When he finished Zach took Holly's face in his hands, giving her a chaste kiss, cradling her head like a fragile egg. She pressed her body against his, the blackness of his attire in sharp contrast to the whiteness of hers. He wrapped her in his arms and, picking her up in a

classic cradle hold he strode to their matrimony chamber. * Holly was more nervous than she'd ever been in her whole life. She sat on the edge of the bed as Zach turned the lock. She had completely put the Reapers that she'd have to share her body with before long out of her mind. Right now, she was concentrating on the male that would give her pleasure. The rogue. Warmth pooled in the junction between her thighs and she scissored them together subtly as he drew near. Zach laughed low in his throat. “It is

normal for you to become aroused with my nearness.” Holly blushed. There were no secrets either. He could smell her arousal, her eagerness. Zach crawled across the bed taking his large palm and pressing it to the back of her neck, drawing her face close to his. His lips hovered over hers, his breath cinnamon and spice. Consumable. When he closed their flesh in an embrace of lips that slid into tongues, Holly's breath came short and fast. Zach undressed her before she was even aware of it, her gown at her waist and her breasts falling out like ripe globes with erect pink tips. Zach didn't let them

beg for attention but blazed a trail of kisses from her swollen mouth and wrapped his lips around the sensitive nipple, suckling it until Holly moaned with desire, her hips wiggling underneath where his lay in the cradle of her body. He took her moan for the invitation it was and tore the gown off the rest of the way, settling his nakedness against her core, the hot folds of flesh already wet with her honey, waiting for his final entry. But he took his time. Zach did not wish for her first time to be a rushed affair. He settled in between her thighs, releasing her nipple with an abrupt pop that left her gasping, the cooler air of the

room teasing it to hard erectness. Zach let one hand ride that hard point while the other began to work the bud between her folds, the pleasure button opening like a subtle flower, the sweet fragrance of her filling his senses, making his head spin with the exquisiteness of her. She was made for him, all of her, and he for her. From the top of her head to her pinky toe and Zach was determined to make the most of it. “Please...” Holly began. “Please put your finger in me...” she grabbed his hair with her fingers, pushing his face down until his tongue had replaced his finger and he began a slow pull and suck of her clit, her hips pressing a rhythm in his face that made him growl his pleasure

against her glistening secret flesh. He did what she asked and after feeling the maidenhead of her innocence resist the blunt end of his finger he plunged his finger just shy of breaching that tender barrier. When she thrust her hips to receive him more deeply, he inserted a second finger and pushed and pulled while his tongue worked circular magic against her sensitive nub. Holly felt herself building toward a liquid release. When the wave of pleasure reached to the shore of her body, she shouted into the stillness of the room, the moment transcending any physical pleasure she'd ever experienced. Her knees fell open and with languid respite, she watched Zach

as he positioned himself above her and began to guide the blunt head of himself inside her untested entrance, made wet by his attentions. When Zach reached her barrier he looked into her eyes, upon seeing the invitation light their depths, he surged inside her. Holly gasped at the pleasure/pain sensation as his shaft rocked into the tightness of her wet channel and surged through her resistance. The accordionlike flesh pulled against him as he slowly withdrew. She could feel the slide of him and the erotic pleasure he could give her as she relaxed into his sensuous rhythm, matching it with her

own. Zach felt her relax against the soft assault of their flesh meeting and rocked inside her again, the third thrust putting him against the entrance to her womb. His cock throbbing with the need to release he pulled out and seeking her acceptance he said, “Please, I need to...” Holly nodded, she knew what he wanted and she was ready, the initial piercing of her pussy melting away into constant pleasure as his prick stabbed her hot core, the tightness of it a velvet glove on his shaft. Zach began a light punish of her pussy, thrusting deep, pulling out and continuing, he pressed up on his hands,

his shoulder muscles bunching as he began to hammer into her and she met him with each thrust. Holly could feel that delicious throbbing pulse. Once. Twice. Zach thrust deeply a third time, shuddering as his hot seed poured into a pussy that exploded around his shaft, each pulse stronger than the last, sucking the seed from deep inside his prick. Without pulling out he collapsed on top of her softly, tucking her in against him, their flesh still married head to hip. Her softness melding with the hard length of him. Zach squeezed his queen's face

against his chest and closed his eyes, having never felt a synchronicity as complete as this moment held for him.

CHAPTER 9 Cole undressed Rachel with barely contained relish. Finally, he would consummate a relationship he had yearned for his entire vampiric lifetime. After months of running and strife, they had found a place to be, to exist together. A new order of coven, where Druid and Reaper flesh could unite to form a new race. I couldn't wait for his touch and pushed the black leather from his massive shoulders. Cole shrugged it off, tearing his belt through loops with a high, whistling sound, the only noise in the room.

He tore the black T-shirt over his head, no hair to get in the way of his nakedness, the skull trim a shadow of black on his head as he dipped forward to capture my lips in his. I melted into the hard lines of his body, never resisting, beyond resistance. Cole carried me to the bed, pushing up the formal skirt I had worn to the “wedding” of the new queen. My Druid sister. To mate with me all Cole needed to do was plunge his shaft into me, spilling his Reaper's seed deep in my channel to ignite a pregnancy that would begin the new race. A race of equality and happiness. I didn't want to think about what it would mean to other vampire that

there were Reapers and Druids pairing off and breeding out the low vampire. Leaving the old ways behind. Cole growled and my distracted attention went back to what he was doing. “I cannot give you the pleasure I would wish for you, Rachel. I must bury myself like a sword of flesh in your body and spill my seed,” he said, his voice strained as he saw my panties, sheer enough to see the small V of hair that grew there revealed to perfection through the hot scarlet fabric. He bent low and tore the panties off with his fangs, the pull of the fabric jerking my body. Cole immediately plunged his face into my pussy, his fangs out and rubbing delicately along first one

fold then the other, like a cat scentmarking, he rubbed until my moistened honey poured out of my hot hole. “You are so ready,” he murmured against the heat of my snatch. He put his large hands on my thighs and gently spread them until my folds were spread and pink, open for his sensual invasion. I opened my legs further, inviting the exploration of his fingers. Cole complied by inserting two fingers, slipping them in and out until my breathing came fast and hard. I felt like I was hyperventilating. “Put it in me... please!” I said in a hoarse voice, I couldn't stand it anymore. So many times interrupted, so many delays. I wanted his prick in me as deep

as it would go. I spread my legs and lifted my hips even as I felt his finger leave me and the tip of his huge cock widen my opening to accommodate his size. Which was considerable. Cole worked his prick in, spreading the tightness of me until his entire length was buried to the end of me. He slowly pulled out, my pussy grabbing at him the whole way. I'd never been with a man that felt this way, this tantalizing dance of flesh perfectly matched, fully attuned to each other's bodies. I moved to meet him and as he began to plunge in and out of me, smoothly pulling out and entering deeply I could feel the heat from his thrusts

build inside my core, the need to release a deafening rhythm that only he could relieve, a delicious roaring in my ears. “Rachel,” Cole said, his dark eyes meeting mine, no longer silver in the low light of the room. “Look at me as I spill my seed into your willing vessel.” I did, falling into the well of eyes gone obsidian with desire, intent. I lifted and he plunged. Finally, our flesh smacking together... it stuck and he grew still above me. Then I felt it, a warmth spread deep within my pussy, hot seed filling me, my legs spread to receive, my pussy open to accept. I could feel my pulses as an orgasm shattered in response to his cum, sucking every bit of what he was giving

deep within me. With his prick still throbbing inside my pulsating pussy he said, “And now, I will pleasure you.” He withdrew from the center of my pleasure, his face, tongue and hands descending on my wet and satisfied core. He buried his face in me. We stayed that way for a long while. While I writhed beneath him in an ecstasy beyond measure.

CHAPTER 10 I laughed alongside Holly. We were so into a routine, pleasing our vampire mates at rest and frolicking during the day. Protected, fulfilled and no longer dissatisfied with our meager existences from before. “I'm not bowlegged!” Holly mock huffed, her hands crossed and cradling a bosom that was well displayed in the clothing that Zach liked to see her in. “I don't know, you spend more time in your bedroom than out of it!” I laughed. Holly looked down at the spoon in her hand and blushed a light pink, the

color spreading across her cheekbones delicately. “That's true, but you're one to talk! We can hear you and Cole from two states away!” I smiled, she had me there. “Wait until more Druids come... this will turn into a pleasure palace.” “I think it already is,” Holly said with a smirk. I smiled, thinking she'd come a long way from innocent virgin to willing queenly slut. But not quite yet. She was due to consummate with the three Reapers. Cole and I were mated and her true mate had enjoyed unlimited access to her willing body for a week. As I thought of it The Natives were

Restless. In this case, the vampire. As if on cue, Josiah, Elias and Andrew entered the room, their eyelids at half-mast, all attention on Holly. She was feeling the moment, I could tell. She stood, smoothing a hand over her long skirt, the material had a metallic thread running throughout, in gold. Fit for a queen. A bustier in a deep crimson, tied and cinched, accentuated her wasp waist while heaving her ample breasts to be displayed like ripe plums for the taking. The males watched her move toward them and met her halfway across the room. “I'm ready,” she breathed as each

one began to seductively paw her as she stood there. “We know,” Andrew said. “We smell your fertility; you are ripe to accept our seed within you,” Josiah told her. Elias buried his hand beneath her skirt. Her soft moaning told me all I needed to know about where his finger had disappeared to. Josiah and Andrew picked her up as Elias caressed and plundered her hidden flesh. Holly's eyes met mine as the Reapers carried her away. To fuck her into oblivion. Or bliss. No, I thought... definitely bliss.

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MARATA EROS TAMARA ROSE BLODGETT All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2015 Marata Eros Copyright © 2015 Tamara Rose Blodgett No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. The names,

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Synopsis Narah Adrienne is a bounty enforcer in the near future. She runs the seedy side of her game, capturing criminals too dangerous for the local law enforcement. Using unorthodox methods, she finds herself in the crosshairs of the Magistrate for too many allowable kills for the quarter. And her head hurts like hell. Aeslin is part of an elite vampire squad of Turners. A rare sect of vampire scouts who possess the ability to find women with enough undead blood to be turned into full vampire. As the numbers of the supernaturals dwindle, it is the hope of the Nobles that extinction can be a thing of the past with female hybrids.

In a race against time and common enemies, can Aeslin find the one female who is meant to be turned and also his parallel soul? Or will the fabled carrot the Nobles dangle turn out to be a lie perpetuated by desperation?

Chapter 1 Narah My legs are kicked up on the desk, the toes of my left combat boot stacked on the heel of my right. I lean my feet a couple of inches to the left and look at my boss. Kinda wish I hadn't. The tongue-lashing was going to be brutal, and not the fun kind. I just barely hold back a snort of self-serving comedy. “Narah,” Casper leans into the desk, edging a butt cheek on the only part not covered by my assortment of shit. My eyebrow cocks. Perturbed doesn't cover it. If I wanted a butt on my desk, I'd ask.

“What?” I bark with anticipation. A vein in Casper's forehead throbs and I dial it back some. No need to bring the guy to heart failure. “What?” I repeat more goodnaturedly, though both of us know I'm nothing of the sort. He sighs, scrubbing a palm over his face. Hair almost as white as swan feathers glows under the LED lighting in my tiny office, and his glacial eyes tighten, fighting for a view of my face over the top of my boot. I jack my feet down and stuff them underneath my desk. My fingers itch to go to my smart phone. Anything to not commit to this conversation. “You know we appreciate your skill

set.” Blah, blah, stinking-blah. “But we can't have you pulling firearms on all your bounties.” My bottom lip pops out in a pout. “It was a very small gun, Casper.” I put my index and thumb almost touching. “Using manstopper ammunition?” He might have a small point. “Outlawed in 1898,” Casper adds. I shrug a bare shoulder, my tank top skin-tight against my small frame. I find loose clothes are handles to make a bludgeon against me easier. I nail the targets but if there's nothing for them to grab onto, so much the better. “I like antique weaponry and ammunition,” I say with deliberate

nonchalance. “Really?” Casper says and I wince at the sound of his voice. “Let's run down the list of target fatalities.” Hmmm. “Target 103, lethal stabbing.” I lean back in my chair and cock my neck back, staring at the dingy ceiling. A water stain has spread out from the center in a pattern of copper lines that somehow resemble a flower opening. It's sort of like watching clouds outside, but inside. “Narah!” I sigh, answering the ceiling. “Yeah.” “Target 424, beheading.” Yeah, that'd been messy.

“Again, I was in fear for my life,” I say, not sounding defensive. At. All. “Thirteen times?” Casper asks softly. My chin snaps down and I meet his eyes. Mine are big and golden hazel like a cat's, and that's why I hide them behind my aviator shades. The sun hurts like hell. I've always been sensitive to sunlight. I shrug. It'll get me nowhere to fight with Casper. Who has the nickname in the office of, The Ghost. No one says it to his face though. I fight a snicker. “We are the last profession for use of lethal force, you know. It's not goddamned 2015, when everyone

thought all physical force was necessary in some capacity.” I'm in the wrong era, I muse with regret. “We are the last stand against the criminals of our time. When the police can't nail them, then it's up to us. But Narah,” Casper scrubs his head, his crewcut bristling from the contact, “we can't have you killing all the targets. They must be brought to justice.” And of course, if I kill a target, Casper doesn't get credits. That's what this is really about. I bring in the most targets in our office. I get results and he gets credits for my hard work. We stare at each other. I won't break and Casper knows it. “You're the finest

bounty hunter we have. Your instincts are uncanny, and you never let being a woman get in your way...” I lunge to my feet and Casper jerks to his, eyeing me warily. Good, my desk is finally free of his ass. “Nothing about me being a woman comes into play here.” Casper shoots out an exhale like a cannon. “Everything about it matters. You're smaller, you're vulnerable to things a man could never be.” Rape is the clear inference. “You think a man can't be raped?” I bark out a laugh. “You think that my looks don't disarm. They do, Cas.” My eyes laser down on him and his shift

away. “You know I'm a proficient, Level Ten.” “Nothing to sneeze at,” he concedes and opens his mouth to add more, perhaps dig his grave a little deeper. I raise my palm. Nothing to sneeze at. I can feel a royal conniption fit brewing. “No. If I've killed while gunning for a target,” Casper frowns at my wording which causes me to grin, “then they needed dying. Period.” Casper walks to my office door. “I'm sorry, Narah, I've done what I could, but the law states that there can't be more than ten sanctions in one quarter. You have thirteen. I got the bonus three waived.” He whips his palm in the air like he's performing a magic

trick. “Now you'll have to go before the magistrate.” Fuck. They'd plug me a second ass after a first class reaming. If—if I could even bounty again. I jerk my leather jacket off the back of my chair and sling it on. A bright headache, a new friend of mine of late, settles into my temples with zeal. I press my fingers against my head. I hate not having a target. The chase is the one thing that makes my life worth living. No longer an outcast—always in the game. Now the rules are being threatened. And all I want to do is play.

Chapter 2 Aeslin Edan jerks a thumb my way, throwing a towel I deftly catch. I dab at the sweat running like a river from my scalp and making its way to the waistband of my work out gear. “Corcoran's asking for you.” I look at him, narrowing my eyes. “Hey man, don't kill the messenger,” Edan's hands spread away from his body. He'd look so much more innocent if he had even one spot of bare skin. Edan's tatted from head to toe. Well... that's not entirely accurate. Don't think his feet hold the tats of our species. Or

his face. Turners are required to be marked. It's grounds for immediate execution to civilian vampires if they touch us. After all, we're the only savior of our dying race. They can't miss our marks. In the human world, tattoos no longer stand out. We hide in plain sight now. I flick irritated eyes to him. “I'm on leave, Edan.” He shrugs. “You know the drill. If a female comes on the radar, we're all on alert.” I throw the damp towel in the soiled laundry hamper. I'm bone tired. Not physically—mentally. So many scouting expeditions and coming up empty handed has taken its toll. I rub a hand on my

nape, trying to make a raw spot. “I've worked a solid quarter—nothing.” My eyes meet his. Edan's looks are unusual for a Turner. Most of the subsect of vampire Turners possess dark coloring. Our only unified feature are silver eyes. Edan's are amber. Some kind of genetic throw back. My own hair is a deep chestnut, more red than what is considered fashionable. And if we want to enjoy female vampire company, it matters. They're few and far between. If they can't be our mates, it's only for release. And that's become an empty vessel. “But what if we have a live one?” I smirk at his words. “You mean undead, right?”

Edan throws up his hands. He's muscled, like the rest of us. Mandatory training makes our bodies at battle readiness. Last month we'd just missed a female by minutes. She'd been sterilized. Technically, it'd been on our watch. The loss had brought the entire team down and morale had not recovered. Edan spoke my thoughts, “We need this, Aeslin. We need a female. They're so vulnerable to the Hunters...” I toss my palm up. “We've been over this. It's a race against them. And they got to that female first.” I see guilt on his face and know mine looks the same. “Then why can't you see that every

lead should be followed?” Tired of fucking losing, that's why. Or just tired. My eyes feel like they're on fire when I glare at Edan, a Turner I've fought shoulder to shoulder beside. “You don't think it haunts my fucking every thought that she could have belonged to one of us?” “Does it?” Edan asks in soft disbelief. “Yes,” I hiss defensively. “Then join us.” I don't want another dead end. Another disappointment. “I'm not rested.” “So when has that ever mattered?” he asks.

Since that female was lost, I think but don't say. * Corcoran stands at the window when I walk into his office and shut the door. He doesn't turn. Corcoran is a Noble. A politically correct word for being in charge of the Turners. But he became a Noble the hard way, having been a Turner first and struggling through the ranks to prove himself invaluable to the cause. Now he rules over the Turners of our region with an iron fist. Hell, in his day, there was a female

turned every month. Now we were lucky to turn one a quarter. However, there was one biological advantage. A human female with vampire blood once turned, was always meant for her biological other half. Lucky bastard. It meant offspring. A chance at happiness. With Hunters killing off every vampire they could, our numbers continued to dwindle. In the last halfcentury, one in two females who possessed enough of the blood of our kind had been sterilized before they could be turned, negating their vampire ancestry and the ability to have children. A Turnersʼ goals were two-fold. Find the hybrid vampire females before

the Hunters did, and determine how they were setting their sights on the rare females. Easier said than done. “Aeslin,” Corcoran said as greeting. I remain silent. Corcoran turns, eyeing me up. “You look rested.” He sounds hopeful. We both know I've had only four days respite. I need a month. I haven't taken enough blood, had enough sex, slept inside the ground as I should. A lot of have nots on the short list of my exhaustion. I lift my shoulders in an answer that isn't one. It will do no good to rehash the discussion I had with Edan.

Corcoran says something under his breath. It sounds suspiciously like a curse. “You're the best I have, Aeslin,” he says quietly. “Let Edan take it. Hell—Jaryn could...” His gaze darkens. Eyes not the common light gray of the Turner are pewter in a face devoid of emotions. Corcoran's gaze is a coming storm. “I need you on this.” That's just what Edan said. “I mean no disrespect...” “Yes, you do,” he says with the barest bit of humor. My lips thin. “Yes.” “She's a Turn, Aeslin. I know it.”

Corcoran closes his fingers into a fist. My breath leaks out of me in defeat. “Okay.” I simply don't believe anymore. There's been so many dry runs I can't remember the last one that wasn't. “She's sending out pheromones like a distress signal.” “Who called it?” His face closes down. “Torin.” Corcoran and Torin don't see eyeto-eye. I say nothing, waiting. I'm not political and won't immerse myself in it now. Corcoran slams a fist against the wall that bisects the bulletproof windows. “She's bounty.” His frustration gets my attention.

Hell, her occupation stalls me and I unlace my fingers and straighten my posture. “What?” “Damn,” he grits through his teeth, knowing full-well the risks of this acquisition. I tell him anyway. “Too high profile,” I state, hands going to my hips. “She's manifesting.” Dammit. “Is Torin sure she's a Turn?” Corcoran exhales in a rush, taking a rough palm down his face, nodding. I suck in a deep breath. “I'll do it.” Corcoran looks relieved. “You know the risk?” Hell yes. But another sterilized female? That we don't need. Can't stand.

“Yes,” I answer. If Torin's got a bead on her, then so do the Hunters. The thought of a female out there and vulnerable tightens my guts. This is the part of my job I hate. However small, the emotion is there in my suppressed emotional makeup. The hardest to squelch, the most damning. Hope.

Chapter 3 Matthews Rio raises the paper in the air. “Right from the top, Matthews!” I snap my head up, my back on the bench as I flick my eyes to Rio then back to the bar. My arms shake from exertion but I can't take my eyes off the weights I'm pressing. Not unless I want my body as a pancake. “Spot me, asshole,” I grit. “Right! Sorry hoss.” I'd roll my eyes if I wasn't so fucking plowed from fatigue. Rio appears upside down and above me. His hands hover over the bar, I lift, as I take the last rep by storm. I

heave another. “No clanking,” Rio chimes. Gonna kill his ass. Beads of sweat roll, burning into my eyes as I gently set the bar on the brackets. It's almost soundless. Rio smirks. He whips the paper around and I duck out from underneath the three hundred pound weighted barbell set. “God damn—you're a beast, Matthews!” Rio chortles. “Give that to me and stop with the verbal diarrhea.” Rio's face tightens. “Fine, fuck. You need to get laid if you're going to get your jock strap in a bunch all the time.” I jerk the paper out of his hand and

read the words. Assignment thirteen. I smile. Thirteen is my lucky number. I give the paper back to Rio. “Gonna save the world, brother.” “On your life.” “I hope not,” Rio winks and begins to walk off. “Specs?” I yell after him. “Same delivery as usual.” I shouldn't ask, it's protocol but I like to hear the words anyway. It makes me uneasy when things are changed. I like routine—crave it. I sit on the weight bench, thumbing the missive. A thrill races through my body.

I'm a Hunter. And being a Hunter is bigger than me. It's for humanity. People walk the streets; eating, sleeping, shitting and humping. They never realize there's an entire underworld of supernaturals vying for the top of the ecological heap. They're oblivious to the danger that sweeps past them like an unrelenting current. Hunters have been in place since ancient times. Our opposition have the same sorcerer’s blood that we possess. Druid. Both sides descend from priests of the highest order. But instead of exterminating the

vermin, they are saviors of those that would harm who we're sworn to protect. They believe in perpetuation, and we believe in sterilization. The Harborer's are the nemesis of our kind. Brothers by blood, enemies by deed. The sooner we wipe out the supernaturals, the sooner the threat to mankind will end. And we're making steady progress. I move through the expansive gym where all Hunters hone their forms, turning sideways to pass between the heavy equipment. I've worked myself so bulky I'm at the point of losing grace. However, no Hunter wants to be distracted by their own lack of strength

when they've got an assignment to fulfill. I'll get the details of my next sanction and be done. Hopefully it's another kill. Nothing gets my rocks off more than nailing one of the fangs myself. A larger threat would be a Harborer showing up for the same assignment. But they are fewer in number than Hunters. Vampires are the greater threat. Even a skilled Hunter full of quality bloodline magic can find himself in the death embrace of a clever fang and poof —dead meat. The ultimate threat of being turned by one of them hangs over every one of us. No Hunter wants to deal with that potential. Get in, kill the fuckers, and get

the hell out. Simple. * I run my high security keycard through the slot and the door to my penthouse suite whispers open. I move through and the door slides closed behind me. The midwestern skyline bleeds a purple and red sunset over downtown Sioux Falls as it colors my floor like beaten fruit. I stretch and the vertebrae in my back give a satisfying round of pops. I toss my car keys in a low bowl of Mexican pottery that sits on top of a table hugging the jog out in the foyer.

The floor plan is one of my choosing. It's narrow in the entrance and widens to an open living room and kitchen combination. Not that I do a shit ton of cooking. My lips pull at the thought of cooking as I cruise to my fridge. I open it, and true to form, there's no food, but plenty of beer. I grab one and pop the lid using a sterling band on my right ring finger. It's hell on beer caps. I take a hard pull, taking the frosty beer to half empty and move to the view seen through my floor to ceiling glass windows. Philips Street is overrun with tourists enjoying the bronze statues and Native American shops that dot the area.

My excellent night vision is not necessary at the moment. Not with twilight promising nighttime. I roll the cool bottle against my forehead as my gaze wanders and sigh. I have twelve hours before response is required for the sanction. I set the nearly empty beer on a low thick glass coffee table. A hot shower and catching five hours of sleep is my entire goal before this mission. I'm beat. Chasing down hybrids is a full-time job. Walking to the wall that rounds to the hall leading to the bathroom, I pass a palm over a glass sculpture that hangs like artwork. It's not. A brilliant blue spiderweb of light

harmlessly lasers over my skin, reading the unique lines of my hand. A single chime sounds in the silence and the front slides away to reveal a black hole. I pull out a cylinder that rests inside. It'll have all the instructions for assignment thirteen. Name, birthdate, location. My sector covers the midwest states. There are twelve of us serving this area. A vial with a syringe is enclosed in an thick airtight lucite case. My pulse quickens. It'll be my first. A woman. Hunters sanction male hybrids. It's the Huntersʼ core belief that women

should be protected. None of us kill females. I don't allow myself to touch on what happens when a rare hybrid is located and a Hunter won't sterilize. The penalty is severe and immediate for lack of follow through. Or the disastrous transgression of mating with a hybrid, though rare, it's not unheard of. Those are grounds for a Kill Order. I set my dark thoughts aside as the specs fall out last, rolled neatly with the traditional black satin ribbon keeping them in a tight circle. I pop the ribbon and look over the specs, reading them twice. Occupation: Bounty Enforcer. I whistle low in the back of my

throat. I'm all for a challenge. I slug the rest of my beer back, running a fingertip over the name. Narah Adrienne. I crush the specs, having already committed them to memory. I walk over to my fireplace and toss the crumpled parchment inside the firebox. Striking a match on the base of my boot, I throw the lit match inside and watch it burn. A low flame bursts over the ancient paper and renders the message unreadable. Ash rises up the flu. Ms. Adrienne's fate is not yet set in stone. I smile at the thought of destiny. Here I come, sweetheart.

Chapter 4 Narah Casper coached me about coming before the Magistrate. I'm not stupid. Just brash. Very brash. Casper ran a heavy hand over his nape. Nervousness making him sterner than usual. “Try to look like a woman.” I gave him the glance he deserves. I have platinum corn rows to my waist and a sleeve of colorful tattoos. There's no softening that. “I'll go tribal on his ass if he doesn't like what he sees,” I boast, but butterflies tumble inside me like a washer on spin cycle.

“Narah—please—don't incite anyone. I don't want to have to get an enforcer out of jail. It's the last place you should be.” “You don't have to worry about me, Casper. Butter wouldn't melt in my mouth.” Casper nodded. “That's exactly what I'm afraid of.” So here I am, in line for my turn to get my hand slapped. I'm wearing my version of dress clothes. They're probably not what Casper had in mind. Black boots (shined), black, skin tight jeans and a sheer black blouse with a black cami underneath. My black bra straps don't even show. It's downright

demure for me. My ass bones hurt as I sit on the archaic wooden bench they've parked me on. I sigh, throwing out my long legs underneath the bench in front of me, bored. I wait through insufferably stupid recounts of deeds ranging from petty theft, to misuse of credits. I stare at the ceiling. This one is a far cry from the shabby-ass accommodations the government bequeaths us at my office. Beautiful, old-fashioned plaster work is done in a cake icing style. Swaths of rich smears of buttery looking plaster swirl in different shapes above my head, ending where plaster crown molding meets ceiling to wall. Mission

brass fixtures hang down five feet from fifteen foot ceilings, with etched glass orbs covering the modern LED lightbulbs inside, stars shallowly bisect the crystal surface. I momentarily forget my environment, dreaming of a life of being able to watch clouds float, a world that would allow my imagination free reign. Instead, I'm inside the magistrate court for killing too many criminals for the quarter. “Adrienne!” I reluctantly shake off my daydream and leap lightly to my feet, stilling my nerves. The security guard's hand twitches above his piece. I give him tight eyes.

He flinches. I grin. His face sours and he jerks his thumb at the Magistrate, indicating I should go. I stroll forward down the center of the aisle. Benches that resemble old church pews flank either side of me and I come to stand in front of a huge desk, with two smaller ones like wings on either side of the Magistrate. I stare at his archaic getup. Time seems to have gone backward. We're back to guys with powdered white wigs and Shirley Temple curls. I bite the inside of my mouth to check the chuckle that bubbles inside my throat. But when someone chooses to look ridiculous, I feel almost honor-

bound to laugh at their efforts. Like now. The top casement-style windows of the court building are cracked open. It's early fall here in Sioux Falls and neither heat or AC is required. A perfect balance between the hell of summer's breath and the bite of the frigid midwestern winter. It'd be perfect if the nearby meat plant didn't give off the blood vat smell. Not that I'm against the smell of blood. I stand before the Magistrate and don't squirm or budge. I ruthlessly manage my expression into neutrality. He looks me over with smug dismissal. Taking in my presumably

unprofessional appearance. He sits higher than me, like a king on his dais. He's literally looking down his nose at me. My chin kicks up in the only defiance I speculate I'm allowed. “Magistrate Oren presiding.” The courtroom announcer sounds like the town cryer. I shift my eyes down, so close to losing my composure I'm drowning. It's insane how amusement often grips me at the most inopportune times. Oren clears his throat. “Is there something amusing, Enforcer Adrienne?” I lift my head, giving him a steady gaze. “No, Magistrate Oren.” His eyes narrow on me like slits of

hate. “Do share if there is.” I can't win the staring contest but oh how I shake with want. Instead, I let my fists loosen. Oren believes he has won the small battle of wills and begins as though bored. I have a sense of things. He isn't bored, but after my hide. I lick suddenly dry lips. Maybe I should have worn the dress. I try not to grump about it. Dresses are for work. They help with captures. “You are thirteen kills deep for the current quarter. How do you plead?” “Not guilty.” Dumb ass. His lips pull in amusement. “Three of the thirteen were waived by Enforcer Casper's appeal.”

I clear the tiny tickle in my throat in the now-silent courtroom. His eyebrows hike. “Yes, Magistrate.” Where is he going with this. “Technically, you are then three into probation already.” My palms dampen. His next words seem to hang in the air between us. “You will have lashes.” I suck in a breath of sheer disbelief. Fucking lashes. The courtroom erupts in animated whispers. The gavel strikes the wood with a sharp echo and the voices leak away. “We will not tolerate murderers as our Enforcers.”

“Magistrate,” I reason in a low voice, “the targets were killing me,” I jab my thumb into my chest, “I would have died without lethal force.” “Understood,” he interrupts. “That is why, by law, you are allowed ten kills per quarter. We understand you are securing the most heinous criminals of our time.” His elbows rest on the highly polished wood as he feigns benevolence with his spread hands. “You've read my reports,” I defend, and I'm immediately pissed at the desperate waver in my voice. The whips are barbed at their end. Ten lashes is considered a fatal amount. My heart beats a heavy rhythm of fear. His head lifts slightly and he tucks

his hands underneath his chin. “I have reviewed your files.” I feel my eyebrows jump on my forehead. “What—why then? Can you not take me off detail?” His eyes hood and he looks me over from head to toe. Lingering on all the places he shouldn't be thinking about right now. Pervert—he's enjoying this. “I think in your case, Enforcer Adrienne, a more strict discipline is required. Unless you feel extra leniency is needed due to your gender?” He drums his fingers softly from his imperial vantage point. My mouth drops open. It's probably because I'm a woman. Gotta make sure there aren't any little girls out there

dreaming of anything but motherhood and home. What a crock of shit that is. He leans back suddenly, the chair groaning under his weight. “I will deliver the lashes myself.” He sweeps his hands apart merrily. “After all, what kind of Magistrate would I be if I was unwilling to mete out discipline by my own hand, but merely delegated it to another.” His eyes glitter. The fucking sadist. I can hear Casper sputtering behind me. Not that it matters. The gavel falls a second time, and Magistrate Oren calls out the next name.

But his eyes watch me as two security officials take each one of my arms and guide me away. Casper is at the last pew with his head in his hands as though in prayer. Our eyes meet at the last second, for only as long as a blink. The emotion in his gaze mirrors my own. Fear.

Chapter 5 Aeslin I perform a weapons check, as I do each time a Turn is scouted. The mirror is my aid, my memory sharp for holes in my defense. The females found are turned for their own good. Most will be deep into their late-blooming adolescence, and malaise will have taken over where good health used to be. Narah Adrienne will be no different, if she is indeed the Turn Torin claims her to be. A solid camouflage spell by Torin will kill the sight of my weapon band, by rendering it invisible. I'd be conspicuous

as hell to appear among the humans with three daggers, throwing stars and bindings. Tight jeans hug my body, and an equally tight T shirt accepts the job of holding its shape around my bulk. I wear all black because I'm harder to spot with the weak eyesight of the humans. Tight clothes aid in making it tough for an enemy to get their hands on me. I finish my visual inventory at my face. The tattoo of my kind wraps my thick throat. Buried within the intricate black markings is the sign for female and is half the size of my palm. A female of our kind. Where the human symbol is a circle with a cross, ours has a dot inside the circle along with a second bar. The

symbol is more complicated. As is our race. The symbol for female is buried above our hearts. For we have two. The large heart commands the smaller one, but one heart can keep the other alive if the other is pierced. That's why vampire lore, the part that's actually true, talks of taking the head. A stake to the heart is not absolute. Not when there are two. Satisfied I'm battle ready, I walk out of my subterranean home. The smell of the earth permeates the rooms that run like a maze beneath the ground. The ambient temperature anywhere in the world is the same at this depth and uniquely suited to the vampire. The

temperature in my home ranges in the high fifties. I move through my house, noting the locks are engaged, and everything is in order. Lastly, I move to the holding room for a Turn and peer through the window at head height inside the only door. A bed, nightstand and a large dresser flank one side. On the other is a doorway leading to a large bathroom with a walk-in shower. Everything is in order. Turners command every luxury and are afforded a weekly maid service. Rooms for a Turn are always fresh and in top shape. Mine has never been occupied. I give a last lingering glance at the empty room and walk away.

This mission will probably be bullshit like the rest. If we're fortunate enough to get to Narah before a Hunter, then there is the matter of her surviving her change. If the Hunter gets to the Turn first, she will be rendered sterile. The serum the Hunter injects arrests the natural evolution of her life. She cannot turn into a vampire, as she's destined to do. Nor can she have children. Human or vampire. I thumb my silver knife and lift it, feeling the custom grip and the perfect weight for throwing. I will kill a Hunter during this mission if one steps into my path. Of that, there is no doubt.

Chapter 6 Narah “You could say thank you.” I cross my arms and mumble out a reply. Casper's brows meet. “What was that?” “Thank you,” I grump. “Fucking lashes?” Casper sighs and squeezes my shoulder once. “It's barbaric but within his rights by law. I'll admit,” his fingers float through hair like spun white glass, “I haven't seen that sentence passed in years.” “He's a creep.” Casper gives a chuckle in seeming

agreement. I glare at him. I can't find anything humorous right now. He stops, giving a helpless little shrug. “I appealed, you've been granted a stay.” Three miserable days. “I'm just going to anticipate the sentence. Work myself up into a stupid lather.” “Narah,” Casper's kind eyes find mine, “you're the finest enforcer I have. A mite enthusiastic with the kills but productivity? No one comes close. I don't know where you get your instincts from...” I grin. “Women's intuition,” I say more smugly than I should. But Casper smiles back. “You'll

only admit to being part of the fairer sex if pressed.” “If it gains me advantage.” Which it clearly didn't today. Casper inclines his head. “True.” I puff out a breath and it lifts a rare loose strand of hair. The rest is tightly coiled in a lineal nest of neat braids against my head. It stays in a knot at my nape when I work. I can hide the tats— or not. It depends on the job. And the job Casper has for me is intriguing. He knows I need this. If I don't take a target I'll go crazy until my sentence. It's a mercy. “No killing,” he says, slapping the file down in front of me. I don't tear it

open as I usually would, but trace a light fingertip across the smooth top. Our eyes meet. “How much?” He folds his lanky arms. “Always about the credits, even now.” I slowly nod. What else is there? Of all people, he should understand. Deep down, I feel like the end is coming for me. Way off in the distance of my imagination I see the light of a train as it hurtles toward me. I am like a deer on the tracks. Waiting to be struck down. The headaches, the down turn in my appetite. The lack of my love life. What love life? Credits are at least a tangible

reward to the one skill I have in spades. I hunt the criminals by instinct. If Casper or the other enforcers knew that is what I do—Zero research—working by hunch alone, feelings? They'd perform an exorcism. It wouldn't be pretty. That's why I don't partner. And probably why I don't have any friends. They mistake my caution for indifference. When in realty, I'm profoundly lonely. My face tightens, my chin jutting out. “How much?” I enunciate. “Two hundred thousand.” I whistle. “Fireballs, I could retire,” I say with a wistful catch in my voice. Casper allows a small smile to

escape. “Not quite yet.” But already the wheels are turning. I could pay for my small studio apartment in downtown. I have a view of the Big Sioux River. The water is my solace when sleep doesn’t come. Which is a lot lately. I know I need to visit medical. All enforcers are covered for their medical needs. But I don't want to show weakness as the only female in the entire sector that has to have her runny nose wiped. Or her ass patted. “Bring him in, Narah.” He taps the file of my next target and the sound is loud in his office. I move to open the file and Casper presses a fingertip against it. “No kill order on this one. But Narah.” His eyes

bore into mine and I fight squirming. Casper has been the only father figure I've ever had. There were no daddies at the orphanage. “What?” “He's a level ten criminal.” Rape-murder-robbery-arson-fraud. I suck in a breath and let it out slow. Level ten is bad. Bad for the crimes they've committed. Bad for skill prowess. Level ten is a criminal that has committed all the biggies and also has lethal skills of defense. Just like my level ten skills. Let's hope mine are only offensively needed. I stand and Casper does too. “Narah,” he calls out when my hand

is on the doorknob, “I'll be there for the discipline hearing.” I look away because I can't accept what I see in his eyes. Compassion. I close the door to Casper's office softly behind me. Mindful of the enforcersʼ eyes that follow me as I walk through our building. There's no comments about my sentence and how horrific it is. Not one word is spoken. The silence is absolute. The affirmation is absent. The world swallows me as I leave the office. I suck in a deep inhale and it sounds like a rattle. I look over my shoulder at the office sign that swings in the wind. Final

Enforcement. The hostility of my co-workers follows me like a familiar friend on the drive home. Tears I shed in front of no one fall freely in the sanctuary of my vintage Mustang. My 1969 Mach 1 rumbles down the one way streets like a horse who knows its way home. All three hundred sixty of them under her spacious hood. I open my eyes wide, disallowing more tears. I have myself and that'll have to be enough. That's all there is.

Chapter 7 Narah I'm naked before my full length mirror, looking at my back from over my shoulder. A back that will be scarred for life in two and a half days. My eyes travel the length of my spine, taking in the elaborate tattoos that cover my body. I move to view my front, admiring my vibrant color choices for my ink. Especially the iris torso wrap in violet and white that seems to pulse as though alive to wind and finish at the base of my spine. Colorful skulls with black roses twine up my dominant left arm and a vine punches its deep forest

green barbs around my neck in a choker necklace of delicate thorns. I don't look at the rest of me—my beat-up knuckles and feet from running, kicking and punching. Those things I ignore. I have tatted my body to make it beautiful forever. In the way I want it to look. I have no roots, so instead I wear them like a remembrance. I sigh, padding to my bathroom. I pour half a bottle of shampoo inside an unmarked new container and fill the rest with tap water. I shake the bottle and take it with me into my walk-in shower. I turn the hot tap on and stand under the spray until my skin stings with heat and slowly adjust the cold tap, tempering the

hot water's scalding bite. I pour the diluted shampoo inside my palm and lather it slowly into my rows, hitting the scalp in between. I don't miss any area and thoroughly wash my scalp and all evidence of the weak shampoo away. I lather my body, hitting my still-perfect back with a soft bristle brush and catch my lower lip as it trembles, fighting another round of tears. I shut the tap off and step out. After ten minutes of hand patting my braids to partial dryness I lube my fingers with argon oil and run them over the light blonde corns. I shake my braids out and wash my hands with soap. Without looking in the mirror I knot all the braids at my nape.

Tightly. None of the offenders can use my hair like a handle of destruction. If I was smart, like the other enforcers, I'd just wear my hair in a chopped style close to my head. But I like to flaunt that I'm a woman. Right before I Kick. Their. Ass. My colleagues don't razz me anymore, but stay away. I'd had to fight for every inch in the orphanage and I wasn't giving any ground away now. Our lifespan as enforcers is thirty years. I'm twenty-four now. Just a baby by today's standards. Casper had to fight to get my appointment as a bounty enforcer. I hang my head. Now he's fighting to

keep me alive. I breathe through my self-pitying and step-by-step I build myself to hardness again. I will prevail. I don't normally wear makeup but brush my long eyelashes with a wick of brown mascara. Dark golden eyes with flecks of amber, sharply contrast to my pale blonde hair. My eyes water from the intrusion of anything on them. A swab of cherry flavored Carmex and I'm done. Clean as a whistle; soon to be covered in blood. I walk to the closet and slip into what I consider my enforcer garb. Tight jeans, tight T and expensive boots. I bought them for their tread, padding and

ankle support. I pop down at the end of my bed and laboriously lace and tighten, lace and tighten. I wind the ends of my laces around the top and tuck them into themselves. Standing, I grab my small weapon's belt. All enforcers have them and our unique number is embedded in plain sight. I also have a chip behind my ear that clearly states what I do for a living. I don't fill my gun clip with manstoppers but hollow points are the modern equivalent and my small .45 Springfield will put a hole where I sight it. A comforting weight at my back for a lefthand draw, tucked in a custom slot. The last thing I do is go straight to my kitchen and shake out three ibuprofen

tablets. I stare at the small rust-colored pills in my palm. I shake out one more and dry swallow all four. I can't think if one of my new headaches take hold. My stomach revolts immediately and I pour a small glass of milk, hoping it'll settle. Instead, my mouth tastes like ass. I scrunch my lips and move to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Most enforcers wouldn't take the time to clean up and get ready. They'd grab their belt and go, rolling out of the sack with bedhead and whatever last night's cat drug in and shat on them. Routine is a comfort to me. I like being clean. Ready. I grab my leather jacket off the hook

by the door and my keys go in my pocket. The file remains behind. I've memorized the contents. I'm hoping not to kill Tahile Benzoi. But in my heart, I don't know if I can stop what might be ordained. Even if it means another lash.

Chapter 8 Aeslin “Three more blocks,” Edan says quietly and I nod in silent reply. I hear the faint rumble of a powerful engine in the distance. Fossil-fueled. I frown. There aren't many of those allowed anymore, a relic. Of course, I own one. Bought and paid for with vampiric bribe money. The greenies are only as moral as their pocketbook. “That's her,” Edan says. “Yes. Where's her target?” I ask. Edan makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. “He's just a human. We'll dispose of him and take

Narah Adrienne.” Edan shrugs his broad shoulders, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against his brain-activated binoculars. Vampires can see like felines in the dark but a mile out, a little help of the human persuasion is useful. “A violent human. Why they have a woman as an enforcer is beyond me.” My disgust must leak through my voice because Edan rolls his amber eyes, slightly reflective in the ambient light that reaches our dim hiding place. “She's a vampire inside a human shell. Narah is unique as all the hybrids are and would manifest more strength, speed, cunning and intuition than a mere human. She'd stand out.” I chuckle. “Aren't you a snob?”

“Warranted,” is his droll reply. I grin. Edan makes no bones about his disdain for humans. They are simply a highly evolved livestock. Except in the case of the rare hybrid. Edan's cocky smile fades. “Got him.” A tall human male strolls past with seemingly all the time on earth. When in fact, humans are on borrowed time. Their lives doled out as though measured. I wrinkle my nose at his scent. Grease, human body odor and the smell of guilt—if there is such a thing— can be determined easily. What is not so easy is him walking around without a care. A wanted felon. Something seems off. My instincts

fire off. Edan moves to stand and I catch his arm in a grip of steel. “I don't like this.” Edan's eyes narrow on me then shift to the human male. “This is Benzoi—her target, right?” he clarifies. I reply slowly, “He's wanted for everything and yet he walks around like a free man.” Our gazes lock. “Hunter,” we say in unison. * Matthews The blood of my ancestors runs like boiling oil, searing a path through my veins, though it doesn't burn.

It's also critical to my longevity. Without it, I would not sense vampires are near. The primal warning system as part of my organic makeup is appreciated. I don't know exactly where they're hiding, but I feel their presence like a weight in the air. My acute hearing also picks up the thrum of an engine I'm trained to identify. I palm the box with the fluid that will kill Narah Adrienne's womb and her chance for turning. I force myself to relax, using a low whistle to mimic a casual posture, the clothes I borrowed off a homeless man should throw the vamps off my true scent, but with only an overcoat, it will barely be enough.

The low vibration of her car kills a few blocks over and I know Narah Adrienne's on foot. I scan the darkness, wondering if I can get to her before the vampires. If they've sent their soldiers, the legendary Turners, some are immune to my spells. This mission calls for a delicacy that even a skilled Hunter might not be able to muster. It's me against them. And the expertise required to get myself in her sights as a target when I'm anything but. I hear stealthy steps and a young woman approaches, tightly braided hair is silvered by the moonlight as she reveals herself from behind the thick corner of a nearby antique stone

building. “Tahile Benzoi,” she says in a richly melodic contralto. Her gun is naked in her small hand and I smirk. “Yes?” I ask with a sarcastic lilt. With a jerk, she sloughs her jacket off at the ground and runs toward me, gun raised. Mild surprise floods my senses. Feisty thing. I dump the reeking borrowed overcoat and it reveals my weapon's belt in all its glory. Narah Adrienne doesn't see it and launches herself at me. I harness my surprise for later reflection. I've underestimated her. She attacks like a man. Hard and fast—

deliberate. However, I'm not here for her life. Only her fertility. Her hand comes down with the but of the gun against my shoulder. I grunt at the impact but my muscle mass saves me. I toss her behind me, using my momentum and she lands like a cat. Nine lives. We circle each other as I remove the slim case. Like throwing rice at a wedding I fling my free hand out. Pushing the magic from my core as I've been taught and hit her with my best spell. The simple ones are deceptively powerful—pure. “Stop,” I command softly. My power swirls, striking her like a

velvet whip of heat and fire. Narah's eyelids flutter, her beauty is not masked by the elaborately plaited hair and many tattoos. She's beautiful even through the camouflage, and my soul cries out in defiance to deaden her fertility. It is necessary. Her head dips and she says in an angry voice, “Bite me, Benzoi.” My body stills in shock. Then the flash of a silver blade follows that of her eyes. I don't have time to be puzzled about the spell's lack of success when a pair of Turners spring from hiding.

Chapter 9 Aeslin I dive out from the shadows I use to camouflage us, racing against time and drive forward, Edan at my heels. The Hunter tells Narah Adrienne to “stop” in a voice full of magic and dark command. Magic washes over me, slowing my progress. It arrests Edan's. “Fuck,” he whispers, jerking a foot up and it falls back into place as though paralyzed. Narah says, “Bite me, Benzoi.” Not a normal Hunter then. This one has enough Druid to cast powerful spells. I'm partially immune, a common

ancestor helping me ignore their power. Many Turners possess immunity. Edan is an unlucky one who doesn't. Narah's eyes round when she sees us. “Who the fuck are you?” Your salvation. I don't reply. My only goal is to grab her and get her to the Turn room for the change. The Hunter moves closer to her position. “For the love of all that holy,” Narah roars, going for the Hunter's throat. “No!” I yell. The Hunter swipes the side of her neck with his forearm. He expertly taps her vagas nerve and she drops.

He catches her one-handed and tears the top of a syringe out with his teeth, spitting out the top onto the ground. It rolls to Edan's feet and he groans in frustration, frozen from magic. I move through the quick sand of the Hunter's spell and come to stand behind him. Tipping the syringe back he purges a small amount as he prepares to pierce her vein. Narah's eyes go wide as she comes around. She doesn't scream. Instead she stabs his throat with her knuckles and he chokes, but the needle goes in.

* Narah I don't know what this guy is but he's more than a level ten criminal. Hell, he told me to stop and like a dog on a chain my entire body revolted movement. Any movement. Then I remembered my job and who I am. Defeat isn't an option. I shake off the lethargy with difficulty and the fog of his words thins. It feels like a veil has been lifted and I can breathe again—move. I get ready and two guys throw themselves out into the middle of the street.

“Who the fuck are you?” I ask the lead one. I take my eyes off Benzoi and notice one of the two is standing still. Like stock-still. My eyes move back to Benzoi. Something is totally weird. The muscular guy doesn't answer me and now I have two to deal with. One mess at a time. I'll subdue the target and deal with tall, dark and deadly and his pal, almost-comatose. I go for Benzoi's neck with the butt of my weapon. It's my fave, take out the wind and the dudes fall flat. Instead, he nails my vagas nerve and unconsciousness sucks me under. It's only a moment. But that's all he needs.

Seconds later I come to in his arms and immediately begin to fight out of his hold. He pops the top on a vial and liquid shoots out in a stream. Dread surges through me. I strike his throat with my knuckles as the tall guy comes up behind Benzoi and kicks him. Benzoi tumbles but not before he sticks me with whatever cocktail he has. The needle twangs from my forearm, sticking straight up. Drugs. I panic, trying to bat it off me and the tall guy moves in and a sudden headache slides into position. Not now! He scoops me off the ground and I

punch him in the face. A fast hard strike. I'm not fucking around, he needs to be maimed so I can get out of here and not get shot up with whatever the hell's in that vial. It's like hitting granite and I bite my lip not to cry out, my hand feels like it's broken. He shakes his head like a bug bit him instead of a well-trained enforcer. Silver eyes regard me and I wince, grabbing my skull as shards of glass spin in my brain and I groan. He turns his head and his low baritone voice yells, “Edan! Come quickly.” Benzoi is getting up and I grab this man I can't hurt, who's sort of half saved me. “Get out,” my head hurts so bad I'm

pretty sure I'm going to puke, “he's a criminal,” I manage. “Look at me, Narah Adrienne,” he says. He knows my name. Gooseflesh has its way with me, my body chilled. My skull feels crushed, Benzoi tried to poison me and this guy can take a hit. I'm vulnerable. He grasps my chin and turns my head. His eyes are mesmerizing. I try to shake his hold and look away and see Benzoi moving toward us. I gotta get out of here. My next move is a last resort but it's pretty effective. I lift my knee and plant it in his groin.

Silver Eyes falls to his knees and I twist out of his grasp. Using my elbows I GI crawl to the sidewalk, casting a glance at the other guy, who seems to be moving fine. He and Benzoi lunge at each other and begin working their fists like experts. What the hell have I gotten caught up in? Meanwhile, my white knight is holding his package. Time to go. My head numbs and I jerk unsteadily to my feet, limping at a jog to my car. It's the first time a headache has taken me down on the job. The headache ate the medicine like candy. Turning around, I spot the three of

them. Silver eyes is up and scanning the area. For me. I run, hitting my car at full speed, I jerk the car door open and jump inside. My vision narrows and I know it's not safe for me to drive. I turn on my car anyway. The engine roars to life and I hit reverse, peeling out of the parking lot and narrowly missing a parking meter. Silver eyes and his friend begin to chase my car. Benzoi is nowhere. Tears of pain ruin my vision and I jerk the wheel, ripping the car in the correct direction and tramp down on the accelerator.

The odometer reaches fifty miles per hour in streets where the posted speed is fifteen. Thank God it's four in the morning. My gaze searches my rearview mirror and the men are almost at my trunk. The pain roars in my head and I do cry out. They can't be human. No one can run this fast. The throbbing in my head blurs my vision and I increase my speed. Sixty. Eighty. I keep my eyes on the road. When I get to ninety miles per hour I peek at my rearview mirror. Darkness is all I see.

A breath of intense relief whistles out of me and my arms begin to shake. Using every back road I know, I wind my way home. It takes an hour. By the time I circle back to where I live I have to crawl through my front door. I don't make it to bed but collapse where I've crawled, my eyes rolling up in my head. My last conscious thought is a pair of silver eyes.

THE END Read More

Vampire Alpha Claim 2

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THE TOKEN SERIES A Token Novella Compilation Volumes 1-3 New York Times Bestselling author

MARATA EROS All Rights are Reserved. Copyright © 2013-14 Marata Eros This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Marata Eros Website Marata Eros FB Fan Page Editing suggestions provided by Red Adept Editing

“Love sears the heart immortal The embers burnt down to the token which remains ....” Music that inspired me during the writing of The Token Serial: Joe Bonamassa Driving Towards the Daylight A Fuoco Ludovico Einaudi

Twenty-two year old Faren Mitchell hears the two words that change her abbreviated life

forever. They're so final Faren decides she has nothing to lose by seizing every remaining moment of what life has to offer. Until Faren collides with a motorcycle ridden by billionaire Jared McKenna. Even the dark secret of her past and catharsis as a physical therapist can't save Faren from the sexual spiral that waits for her in the arms of a man who commits to no one. When circumstances force her to get a second job as an exotic dancer, Faren never imagines how close that choice will bring her to the brink of a new reality she is unequipped to handle.

THE TOKEN A Token Series Novella

Volume 1 New York Times Bestselling author

MARATA EROS All Rights are Reserved. Copyright © 2013 Marata Eros This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Marata Eros Website Marata Eros FB Fan Page Editing suggestions provided by Red Adept Editing

~ Prologue ~ “You're dying,” Dr. Matthews says. Two words. Final. Complete. Desolate. I feel my fingers clench the armrests of the chair underneath me, but the rest of my body remains numb. If his words aren't enough to convince me, I see my silence is a prevailing annoyance in his day. Dr. Matthews walks stiffly, making his way to the softly glowing X-ray reader. I flinch when he slaps the photo of the soft tissue of my brain against the

magnetic tabs of the lit surface. The light glows around the tumor, immortalizing the end of my life like an emblazoned tool of disregard. Just the facts, ma’am. I sway as I stand, gripping the solid oak of his desk. It's very large, an anchor in the middle of his prestigious office full of the affectations of his career. I walk toward Matthews. His hard face is edged by what might be sympathy. After all, it's not every day he tells a twenty-two-year-old woman she's got moments to live. Actually, I do have time—months. It's just not enough. I look at the mess that's my brain, at the damning half a golf ball buried in a

spot that will make me a vegetable if they operate. My eyes slide to the name at the bottom. For a split second, I hope to see another name there. But my own greets me. Mitchell, Faren. I back up and Matthews reaches to steady me. But it's too late. I spin and run out of his office as his voice calls after me. The corners of my coat sail behind me as I slap the metal hospital door open and take the cement steps two at a time. I see my car parked across the street and race to it. My escape, my despair, is a thundering initiative I can't deny. I miss the hit as if it happens to

someone else. Only the noise permeates my senses as light flashes in my peripheral vision, mirrors against sunlight. I tumble in a slow spin of limbs. My body heaves and rolls, hitting the asphalt with a breath-stealing slap. I lie against the rough black road. My lungs beg for air, burning for oxygen, and finally I take a sucking inhale that tears through my lungs. The wet road feels cool against my face as I watch someone come into my line of sight. My body burns and my head aches. My arm is a slim exclamation point from my body, my fingers twitching. I can't make them stop. I can't make anything stop. Powerless.

The doctor is too late with his condemning words. I've already died. I know this because the man who approaches is an angel. A helmet comes off hair so deep auburn it's a lowburning lick of flame. He swims toward me like a mirage, walking in a surreal slow motion. I blink, and my vision blurs. I try to raise my arm to wipe my eyes and whimper when it disobeys my command. My angel crouches down, his eyes a deep brown, belying the dark bronze of his hair. “Shhh... I got you.” His voice is a deep melody. I sigh. Safe. I try to focus on him but the helmet he parks next to his boots becomes three

as my vision triples. There's a scuffle and I try to move to see what all the commotion's about. The angel wraps his warm large hand around my smaller one and smiles. “It's going to be okay.” That's when I know I'm not in heaven. That's what people say when nothing is okay.

~1~ One month prior I flex my hand, grab my isometric handgrip, and do my hundred reps. So fun—a little like flossing my teeth. I put on the kettle with my good hand and turn the burner on high. Flex, squeeze, release, flex again. I get to a hundred and switch hands. As I go through my daily ritual, I flip open my Mac and browse my emails. Faren, can you cover my shift? Faren, can you come in a half hour early? Faren, can you bring the main dish for the office pot luck? Delete, delete, delete. I'll say yes because it's hard for me

to say no. Tough lessons in life have taught me that. I put my handgrip on the corner of the end table, glancing at my left pinky and frowning. It's almost straight. Almost. No one can tell unless they're looking for it. No one ever looks that hard. Humanity glosses over shit. I leave my laptop open and walk back to the stove. Depression-era jadeite salt and pepper shakers stand dead in the middle of a 1950s pink stove. The combo reminds me of an Easter egg. The kettle insists it's ready, bleating like a sheep. I lift it carefully, deliberately, using all the muscles of my hands as I've been taught. As I teach others to do.

I pour the hot water over the tea bag and sigh, forcing my bad hand to thread through the loop of the tea cup handle. My dexterity is returning. I've pushed myself so hard that my hand rebels, willfully abandoning its hold on the cup. The porcelain shatters, and shards fly on the wood floor of my tiny apartment above the main street where I live in deep anonymity. The pieces splinter in all directions, and I sigh. I want to chop off my hand. I want to cradle it against my chest because it still works. Just not perfectly. Like my life. *

“Another headache?” Sue asks. I nod, my hands falling away from my temples as I reach for my patient folder. I grip it with both hands and scan who's up first. Bryce Collins. Pain. In. My. Ass. I grin. I love the tough nuts to crack. They make it all worth it. I stride to my torture chamber, pushing the door open with my hip and search through the sea of work out equipment and hand held physical therapy implements to meet the sullen gaze of a seventeen-year old athletic prodigy. A prodigy with a chip on his shoulder so wide I could drive a truck through it. Well I have my own dings and dents. We can compare later.

Right now, it's all about the work. “Hi, Bryce.” He mumbles a reply as I hand him the first merciless task. The huge rubber band fits around the pole in the center of the room. Mirrors line the wall and toss back our struggles. And our triumphs. I watch as he half-heartedly goes through the motions of his straight leg kicks. When he reaches twenty I scoop my hand down and latch onto his hamstring and he groans at my touch. “Bend your knee a little,” he does while giving me a look that could kill. I stare neutrally back until his gaze drops and he finally digs in. An hour later, shaking and sweating,

Bryce's huge and muscled body lumbers outside my door. He pauses as he opens it, looking at me with pissed off brown eyes. “I hate you, Miss Mitchell,” he says and means it. I smile back. I totally get it. Bryce needs to hate me to get better. It beats hating himself. I nod. “I know.” He walks out, and I run my finger down the patient appointments for the day. Kiki makes her loud entrance, and my lips twist. She balances chai tea in both hands, staggering in too-tall heels that sink into the nearly bald carpet. “Gawd!” she huffs as she winds her way through the ellipticals, weight machines, and treadmills. She leans

against the walking bars that run like railroad tracks for those with dual injuries. Like both legs not working. I swallow and force my smile back in place. “Take your tea, you ungrateful bitch,” she squeals, handing me my tea. I blow on it. A touch of honey and ginger rise through the vapor, and I grin over the rim of the cup as I sip through the little slot. “So?” I ask in a purr. Kiki is pure drama. It's only Monday, so we have the entire week to build up to a crescendo. Mondays are usually sedate, so I brace myself. I have thirty minutes until my next client arrives to be tortured into wellness. Kiki smirks,

sets down her tea, and moves to the pole. I give a furtive glance around the gym, hoping no one comes in. “Got a…” She wraps around the pole and slides down it seductively, letting her butt cheeks split as she wiggles and bounces at the bottom. She springs up, the front of her hoohah a hairsbreadth from the cool metal. “Ginormous tip this weekend from a richie!” She thrusts forward, wrapping one slender leg around the pole, and I groan. She does a little mock-hump against it and grins at me. Kiki is so inappropriate I could die. But she's my drug and I'm hers. We fit together because we're so different.

She's an exotic dancer who's also a senior at Northwestern State. She makes great money, and she also does serious gym time, packing in an hour six days a week. It's important to not look too striated, Kiki claims. No “guy-look.” Just tits, ass, and curves with definition. I designed the workout for her because I’m intimately familiar with the human body. I didn't set out to be, but life had other plans. The sins of the past become the direction of our future. Kiki pouts, leaves the pole, and saunters toward me. “You're no fun.” I roll my eyes. “Okay... I know I've got to ask the burning question or we'll get nowhere.”

She perks up. “You got it, sister.” “Who was it?” Kiki always takes stock of clients. Men think they know so much, but women could rule the world if we came together. I sigh. Kiki notices regulars, high tippers, newcomers and flags the creeps. She's scary uncanny. I came to watch a set at the prestigious strip club, Black Rose, and went away shocked. Shocked by the clientele, shocked that Kiki could dance that well for such a short time, and shocked by the moolah. “The owner,” Kiki whispers as if we have a secret. I shrug. “So?” “It's Jared-effing-McKenna, baby!” Kiki is offended by my deliberate

ignorance. Her brows rise to her hairline, and her dark eyes are wide with clear disdain. Mine are steady with indifference. The wheels of my memory spin. Oh yes. Jared McKenna. The Jared McKenna. Greek god. Adonis incarnate. Hercules. Playboy, womanizer, money mogul. I slowly nod. Let's add “strip club owner” to the repertoire. I remember the detail of why he has so much money and want to forget as soon as I do. Kiki pouts and tears off the lid of her tea. “Anywho... he was with someone, and his pal tipped me big time.” She sips her cooling tea, gazing at me with “cat that ate the canary” eyes.

“Okay, the foreplay is killing me. How much?” I take a small slurp of tea, and she tells me. The tea sprays out of my mouth, and Kiki grins at my klutzyass move. “Five hundred dollars!?” I choke some more, and tea dribbles down my chin. “It's okay, baby... it is a mindblower. I mean,” her hands go to her ample chest in patent disbelief, “my nipples got hard and he didn't even touch me,” she says sincerely and I burst out laughing. My headache is gone for the moment, my Monday morning lethargy lifting. Five hundred bucks is an assload of cash, especially for one night of dancing

half naked. It's more than I take home every week. Just one tip. My schooling is done, my career path set partly because of circumstance. Kiki is high on drama, but doesn't always say things without a purpose and I narrow my eyes at her. “Spill it,” I demand. Kiki's lips twitch and she chucks her empty cup in the trash. “This type of gig could be the thing to get you out of that dump in downtown.” I scowl. I like my downtown dump. “Faren!” she wails. I shush her before Sue comes in thinking someone died. Of course, with all the sounds of torment she's heard since I began working here last year,

nothing should faze her. Kiki relents and switches to a softer tone. “You could own something. Something nice.” I know this. I've been to her condo overlooking Pike Place and Puget Sound. Her view of downtown is magnificent. And expensive. It had to set her back five hundred K. I rent my death trap for nine hundred per month, and it's a studio in one of the tortuously small cobblestone-lined alleys of Seattle. At least it's on the fifth floor. The stairs are murder, but if I want two windows that actually face outside, that's what I can afford. Sometimes the freight elevator works; otherwise, it's exercise. The location allows me to walk to my upper-

scale rehabilitation clinic. No need to use my beater car. That much. “You don't have to give this up,” Kiki says quietly. She knows I won't budge on that, and she of all people knows why. Rehab’s not a well-paying profession. But there's more than money, sometimes the soul needs edification. I look at what Kiki has and what I don't. I shove those thoughts away. She's my best friend. She's seen me through everything. Dark shadows press in, and my headache returns with a throbbing vengeance. Kiki frowns. “Another headache?” “Yeah.” “I don't want to argue, Faren.

You've got to know that.” Her root beer eyes peg me to the spot. The sweep of her dark hair lays like chocolate silk past her full breasts. “But with your looks”—she throws her manicured hands in the air—“you could shake your booty a little and work a side job. Get a place in your same area... you could own something.” It's an old argument. Her penthouse is nearly paid for while mine's a rental with a landlord that cares more about the rent than maintenance. Her eyes swim with knowledge, and I set down my tea. It's too cold to drink anyway. Her words put the last nail in the coffin of my resistance. “Something secure,” she adds in a whisper and I let

her hug me. I cling to her and try to believe my financial troubles and dark secret can be erased by taking off my clothes for strangers Kiki loves me more than I love myself. She loves me enough for us both. * Sue glances up when I click off the light off. The sky is darkening as I slide my last patient folder through the glass partition. She has that look in her eyes and pushes a business card through the slot. It bears a doctor's name: Dr. Clive Matthews.

I give Sue a sharp look, and she shrugs, giving my hand a maternal pat. My eyes burn with tears from the spontaneous gesture. Sue notices my emotional struggle and ignores it. “He got rid of my migraines. Miracle worker, I say.” She nods and glances at the card significantly. I notice the appointment time and sigh. Sue doesn’t drop her gaze. “How much longer are you going to struggle through those bone crushers?” I don't answer, and she nods in her knowing way. “That's what I thought, Miss Mitchell. You'd have just come in suffering worse than your own patients.”

Sue’s right. She knows it, and I do too. I take the card and stuff it in the pocket of my smock, Dr. Seuss cats cover it in a smear of red and blue. “Thanks,” I say grudgingly while I grab my coat. “Welcome,” she shoots back in triumph as I hear the door whisper closed behind me. I look at the card again as the cars, people, and city noise encapsulate me in the comforting rhythm of downtown. The smell of fish, food, and sea mingle, and I begin the short trek to the dank alley with the entrance to my apartment. I have two weeks to prepare myself to go back into a hospital. I hate

hospitals. They're all about death. The thought of returning is almost enough to get a proper panic attack going. Almost.

~2~ I tenderly brush the hair off her forehead, though she doesn't feel it. She never knows when I'm with her. The rain coats the window, distorting the outside world and making this room a bubble of reality. The space is dim. That's a must, since too much light causes her to thrash. On some level, she rebels. It's my deepest regret that her rebellion couldn't have been sooner, when it could have saved her. It's a good day when I don't cry when I visit. Today my eyes are dry but the next time they might not be. I squeeze her hand, speaking softly. I lean forward to

press a kiss on the tissue-thin skin of her forehead. It's translucent, the body inside, still and soft from lack of movement. Life. My mother lives but not as she should. I rise like I have hundreds of times and move to the door of the clinic that takes care of catatonic, high-needs patients. I have a new job. I do cry then. No one notices my tears anymore. They're used to them, and I don't bother to see their sympathy. I have a date with Kiki.

* Kiki swivels in front of her makeup table and smirks at me. My trench coat drips water onto the floor. “Gawd!” Her full lips pout as she swipes another layer of sparkly crap on her lips. “You look like a drowned rat.” Her face softens. “See your mom?” I nod. Kiki knows it always sucker punches me to visit. It kills me not to. I face the evil I can bear. “Well, let's get you in the slut suit, baby.” Kiki moves through the hanging costumes until she gets to my size, and she frowns slightly. “I don't know how I'm going to stuff that gazelle body in the average getup.” She taps her nail against

her glossy lip and scowls when some of her handiwork comes off. “Damn,” she swears softly, making the hangers move with an angry swish of her hand. “No.” A blue outfit sails to the end of the size eight rack. “No.” A glossy green spandex number with a painful looking strip of butt floss floats past. Her eyes narrow to slits as a beige '20s flapper-style dress with cut outs at the nipples appears. “Fuck no!” I laugh, and Kiki glares at me. “It's not funny, bunny. You need to look spanktastic this first time out of the gate.” She's so serious I giggle again. “I'm

not a damn horse!” I hold my sides as laughter peels out of me, and I feel closer to normal. I'm so grateful for the levity she brings that I don't know what to say. Even if I'm about to strip down to nothing in a roomful of strangers, Kiki makes it better. She finally grins as her eyes light on something red. I mouth no, and she says, “Hell yes!” She tears it off the rod. I don't think it's a real outfit. Actually, it’s more air than cloth. “I can't wear that!” I stutter, backing away as if it's the plague instead of a skimpy costume. Kiki's brows come together in an adorable frown. “Ah... we had this

discussion dollface. You won't be wearing this for long.” Those perfect brows rise and I blow out a frustrated huff. Right. No clothes. Well, this is a “classy” club, so only titties. No frontal nudity down there. They can't touch, and I have to wear stockings for some reason. City ordinance. So basically my butt and boobs will be bare to the world, but somehow that's okay because a small triangle of cloth will cover my front and some super-sheer stockings will encase my legs. Yeah. Kiki pats the stool in front of a huge mirror, lit all around its square perimeter with Hollywood bulbs. Big ones. They glare at my pinched and pale

face. Her mocha arm comes around my front and she begins to scoop and fix my hair. It is neither blonde or brown, but a rich honey color. It's never been dyed or bleached. I just didn't want any more attention when I was at home. My idea of girly-ness is wearing a pair of high heels, tight jeans, and a top with sleeve cut-outs. I watch, mesmerized, as Kiki hikes my thick hair into a loose topknot, anchoring it with about a hundred bobby pins. She pulls a few tendrils loose to cascade halfway down my back. No matter what anyone says, long hair is easier than short. However, Kiki convinced me to take off five inches before I met with the manager a few days ago.

So far, meeting Ty has been the creepiest part. I remember exactly how he'd looked at me. It was eyeball rape. “Hi, Faren,” Ty said, shaking my hand. His large dark hand engulfed my smaller one. I’m surprised. I have long fingers that match my height. My hand never feels swallowed by a man's. “Hi,” I said. His eyebrows rose, and he spread his arms as he stepped back. “Kiki told me you know what to expect.” I did. I felt like crying, but I took off my clothes. The heat of my embarrassment crawled across my skin. My skirt pooled at my feet. My

high heels and thigh highs don’t impede its crumpled slither down my legs. Next, I unbutton the scarlet blouse Kiki had picked out, revealing an inky bra and panty set. The bra is demicupped and holds my full Cs high and tight, my pink nipples hidden by a strategic strip of ebony satin. I made the mistake of looking at Ty. He licked his lips, his hooded eyes roving my body like a starving man. My palms begin to sweat. “Turn,” he said quietly, and I do. He'd been looking at my bare ass, only a strip of lace bisecting my butt cheeks. I felt the heat climb higher, infusing my neck to the roots of my hair. I count inside my head, praying

for it to end. “Walk,” he said. I do, knowing I'm naturally graceful and balanced. The deep lace of my stockings whispers as I move away from him. Grace is the one thing that has never been taken from me, and I'm grateful for it now. “Turn,” he said. I don't miss that his voice is somewhat hoarse. I pivoted in a smooth motion, and I can't help but notice I've affected him. Shame flares anew, riding high to mortified. “Walk.” I inhaled deeply and draw nearer. I stop about three feet from him, and we stare at each other. I'm so tense I

could've screamed. “You'll do,” Ty said in a sarcastic drawl. I looked into his dark eyes and see desire there. I swallowed so hard my throat clicks. Silence fills the space uncomfortably. “So when can I start?” I hate how timid my voice sounds. Ty smirked as though he understands how desperate I am. I know Kiki didn't tell him my reasons. He assumed a lot. It must come with the job. “Tomorrow.” “Okay.” With shaky fingers, I'd put on my clothes, fighting tears so hard that my eyelids burned with the need to cry. My mind filled with all my defenses. I'm a respectable girl. I pay

my bills. I don't party, have boyfriends, goof off... I'm a physical therapist, for God's sake! But when I get the last button done, the words die. Ty sees me as commerce, and I sighed, feeling defeated. I can't even make the proper ending salutation. I made my silent way to the door and almost escape before he'd asked “Have you ever had sex?” I turned slowly, my heart hammering. What kind of effed up question is that? I gathered my courage, knowing I could lose this chance to clean up my fiscal problems with the wrong words. “That's none of your business.” I'd hated myself, but I had to ask anyway,

“Why? Why does that matter?” Ty walked around his desk and shifted papers, his interest in me clearly waning. He'd been silent so long I opened the door and began to walk through it. His words caught me before I closed it, “Because you walk like a whore.” I stiffened. The tears that threatened earlier? Yeah... those fall. I had softly closed the door and moved through the crowded, dark hallways of the strip club. My coat is secured around the outfit that'd cost me almost a week's pay. I hated what Ty said. I hated it because it felt true.

Kiki shatters the foul memory of meeting Ty when she asks, “You ready?” I look back at the girl in the mirror that's me. Her eyes are so pale a gray they would look almost white if it weren't for the lightning strikes of bronze that streak the irises, a warm brown ringing the outside. Right now, they're wide and ghostly in my even paler face and Kiki stares back at me in the mirror. Her darker skin and complexion contrasts with mine in the reflection. She draws me in as I lean back against her. “You don't have to, Faren.” She gives me an out as I stare at her dark arms wound around my neck in an embrace of solace.

But we both know why I have to. I nod. “Yeah I do.” She kisses my coiffed hair and backs up. I slip into the ruby red heels and try not to take that final glance in the mirror. A tall slim girl stares back at me. Her hair looks like caramel, eyes like ice. Her creamy skin looks like milk against the deep red of the outfit. A glittering mask that is part of the act. It surrounds my silver eyes in secrecy. I'm glad for the anonymity. The glittering v between my full breasts needs only an inch to reveal my nipples. The waistband is Velcro. Meant to be torn. Kiki does a little spin, hump-hips,

and throws her head back, keeping a death grip on the doorjamb. “Every time you come down the pole, 'kay?” I nod as the music begins for my set. “Use your good hand, hon,” she reminds me. There's no way I could use the bad one. It'll be the wrist for balance and faking using both. I don't fall apart until it's over. Then I'm at the commode throwing up my meager lunch. I don't notice anyone watch as I race out of the club.

~3~ The hundreds fan out like a deck of perfect cards, and I move as though I'm in a dream. I scoop them up from Ty’s desk, and he stays my hand by wrapping my wrist with his large hand. My eyes skitter up to his, and I blink. “What?” I feel filthy every time I'm near him. He seems to know it by some pervert instinct and capitalizes on it by treating me like dirt whenever our paths cross. I’d tried to tell Kiki, and she flung her hands up dismissively. “No touchie!” she said and sashayed off. It's easy for her to say because he doesn’t watch her.

But he touches me now. It's easy for her to say because I don't see him watch her. He tightens his hold to just shy of bruising, and I fight my natural urge to pull away. Ty has a hold of my bad hand, and anything can happen. As it is, my heart tries to escape my chest. I can't stand for a man to touch me. Every time it has happened in the past, it ended one way. His eyes linger on mine then scan to where my coat is cinched at my waist. “There's more where that came from.” His eyes hold some kind of question I don't understand. I don't want to. I ignore the overt innuendo. “Let me go.” All I want to do is whimper like a

scared little girl. Because I am. I’m so scared. I've been doing this job for a week. The money I hold is enough to pay for half of my mom's care for the month. The entire month. It sits in my bad hand. My pinky finger pokes straight out, unable to bend correctly, and sweat dampens the dirty money. “No,” he says He squeezes imperceptibly harder, and a low sound of pain escapes my throat. He smiles, and I realize he's a predator. Like my stepfather. The saliva in my mouth disappears as my breathing picks up. The door opens, and he drops my hand as if it burns. The money floats to

the floor because my hand can't hold it. Ty says loud enough for whoever walks in to hear, “You're such a graceful dancer, but you can't hang onto your money.” He chuckles at his joke. I don't think it's funny. I scoop up the money with my good hand, and the bad one throbs where it's been held too hard. Too long. I know from experience it won't work well for a solid hour. “Hey, boss.” Ty sounds nervous, and that makes my heart lighter. “What's happening here?” a man asks, his voice a deep rumble. Melodic. It vibrates through my body though my bare knees are planted on the plush carpet. My bones thrum with it as though it’s a tune that sings without permission

inside the recesses of my soul. I don't lift my face. I don't want anyone to witness my misery as I stuff the bills in my purse. I begin to rise as a large hand cups my elbow. Warmth leeches through my thin coat and flows through my body from his touch. I gaze at the beautiful leather shoes that shine in the soft light. My eyes rise to his wrist. Vintage cuff links wink back, a sapphire the only witness to my insecurity. My desperate need for indifference. However fleeting, however untouchable. I turn without offering thanks or a reply. His hand releases me, and I grow cold from its absence. I nearly run from the office, but I hear Ty comment about

how strange I am, how all dancers are. The only reply I hear before that burning gaze leaves my back is, “Shut up, Ty.” The door clicks and I leave as quickly as I came. The heat from that stare follows me. * Kiki's curls dance as she moves her head to the music in her ear buds. She looks like a duck, her head jutting and retracting to some awesomeness only she can hear. Her long nail scrolls down the screen of her cell. I plop down across from her and heave a sigh of relief. I heft my bag

across my legs and against the corner of the seat of my favorite diner. I don't branch out much. So sue me, I love the view. That's a bit of the reason why I live where I do, why I shell out nine hundred bucks a month on a studio dive. Well, that and Mom's terribly expensive care center is blocks away, like my job. Both jobs, actually. Kiki catches my eye and smiles big, her grin infectious. I smile back. She pops an earbud out, and I hear the singer, Sully Erna. Hottie. I feel heat fill out the cool paleness of my skin. Kiki lights up at my expression, never one to lose out on an easy excuse to tease me. “Sully Erna's coming to town. Saw him when he was touring

with Godsmack. He's dee-lish, baby!” Kiki gives a little hip gyration on the seat as the waitress comes up, pen poised. She looks at Kiki with clear amusement and gives me a knowing smile. The that girl can't be contained look passes between us before we look back at Kiki. “What?” she asks, laughing. Her hand sails out dramatically, her tips bright red this month because Christmas is coming. God knows, she can't not celebrate something. I look at my own bitten fingernails and put my elegant hands with their stubby tips on my lap. Arlene takes our order and saunters away, no doubt chalking up our

goofiness to our age. I'm not goofy, but it's part of her charm I siphon. “So tell me what's going down, girl,” she says without preamble. Now that she's here I don't know if I can say it all. My hands sweat, and I fight to keep them on my lap. Arlene comes over and slaps two waters on the table. Her eyes flick to mine briefly, see something that makes her pause, but she must think better about getting involved because she leaves us to our conversation. Kiki knows I owe money for my mom's care. I take a deep breath then another. I meet her eyes. “It's fifty K, Kiki.” Her eyes bug comically, and her

hand flies to her chest. “Jeee-sus! Faren...” she exhales in a contrite burst. We stare at each other while Arlene delivers our coffees. She looks from Kiki to me, probably wondering what stole my friend's good cheer. One guess. She leaves and Kiki leans forward, her hair sweeping in a black veil that brushes dangerously close to the steaming coffee. I calmly add cream and sugar, making it something that's not coffee anymore. She searches my face for the Swiss cheese of emotions leaking out and I nod. “Yeah, it's that bad,” I say. She gives a low moan of outrage. “That bad? So fucking bad!” Kiki hisses. “No wonder you finally caved about shaking your tail.”

My shoulders slump a little at her words. An image of Ty's hand on my wrist like a vise bubbles up. I let it pop inside my mind, hoping it'll evaporate and knowing it won't. “How long will it take me to work off that debt?” Kiki's face smoothed out, her thinking face set into motion and I can tell she's adding stuff up. “Well... to be honest, most good nights you can make up to five hundred...” We're doing the math, and I'm hearing years. My soul can't take it. The pole and the men... it's already eating at me. Then there's Ty. I want months. Hell, weeks. A moment around him is a lifetime.

Kiki reads my face and sighs. She lowers her eyes and stirs her coffee. “I wasn't going to tell you, but there’s another option. It's kinda risky. It's not like the Black Rose.” “What could be worse than dancing at the Black Rose?” Kiki sighs. “Listen, BR is the classiest of these types of establishments. The men have to behave themselves, not touch the girls and you don't have to show your kitty.” I'm so grateful. I give her an exaggerated eye roll. “What about Ty? He's like some kind of pimp!” Kiki rolls her big eyes, her false eyelashes nearly reaching her brows. “Ty is Ty. He's great at sniffing out

innocent girls, and he thinks you're skittish. He wants to scare you a little. No big thing.” Her eyes meet mine. “Listen, he's all bark. Don't let him spook you.” Right. I feel I'm a good judge of bark versus bite, but I say nothing. The food comes, and I look at the chef's salad with fresh salmon and wonder if I can eat it. My stomach's in knots. I feel the beginning of a fresh headache come on. I rub my temple before taking a small bite. Kiki grabs a greasy fry and swirls it in some ketchup while taking a sip of Coke. No burger. She lives on about a thousand calories per day. I don't know how she stays alive, but she explains that

she's not doing drugs to stay thin like the other girls. The whole scene makes me want to cry. Then I go visit Mom and go right back to the pole anyway. Kiki dips another fry and meets my eyes. It hangs there like a limp noodle, dripping ketchup that reminds me of blood. I swallow. “How long?” She stares at me for a heartbeat then beheads the fry. She talks through the food, “What are you willing to do?” Oh gawd... Nothing more. Instead, I say, “A lot.” She nods, gives a sad little shake of her head, and tells me. There's a cavernous silence as the last word drops

out of her mouth. I know she hates herself for telling me. I know she loves me more.

~4~ Decision made, we move on to different topics. I feel a weightlessness. It might not be a perfect path but at least I picked one. I'm back to telling Kiki about Ty. “You met Him?” Kiki says in awe, utterly dismissing the true problem. “Huh?” I ask, clearly hearing the capital letter in the pronoun. “The owner! The hunky, delicious, panty-evaporating, very, very rich owner...” I shrug. “He walked in, helped pick me up off the floor, while I was stuffing my dirty money in my handbag...” “Did I mention rich?” Her perfectly

plucked brows rise. “Did you see him?” Kiki's eyes are wide for a different reason now. I shake my head, trying not to let on how much he unnerved me. And I never even saw his face. Kiki flings herself back in an indignant huff. Her angry eyes meet mine. “I've been dying to meet him! Meet him meet him, not just him seeing a set while his dude slips me a ginormous tip. I'd sample his wares any day!” She exhales and crosses her legs, looking out at the water. Steelhead Diner sits at the top of Pike Street. The wall of glass frames Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains like a surreal painting of white ice and swirling deep cerulean

waters. “Why didn't you check him out? I gotta admit, I'm fanning my vagina right now.” Kiki says it with such sincere enthusiasm that I laugh. I look down at my hands and give the first response that springs to mind. “I don't like rich guys.” “Oh bullshittery! Yeah, I hate rich guys too! Hate.” She’s clearly mocking me, putting her index finger to her chin as her eyes rise skyward and her foot kicks endlessly. “Let's reason this shit out, Faren.” Kiki drills me with her gaze. I squirm, knowing her brand of wisdom is coming. I take a bite of my salad and mechanically chew.

“Nice house, nice car, nice clothes, hot cologne”—she lifts her brows —“lots o’ gym time for the guns. Hell!” She smacks the table, and a couple of other patrons gaze our way. “Hell,” she repeats more softly, “I bet that he goes to those Kama Sutra classes so he can finetune the Moves.” Oh my God. “Yeah... that's what I'm talking about, baby. Give me some of that allday love sauce. I'll come running back to double dip.” I can't help it; I start laughing and can't stop. Sometimes a little comic relief goes a long way. “You gonna live?” Kiki asks, confused by my hysteria.

I nod. “For now.” My ribs are killing me. “Anyway, listen up.” I do, the remnants of my laughter ghosting my lips. “Next time he plays hero, try saying thank you.” “I don't think he knew he was saving me, Kiki.” “Huh,” she grunts, slurping her Coke down to melting ice and pushing it away. “All I'm saying is, can you work it for once, Faren?” Work it. I don't know… that seems like it's all I've ever done. Kiki slides a card my way. It reads simply: Thorn. My thumb moves over the black glossy letters embedded

deeply in the cream cardstock. Small numbers float beneath the name. I look up and she says, “Take it.” “Do you do it?” Kiki smiles then admits, “Not anymore.” I know her secret, and now she knows mine. All of it in its miserable glory. “That's how you got the penthouse?” “Yeah.” As she remembers something from a while ago, her gaze drifts far away. “The Black Rose is great money, but this money”—her eyes peg mine—“is outstanding money.” I pause when I see the shadow in her eyes. Neither one of us say what we're thinking. If I can keep this gig for maybe

a year? Maybe less time if I can stomach four days per week instead of three? I could have my debt paid off and only have the monthly to consider. It's too lofty a possibility to hang my hope on. Yet... it shimmers there, just out of reach. I grab for it. * Thorn Thorn is Ty. I’m so forlorn about that fact I can barely force myself into his tight office located inside a tall skyscraper blocks from the Black Rose. Kiki didn't tell me. Of course, I didn’t ask. All I heard was

“a grand a night,” and I climbed on board the easy money train. I should rename it complicated with a capital C. He behaves differently. I guess the stakes are higher. Intimidating me while I work at the BR seems to be just fine. Now? He lays out the ground rules. “You will get an email each Monday that outlines the new meeting place...” “What? It's not at a club?” “Will you let me finish?” Thorn smolders at me and not in a sexy way. I've seen that look of heat before and it parallels intimidation. He glares at me until my eyes drop. I breathe in and out deeply. I loathe him

and how he makes me feel. How he makes me feel about my decisions. “When the email comes in, you respond if you'll be there.” I meet his eyes again, and he smirks. Ty knows he has me. “Why are you Thorn?” I ask, taking him off-kilter with my question. He answers with deliberate slowness, “Every rose has its thorns.” Our eyes lock and he asks, “Ready?” I nod. “You get a hundred dollars a lap dance.” His eyes sweep past mine, and he recites the speech as if it’s a recipe for cookie dough. “The quicker you give the dance, the better you do it, the more

money there is. The clients are not allowed to touch you, and you never have to do anything you're uncomfortable with.” He says the last part with the sincerity of a felon. Our eyes meet again and I get the message. Thorn's into clarity. He lists off the things you can make extra for. “Let them grope your tittiesfifty dollars. Hand jobs, one hundred.” I swallow. I think there's a little throw up in my mouth. I don't say I've never done a hand job. Thorn already called me whore, and there's no convincing the decided. And really? It's better that Thorn thinks I'm what he presumes I am. Thorn doesn't know why

I'm doing this. He doesn't know my past, my present job. He's guessing, and I'm all for keeping it that way. The less he knows is definitely more. Those thoughts take seconds. Thorn moves on, “There will be security. Not that it's needed.” He flicks his eyes to mine and smirks. “We have trained gorillas outside all the stations. So the girls don't have to worry.” I squirm a little, thinking about how they'll fire me on the first night. My temples pound with the familiar start of a migraine, and my hand closes around the crumbled card of Doctor Matthews inside my purse. My appointment next week looms in front of me and I don't look at Thorn's dark face, eyes that hate

me, a body that wants me. I know someone's got a tight leash on Thorn or he would have done more than proposition me and threat. Who? Jared McKenna? The elusive, semihero billionaire who happens to own the nicest strip club in Seattle? I look at Ty, a.k.a. Thorn again, and wonder who could leash that pit bull. “I'm not sure what to do...” If I don't say something, he'll hear about it from a pissed client. This isn't working my sore muscles against a pole in front of men from a safe distance. It's different. Intimate. Thorn grins, his white teeth an eery slash against his dark complexion. He

strides over to where I stand, and I barely hold my ground, gritting my teeth. He towers over me even though I'm 5'9” in my stocking feet. I pull away and he frowns, gripping me tighter. “Chill out, it's a tutorial. I'm not going to rape you.” Right. My body remembers and locks up, fights for air, for reason. He looks at my face and gives a dark chuckle. Thorn moves the swivel chair and sits down on it, slapping his lap once. I die inside. If someone had told me I would be this close to Ty the creep manager, I would have laughed. Not laughing now. I gingerly lift one knee and place it

on the outside of his thigh, his dark eyes watching as I do. The other knee follows, and I force myself to grip his shoulders for balance or I'll fall against him. I shiver, and he takes it for arousal instead of loathing. Thorn grips my hips, and I hiss and try to pull away. “That's not going to work on the dudes we have coming to enjoy this body of yours.” He jerks my hips forward, and I feel his erection against my upper thigh. “Move.” I bite my lip to keep from screaming. I rub against him over and over. His hands move to cup my ass, and

suddenly I'm not moving on my own. He's shifting my body against his stiff penis. My breasts are safely encased inside a nude bra that brushes his face as the friction of our clothed coupling intensifies. Thorn pants and gives a whispered shout that's somewhere between a hiss and a yell. I feel sick as I climb off him, a wet patch at his crotch spreading to his muscular thighs. I back away, shaking. The fine beginnings of a bruise blossom high on my thigh, and I shudder in revulsion. I wrap my black trench coat around the underwear he insisted was all I wear underneath it. Thorn asks softly, “Got it?”

I nod. I so have it. And I never want it again. I flee as though the devil's at my back.

~5~ Monday I watch the blinking cursor as it flashes above send. My finger hovers, my will along with it. I clench my eyes and tap the mouse with a decisive click. My RSVP floats into the ether to be received by Thorn or one of his lackeys. Tonight's my first night on the job. My new job. One grand per night whispers through my head. I'm exhausted. I worked a full day mending the wounds of others, forcing them toward wholeness. I paid for Mom's care for the first time in cash. I pretended not to notice as the

receptionist paused when she took the rolled up money. Her eyes met mine. “Cash?” I still have the receipt in my purse. I think I'll frame it when this whole thing ends. If it ever does. I slowly walk to the “party room.” I know I've done all that I can to make myself desirable. Ty impresses on me the importance of the “mingle” period. These are men with tastes, he'd emphasized. I walk in, my ice-blue dress barely covering my rear. Little strings that end in silver beads sway and tickle the tops of my thighs. They cup my ass as I move in four-inch stilettos. The neckline is so

low the top of my belly button peeks in and out like a teasing divot. The men turn as a new girl enters. I imagine their response is as instinctive as flowers turning their collective heads toward the sun. I know I've hit the mark when their conversation stops. Eyes greedily move over my form, missing nothing. Some eyes linger at my breasts, some my long legs, some caress the burnished gold of my hair under lights turned down so low they barely illuminate. One man never looks at my body but my eyes. They're worth a stare, hidden by a mask of small Swarovski crystals. Only the light gray of my irises show through the slits. My dark blonde lashes

are hidden under deep chocolate mascara. “Two hundred for twenty minutes,” he says. He has deep black hair, a strong jaw, and eyes that might be a greenishhazel if there was more light. Voices erupt, drowning his and I fluster, backing away. My masked eyes meet security. Just like Thorn promised, he interrupts the bidding frenzy with quietly spoken words. “Five hundred, and she's yours for the virgin session.” My eyes snap to his, thinking I've been discovered. But no, he simply means this is my first lap dance. Ever. My shoulders drop, and I relax a little.

The man who said two hundred dollars nods at the security guard. Another man, complete in a tux and tails, brings a ticket on a silver tray, his eyes moving over me once. It's enough. I feel dirtier than when I arrived. The man with coal black hair holds out his hand, and I slip mine inside his. It's warm and dry. Other girls’ faces meet mine as I slide behind a door bearing the number one. I don't know who they are because they wear small masks as well. It's okay because I don't know who I am anymore. “I'm Jay,” he says as he loosens his

tie. I stand there stupidly. He laughs and sits on a large chair. The plush burgundy faux suede hides a myriad of crimes. Like the one I'll commit. “Come here,” he commands in a low voice, his eyes burning into mine. I walk to him. The beads that made me feel sexy a half hour ago sting like many bugs biting my flesh as I move. I stand in front of him, and he doesn't touch me. He slowly unbuttons his shirt. Jay takes the loop of the tie over his head and tosses it aside. My eyes roam his muscular torso as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. He does serious gym time.

I recognize the look of hard work instantly, my hand was not the only thing I rehabilitated. I'm sore from my own workouts. A permabruise etched on the inside of the wrist of my bad hand testifies to my two weeks of pole dancing. But pain won't end me. After what I've been through, physical pain is just another obstacle. It's the mental that's killing me. “Straddle me,” he says. I mount him like I did Thorn, my upper thighs quaking. Is it horrible that because it's not Thorn, that somehow it's better? Music creeps into the room from strategically placed speakers. My eyes flick to the side and note scattered tissue

paper, lube, condoms, and a neat pile of sex toys in an antique porcelain box. Glass. Rubber. I turn my face away, tears making me hold my eyes wide so they don't fall. Jay sets a fifty dollar bill on the end table next to the chair. A cut glass dish holds the bill perfectly. It twinkles in the low light while it holds filthy money. I move, and he says, “I want to touch your breasts.” My eyes shift to the money. I swallow and, after a brief hesitation, nod. He bends forward and whispers, “Keep moving... yeah...,” He groans as I grind against him, my

face averted. I stare at the gilded wallpaper, trying for an out-of-body experience. I memorize the geometric shapes. I feel his fingers push aside the glittering v of my top. A finger brushes my nipple, and I nervously increase my pace. My nipple hardens like a traitor, and my heartbeat speeds up in unrequited fear. I won't embrace it or I'll scream. This stranger latches onto my nipple and sucks as I increase the friction against him. I gasp a little at the contact. I guess touching my breast can mean his mouth, though I'm not expecting it. I disassociate myself further, my eyes tracing the fleur de lis wallpaper. My grinding stresses my muscles, my

fight against adrenaline exhausts me, and the need for money spurs me forward anyway. His breathing tells me when it'll be over, and then it is. He presses my naked breasts against his face and shouts into the center of my warm flesh, releasing against a hand towel over his front. Jay holds me against him as if I'm precious. That's worse than if he’d just let me go. I disengage, scuttling off his lap in an awkward lurch and averting my eyes from his crotch. He stands up, limp and spent, and uses the little toiletries provided to clean up his inconvenient mess. I'm numb as I adjust my top and scoop up the fifty, adding it to the five

hundred. As I walk out of the room, his eyes commit me to memory. I realize I never said a word. He doesn't even know my name. Jay didn't ask. At least there's that. In the restroom, I gaze into the wall of gilded mirrors. Toiletries, makeup, and wipes of every variety litter the vanity. I put my head in my hands and sit there for moments that become minutes. When I lift my head, I turn on the tap, wait for it to steam, and yelp as I wash my hands raw. Then I unwrap a toothbrush and wash my mouth, brushing viciously. Twice. I thank whatever's holy that I never kissed him. I couldn't stand that. It's the

final insult. No kissing. Because this is closer to prostitution than dancing. I get that now. I take deep breaths, concentrating on inhaling, then exhaling. I stand, straightening my beaded dress borrowed from Kiki, and head back out into the room. They bid again, and I head back into the room of the damned. This one wants to touch my breasts. I let him. And leave with twelve hundred dollars. Only forty-eight thousand and change to go.

~6~ Present day “Sir,” someone says to my right, but my eyes are shut. “Please step away.” The timbre of that voice is commanding, authoritative. My eyes open slowly as I take in the tactile wave around me. I hear a low curse, and that warm presence moves. I feel cold, bereft as a beefy man in a navy uniform crouches next to me and smiles. His clear blue eyes scan the street. I hear car doors open and close, sirens cut off. The silence is deafening, a deep well to get lost in. All around me, people's legs appear, like clothed tree trunks.

I'm in the middle of a people forest and it makes a slightly hysterical giggle erupt from my mouth. That's when I realize I'm higher than a kite. All the while, the man in blue has been talking to me quietly in soothing tones. My eyes sort of spin before focusing on his. I lift my hand to try and touch him, and I hiss in pain. A moment of panic tries to rise up in my throat because it's my good hand. Please God, don't let that be wrecked too. “Shh,” he says. He calmly takes my struggling hand, and his finger moves to the underside of my wrist. I feel the subtle pressure of

him taking my vitals. A loop of transparent tubing swings in my vision. “I've got ya,” he says and I notice his name tag: Johnny. My body becomes weightless. I feel them place me on a stretcher. My thigh shrieks in pain, and I whimper. The paramedic's eyes move to the needle in my arm, and he adjusts something. I float deeper in the haze of the drugged. “It's going to be okay,” he says, which fills me with instant dread. I hear that melodic voice in the background. It grows loud in argument, and I know it's my angel trying to shelter me with his wings. Johnny the paramedic loads me into the back of an ambulance. I try to move.

I have work. I have to die. I remembered Matthews's words perfectly. The drugs can't soften that. “Let me through!” the angel says. His face appears above mine, seeking me through the safety of blue men, through the onlookers in the multicolored forest of people. They can't save me. No one can. But the one who held my hand when I was laid out in the middle of the street takes it again. The sedative works in collusion with the hit to my head as I begin to fade. His deep brown eyes in a strong face are the last thing I see as the

sedative takes me from consciousness like a thief. That undeniable face is the last thing I see. Then it hits me: I don't have to deny myself anything. When one knows the hour of their death, it all becomes clear. It's a kind of relief. * Kiki's wide eyes greet mine when I wake up. “Thank God!” she says in a loud voice, and I cringe a little. She covers her mouth. “Sorry,” she tries to whisper and misses it by a mile. “Oh my gawd, girl, you had me

peeing my pants!” Her anxious eyes scan my face then move down my body. They sweep back up to my eyes again. I smile a little, and my mouth feels like torn sandpaper, complete with cracked lips and breath like ass. “Water,” I croak. Kiki slaps her forehead and brings a cup to me smoothly, tipping the bendy straw down to my lips. The water tastes like cold heaven. My eyes meet hers. “Okay, tell me what the hell happened,” Kiki says, plopping down in the hospital chair next to my bedside. I want to know where that guy is. The one I saw in my drug-induced stupor... where did he go? But I don't ask.

“I don't really know. I was coming out of the clinic...” “Seeing the doctor about your migraines?” she prompts. I just nod. Talking about about my death sentence is a little too much. Matthews's words come back to me, welling up in the center of my brain: loss of sensation and appetite, issues of vertigo—loss of balance. I can't have that. I need to keep dancing so there will be something left for Mom when I'm no longer here. Kiki snaps her fingers. “Y'know, they can't release you like this. You're not all here, Faren.” Not all here. My memory blinks, and I'm on the lap of one man. Like a

camera shutter, it clicks. Then I'm suffering through Thorn and his brand of control. The shutter stalls on my stepdad beating my mom nearly to death. All because she defended me. And I think I can go and die? I close my eyes. Kiki pushes my hair back. “What is it, doll? I mean, besides the obvious… You look like someone just stepped on your puppy.” I bark out a laugh. You know the type, full of beaten and contained emotions bubbling to the surface. “I don't have a dog.” Perish the thought; I can hardly handle my own life. Kiki lifts a shoulder, “Yeah, whatever, but if you did...” She smiles,

and I smile back. After a few moments, she says, “This is what I know. You came screaming—” “Screaming?” My brows pop. Kiki rolls her eyes. “Not yelling but bookin'.” “Oh.” “Anywho, you come screaming out of the doctor's office and run right into the street.” I nod. That sounds right. After the wonderful bomb dropped, I just wasn't myself. I'm not sure when I will be again. “Then!” Kiki throws up a finger. “A super-hot guy plowed into you with his Harley! Love by bike!” she says with a

squeal. “Kiki...” No matter what I say, it won't work. I'm okay, and she's smitten with the strange circumstances. “You're okay, Faren.” She looks at my blanket-covered body and snatches the blanket down to my thigh. “Battle scars. You can cover that with foundation.” We look at the bruise made from the bike, and I realize I'm lucky my leg's not broken. I watch her dark eyes move to my right thigh and land on my bump and grind bruise. She lays a finger on it. Kiki doesn't meet my eyes when she asks, “How's the work?” I don't look up. “It's going.”

“What do you have to do?” Kiki asks. I give her an accusatory look. She backs away, her hand coming off my leg. I cover my lower body with the sheet again. “You were desperate,” she says. “You need the money, and this is the only way, short of dealing drugs, that it's going to happen for you.” “I don't want a penthouse.” “I know.” Kiki’s eyes bore into the top of my bent head. “Now tell me why the fuck you ran out of the doctor's office.” I open my mouth then close it again. I don't know if I'm ready to tell her. I don't even know if I'm ready to accept

what Matthews said. I'm going through the stages of grief just fine, thank you very much. I think I'm hung up on anger. I hear a noise, and we turn like guilty co-conspirators when the door opens. Someone passes through with a cheesy balloon with 1980s lettering that screams Get Well and a bouquet of carnations. The balloon bobs and wags, revealing a sliver of his face. Ty, a.k.a. Thorn. My guts seize, and Kiki gives the man who's effectively pimped me out a dazzling smile. “Ty!” she says happily and throws herself in his arms. His dark eyes meet mine over her

shoulder, and he flashes a tight smile my way. I press my damp palms into the bed sheets. “Thanks for covering for Faren last night, Kiki,” Thorn says in an ominous message directed straight at me. His eyes slide over my form, safely ensconced underneath the hospital covers. “Let me talk to our girl here.” Kiki nods and turns to me. I ask, “You did a...” I don't even know what to call it. I settle on the most innocuous word I can muster. “Dances for me?” I squeak, hating owing anybody, even Kiki. “She sure did,” Thorn's eyes meet mine. “What are friends for?” The question is posed innocently, but I know

what he's really asking. Kiki gives me a light kiss on the cheek and ignores my eyes begging her to stay. She buzzes out with a I'll be back soon flutter of her fingers, leaving me with Thorn. All pretense of a smile leaves Thorn's expression as his eyes go flat black in an millisecond. “Let's talk, Faren.” I say nothing, and he begins. When Thorn finishes, I stare at my clenched hands, wanting out so bad I can barely stand it. Thorn wants me as a regular. He wants me to cover my fresh bruises with makeup, like Kiki suggested. He asked if I can still dance, to which I only nod.

Hell yes, I'll dance. I have a sudden desire for my mom that's so strong it's like pain that I can't fix, a part of me broken beyond repair. We'd been so close and now I had no one to take her place as confidante. There's no glue for my broken problems. Thorn's last words flit through my mind. “There's more money if you keep giving me dances. Private ones.” My eyes travel to his. I'm so engaged with him I don't hear the whisper of the door when it opens and my angel walks in. Seeing my face changes his expression of contrition to one of darkness. Those large chocolate eyes move impassively to Thorn and

noticeably harden. Thorn jumps to his feet, gathers up the balloon and flowers, and turns to the man who held my hand. Thorn explains nervously, “Wrong room, pal.” My brows come together in a puzzled frown as they stare each other down. I swear they know each other. I'm glad that Thorn leaves. I wonder what chased him out. Who. He's even more beautiful than I remember him. My eyes take him in with hunger, every moment of my life is hyper-bright, acutely surreal and microscopic. His hair glints, like the deepest copper penny, from the pale

light bleeding through the window. His skin is like creamy mocha, and his eyes are so dark they look black. Except when they look at me, they're molten amber. “Hi.” He steps forward and stretches out his hand. I move to put my palm in his, and I notice manicured nails that don't match the callouses on his palm. A signet ring flashes a college I can only dream of attending as his large hand covers mine. Cuff links peek from his expensive suit sleeve. Then I see the shoes. A different leather than before but just as supple. Just as distinctive. My eyes drive up his body and meet

his gaze, and a dimple flashes into existence as a smile full of white teeth dazzle me. Those eyes capture me in an embrace of satin chocolate. “Jared McKenna,” he says, and I know I'm in for it. I might be dying. I might have a dirty job that pays for the sins of my past. But right then, I know heaven, if just for a little bit, right here on earth.

~7~ Pretending is the hardest. That I don't think about what Doctor Matthews told me. That Jared McKenna, billionaire entrepreneur, didn't run me down with his Harley because I barreled into his path. That I'm one of the exotic dancers at his exclusive club, Black Rose. Thorn left because he doesn't want to clue his boss in on the relationship to me. Why? Our handshake breaks. His finger trails along the inside of my wrist, and as it leaves my flushed skin, my heartbeat accelerates. I watch his pupils eat his brown irises. I can't tell if the

dimming of his gaze is from the gloom of the room or that I have a clue to how I affect him. Our meeting is a testimony to the power of carnal attraction. Chemistry doesn't discriminate as to timing, looks, or circumstance. It's there to be recognized and play out, regardless of environment. What's happening is exactly what I don't need. I look terrible, I have a visit to my mom's bedside tonight, and a set tomorrow night on the lap of another stranger. I'm facing the man who is my boss, my assailant, and savior all in one chaotic package. And he's enough of a man to make a legion of panties disintegrate. Incinerate.

Jared McKenna leans back, drawing his pant leg down as he crosses his knees at the ankle. His eyes are shadowed as he stares at me. I break the silence. “I'm Faren Mitchell.” I pray he has too many dancers to know who I am. I can't help my embarrassment. His manicured nail, blunt and perfect, flicks the clipboard with my medical chart. One corner of his lush mouth picks up in a dimpled half-smile, and I blush, glancing at my hands. Of course he knows who I am. He takes my cool fingers and frowns a little at them. My eyes are hidden, staring at my lap as my heart beats a staccato rhythm.

He turns my palm over and talks to my hand. “I'm so sorry, Faren.” He says my name like a talisman, and I look up, startled by the soft way his voice caresses the syllables. I gaze at him numbly, his fingers playing over my knuckles. It's more intimacy than I've received from a human being since Mom was taken from me four years ago. It's a terrible beauty that the genuine touch of another human being moves me. I've lap danced with dozens of men in the last ten days, but Jared makes me feel as though I'm part of him. The light play of his fingers over my flesh creates a symphony of sensation. I want to snatch my hand away. I want him to move on to other body

parts. I'm so out of my emotional comfort zone that I can't breathe. I say the first thing that comes to mind. “It's not your fault. I was-I was upset.” I glance at Jared again then bite my lip, casting my eyes downward. He squeezes my hand lightly. The callouses on his palm scrape an erotic path as they slide away from my skin. I miss his touch and feel relief at the same time. He rakes the hand that was just touching mine through his hair and exhales. “It's not your fault. I should have seen you before you were in the street.” I look at him without wanting to, and his deep brown eyes pull me in.

They look so sincere. He doesn’t look like a rich guy who’s had it easy. There's a hardness to him, an edge. Jared McKenna isn’t accustomed to being scrutinized, and he smoothly redirects my thoughts. “I’ve already paid the bill for your care,” he says. A sheepish smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Thank God! I think then on the heels of that, How dare he? My eyes narrow and he looks surprised. “What?” he asks as if he doesn't know. Like he doesn't realize how manipulative the whole paying it is. I don’t want to be an ungrateful wench,

but I cross my arms underneath my breasts. The unattractive baby blue hospital tent covering me from knee to neck hitches up, and I watch his eyes shift to my breasts then away. Still a guy. An unapologetic, manipulative, gorgeous guy. “I have health insurance.” He nods, his strong chin holding a kiss from God in the center. My mind swirls with drug-induced thoughts of him as my angel, and a little smile touches my lips. His stare moves to my mouth. “I understand. However, I feel responsible, so I'll take care of it.” His words are final, said with an expression that is equal parts hard and

unyielding. Jared is used to people saying yes. I wonder if anyone ever says no. He stands to walk away as if he expects me to roll over. Even I know I'm not being reasonable. The fault lies with him. Jared McKenna has made me forget everything but his presence, and that's not fair. I have terrible debts to pay, a short life to live, and instead of focusing what needs doing, I let a man unnerve me to the point that I forgot what's important. Not to mention he's my boss... and he did hit me with his motorcycle. His hand circles the doorknob, but as if he forgot something, he returns to my bedside, and slides an elegant business card into my handbag. “I don't

think I'm finished with my penance just yet, Miss Mitchell.” Then he does it, a second intimacy I don't know what to do with, I can't know how to quantify. He leans forward and wraps his hand around the back of my head where it's snarled with asphalt and dirt from the accident. As he breathes a kiss of fragrant heat above my forehead, he whispers, “I really am sorry.” I gulp down the luscious scent of him: male, cinnamon, and spice. Jared McKenna pulls away, pulverizing me with a stare for my ten heartbeats to his two and walks away. I watch his tailored navy back and deep bronze hair leave as silently as he entered.

* I hold my mom's hand, as I have a thousand times before and I cry. I'll miss her. And so much else. Her prognosis is grim—maybe a handful of years or less. I can't let them move her. I won't. I swipe at the wetness on my face, listening to the clock as sunlight slants inside her room. Someone forgot to close the blinds. I sigh, stand, and make my way to the window. My right hand grasps the twisty plastic rod, and I turn it to shut the slats. My eyes catch sight of a familiar motorcycle. As if on some bizarre cue,

my thigh throbs where McKenna hit it. His body's unmistakable. He’s large and broad in the shoulders, and the unique hair color brands him. Unobtainable. I shut the blinds with a sharp click. He ran into me. Jared McKenna paid my bill. He needs a piece of my mind. He held me and made me grieve for something I can't have. For that, I hate him. I stare at the louvers. I glance behind me at my mother sleeping in false peace. I turn back to the blinds and the man I know is behind them. I lift one of the louvers and peer out at him as he sits astride his idling bike, surfing his cell with a tapered finger. I allow my eyes to take in his all-black

ensemble. Gone are the tailor-made suit, Italian shoes, and subtly jeweled cuff links. In their place is the kind of leather a girl dreams about. Dark. Black. Dangerous. I let the louver slip back into place and turn back to my mom. I gnaw at my bottom lip. Decision made, I march out of Mom's room, mad at Jared for following me as if I'm some baby. His new charity. Rich guys like him have to feel good about something they do, right? I don't need sympathy. I take the steps like a battle sergeant and swing the wide glass doors open, nearly braining an orderly.

“Whoa! Faren, what the hell?” Barney says with a laugh as I breeze past him. My cup of care has runneth over, and it's spilling on everyone. Later I'll apologize. Right now, I'm on a mission. My eyes land on Jared, and I stomp over to him. The low drone of his bike makes my next words harsher. “You don't need to follow me, Mr. McKenna.” That small amused smile he's sported from the minute I met him widens into a grin. His teeth are so very white in his smug face. Gawd, he's so insufferable. His eyes move to my lips, and I realize I'm still mauling them. I let my bottom lip

pop out of my mouth. “Just making sure my investment pays off,” he says smoothly. I am feeling the distraction of him as I see his large strong hands hold the throttle and subtly twist it as the motor give an deep appreciative throb. “What?” I can't believe him. I put my hands on my hips and his gaze travels in a random three point pattern. Yeah, that one. I scowl at him, my breasts and hoo-ha tingling from where his gaze just traveled. “Looking for bruises?” His smile fades. “No,” he says in curt answer. “Did you look at the card I gave you?” I shake my head. I went straight

from the hospital to my place, took a hot and painful shower, and headed directly to my mom's care facility. “You might want to.” The kickstand taps the concrete, and then he's moving toward me in a steady stride of fluid muscle in motion. God, he's big. My heart is in my throat as his shoulders blot out the street behind us, the sun... everything. I look up as he draws nearer. His subtle smell is a memory trigger for the asphalt at my cheek, the swirling haze in my mind, the feel of a warm hand over mine. Safe, my memory whispers. I blink, and he's there, tipping my chin up and searching my face. Heat blazes in his eyes though his expression

is cool. His gaze moves to my mouth, and I feel my lips part in invitation. An invitation I've expressly forbidden myself. My life is in shambles, and he's a last-minute storm driven into my path. McKenna bends his frame over mine. He cups my chin as his mouth hovers over the corner of mine. “Do what it says, Miss Mitchell.” He drops his hand from my face and I stand there, stunned. He walks away, drops one long leather-clad leg over the seat and lifts the kickstand with a practiced swivel of his black boot. He turns to me. “Call me Mick. I think we're on a first name basis now, don't you?” he asks rhetorically. He doesn't wait for an answer I

won't give. Jared pulls away from the curb, and I walk forward like a zombie. I sway as I watch him, and something startling occurs to me. The past day has been the first twenty-four headache-less hours I've had in months. Maybe Jared “Mick” McKenna is my medicine? Or my drug of choice. Either way, I'm an addict.

~8~ I walk through the narrow front door of my apartment building. My eyes travel the stairs, and I sigh with irritation. My gaze shifts to the rickety old freight elevator, a soothing form of transport— if it works. I'll take my chances. I press the old push button that slides the elevator doors apart. I shove the metal gate away, step through, close the woven metal behind me, and latch it with my right hand. I press the lit number 5. With a lurch, the cart lumbers up, grinding and clattering the entire way. It stops just short of the fifth floor. I open the heavy metal, and it slides away with a rattle. Gripping one

side, I hike myself up to floor level and grimace. My body doesn't like being tossed on a street, I guess. I close the door and walk the short distance to my apartment. I slide the key into the bolt and turn it, opening the door with my hip, and drop my keys in the bowl on top of a small table from my mom's house. I spread my fingers, feeling their stiffness. I put on the kettle and watch the burner turn red as I grab the edges of the stove. I lean against it, chin brushing my chest, and cry. I don't want to die. I want to see Jared McKenna again. I want to know the secrets of my body before I no longer

exist to experience them. I lift my head and walk to the sink, turning on the tap, wallowing in the comfort of my familiar routine. The water steams as it hits the white porcelain basin and I splash hot water on my face and it feels good – normal. Breathing deeply, I try to bring myself back to whatever center I can find. I stare off instead, thinking about nothing. The card. I remember and lurch to the couch. My normal grace is gone in my rush to retrieve the card he slid inside my purse. My body squawks, aches and pains springing up like unwanted weeds. I reach in my pink purse, the fake diamonds winking at me. The card will say something like: I

know your secret. Though he can't know. Or: You work for me, pay up—on my lap. That elicits a shiver. Not one of revulsion either. I'm pretty sure Jared hasn't put it together that I was the girl picking up money at his feet. Or my personal favorite: You're fired. He won't give a shit that my mom is two weeks from being put into one of those places. I shudder thinking about the care Tannin Mitchell would receive in a state facility. I push it out of my mind as my hand closes around the heavy paper. The

square fits into my palm perfectly, luxuriously. Nothing but the best for Jared. I move my hand away from the front. In black foil lettering, it reads: Jared McKenna. Tiny upper case letters spell out a web site address. Well, that was lame. I suppose he wants me to become a follower? My thumb glides across the deeply embossed letters, shining like ink on the deep cream card. With a sigh, I place it on the end table and turn to move back into the kitchen. My eyes hit on the slanted script on the back. I read it twice. Streetside; 1920 1st Ave. Seven o'clock. Black tie.

I stare at the deliberate handwriting, and a nervous laugh shoots out of my mouth. What is this? Then it comes to me. Jared McKenna, a.k.a. Mick, feels guilty. He wants to make sure that he ties the bow just right on the package of his conscience. Once that's done, he can move on and be free of me. I feel a smile bleed across my face, and I don't need a mirror to know it's not pleasant. I have nothing to lose. Kiki is doing my laps tomorrow night too. I have a full twenty-four hours without worry. You're dying, Faren, my mind reminds me in an evil whisper. I decide to seize the moment.

Nothing to lose. Except my virginity. * I walk outside my apartment building, and the cool air nips at my exposed legs. The nude stockings are so sheer they let the wind have its way with me. My platform pumps match my hose, and the chill works upward underneath my silver dress. It's short and elegant, unlike the costumes I wear for the laps of strangers. The clothes hide both the bruise from Mick's Harley and the fading cylinder from riding erections. Gaining experience while losing my innocence, one lap at a time.

I force my thoughts back to the outfit I've chosen for McKenna, the salve to his guilt. The silver of my dress makes my eyes look like shiny coins. I've tacked my hair up in an elegant loose coil at my nape, abandoning informal bands, barrettes and hair jewelry in favor of honey-colored bobby pins I use to artfully arrange my hair into a knot at the base of my head. But my mind revolves around Doctor Matthews's words and the card he gave me with my appointment about management. I find myself dismissing his cautions as a limousine pulls up at the curb. I clutch my small silver purse and bite my lip not to laugh. This can't be happening to me. I'm a

physical therapist and part time exotic lap dancer. Girls like me don't go out with billionaires. Especially terminally ill girls, even if it's only to dispel his feelings of responsibility. Of course, nobody would know I'm living on borrowed time from looking at me. The girl in the mirror stared steadily back as I had glammed up for tonight, healthy as a horse. But that's not what the damning photo of my brain has proven to me. Was that just a day ago? I wonder. A day ago when I was breezing through patients, grinding through lap dances. Before my life dumps upside down forever. But I've made a promise to Mom. A promise I can't give up because

my circumstances have turned dire, permanent. I will keep it. She gave her life for mine. I’ll do anything it takes to give her dignity. Because that's all I can do. The driver comes around to the curb and discreetly glances at my outfit. A slim smile courses across lips accustomed to just that expression. He probably smiles like that when he's sleeping. “Ms. Mitchell?” he inquires in smooth American English. He's a stooped, older gentleman, maybe close to mid-seventies. I think of him driving with old man reflexes in the heart of Seattle. I hesitate. Actually, the whole situation makes me

hesitate, and I have a crazy urge to run off in the opposite direction. I don't. “Please.” He sweeps an arm forward and guides me by my elbow to the back of the limo. I'm so glad for my ten years of ballet before height stole my dreams. I glide down off the curb into the street and fold into the limo easily. It's empty. I turn to the limo driver. “Where is...” I don't know how to refer to him. The little old man inserts my missing moniker smoothly, “Mr. McKenna?” I nod. “He awaits you at our destination,”

he replies and softly shuts the door. I survey him as he leisurely strolls around the front of the limo and opens the door to slide in. I realize I don't know his name. I lean forward and tap the glass partition, my rear in the air and my knee planted on the seat across from me. The glass opens, and his watery blue eyes meet mine. “Yes, Ms. Mitchell?” “What is your name?” A genuine smile spreads the deep folds of his cheeks to smoothness. “I am Henry.” He extends a palm through the open glass, and I take it. He gives my hand a brief squeeze before he lets go to turn

back to the wheel. I settle again in my seat and smooth my dress down to mid-thigh. “Thank you, Henry.” His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “You are most welcome.” The glass closes with a silent hiss, and our eyes meet for a moment more. I think I see something in them that gives me pause. A sort of wise sadness remains as his eyes shift to the road. We’re on the same page but put in the book for different reasons. Henry pulls away from the curb. I watch him expertly navigate the busy lower streets of First Street. He avoids the storefront of Pike Place Market, still

jammed with tourists. It's been dark for an hour as we close in on the restaurant. My face breaks into a grin. Thoughts of bucket lists crowd my head, and I remember I can take whatever is I wish for. My life is mine in a way I've never thought of before. There is no precedence for this night. For what might come next. We park at the base of the Space Needle, where Mick waits five hundred feet above the ground. Henry slips out of the limousine and walks to my door. I bend my legs in unison, tap my heels on the street, and take the hand he offers me. Henry lifts his chin infinitesimally, and I look where he indicates. People are walking toward the doors of the

Skycity Restaurant and their dress code is not formal as Mick has told me. He requested I dress black tie formal, even though it's not required, and I frown as the mystery of Mick deepens. I move through the lobby, decked out in vintage 1960s space age décor, and look around with wide eyes. I've lived in Seattle nearly all my life, and I’ve never been here. I walk to the elevator, and a man in a suit presses a button and the elevator doors whisk open. A few people in various states of formal attire move inside and he closes the door with a press of a white-gloved hand. I ride the glass elevator up. The view is spectacular. City lights greet me

in a twinkling crescendo of chaotic pinpoints of color. Puget Sound glitters back at me, the moon riding high and bright against the small whitecaps, as the press of winter lies ready to take hold with icy fingers. I fold my light shawl around my shoulders, feeling the fringe feather and tickle my bare skin. I'm wearing another borrowed outfit from Kiki. She's told me she's too hot to wear something this cool. I smile, remembering her comment when I tried it on in front of her. “I'm too hot for this sweet dress,” she'd said when I tried on the dress. She spun around me as she plucked and adjusted. Her eyes met mine in the fulllength mirror. “But you, you're so cool in

it you'll melt whoever sees you.” She stood and clapped when I spun, relishing who I have a date with. Unbelievable as it is. I don't know if I’m cool in this dress, but it makes me feel sexy. Free. A precious commodity at the moment. My eyes search the restaurant, scanning the other diners, and I feel overdressed. The maître d’ approaches. “Miss Mitchell?” I nod. How does he know who I am? “Please, follow me.” We weave between tables until we reach a wood door with divided and beveled glass panes that distort all the

corners as I look through. I don't have any trouble making out Jared. Mick. He stands when he sees me through the glass, and I have the sudden and overwhelming urge to cry. It's such an unexpected, old-fashioned gesture that I halt, momentarily stunned. He smiles, and it lights up my core like a match. I feel my insides sear with fire. With want. It's like spontaneous combustion. The maître d’ pushes through the door and leads me to a sequestered table. After a moment, I trail after him. “Watch your step, Miss Mitchell,” he cautions. I look down. The floor moves ever

so slowly. The seam at the rim of where the table sits moves, but the center remains stationary. Vertigo slides over me, and I want to sit down. I think of the doctor's words—vertigo, loss of balance —and I reach out blindly. My hand is taken by McKenna, and my face swivels to his. The maître d’ melts away, and McKenna draws me closer, his eyes running over me ravenously. I've seen that expression in hundreds of eyes. But never one I care about. One who matters.

~9~ I think his eyes will go to my breasts or the unseen v between my legs, but they don't. That deep gaze travels to the edge of a bruise that my makeup can't completely hide. He'd have to be looking for it to notice. Mick does. He holds my hand, his eyes pegging the proof of what happened. I try to take my hand out of his and he grips it, those dark eyes moving to mine. “Don't, Miss Mitchell.” “You don't have to do this, Mr. McKenna.” A dark auburn brow rises. “Do

what?” He corrects me, “Mick.” I watch his eyes narrow with an intensity that changes how I breathe, and my palm grow warm in his. He waits for my answer while our flesh melds. “Feel guilty,” I answer. “I mean...” I indicate our surroundings by sweeping my free hand around the view. The floor moves underneath our feet as the cityscape minutely changes while we stare at each other. His eyes move to the chair behind me, and he releases my hand as he pulls out my chair. I'll look like an ass if I bolt. I don't think I've ever felt as contrary as I do in that moment. Mick looks at me as if he's sure I'll sit. What makes him that sure? Is it the

money? Does everyone say yes to Jared McKenna? Did he just get flung into money right out of the cradle or is he self-made. Why does he own strip clubs? It doesn't seem to fit him somehow. He slides the chair in as I sit as if he's done it a thousand times before. I barely keep from sulking, thinking about the hundreds of women who have stared at those eyes, dreamed about what it could be like with him. That's the difference between them and me—I don't dream. I live it. Right now. Right here. Mick sits across from me and puts his elbows on the table. He knots his fingers and rests that full mouth against them. We say nothing as we look at each

other. He startles me with, “I don't feel guilty. Just so you know.” My face must show my surprise because he grins. I realize I kind of want him to feel guilty. I want someone to feel guilty. He says, “I know you weren't paying attention before you walked into the street. I couldn't have stopped. There was nothing I could have done differently.” I feel my brows furrow. “Then... why?” I stare at him, thinking he'll rush in with a good explanation, throw me a life raft. Instead, he lets me fumble around. “Then why take me out like this?”

“I want to,” he says simply. Those brown eyes stare into mine, and I shift in my seat. What does he want from me? I don't reply but allow myself to stare back. I stare because I want to. My life sentence has given me a bravado that doesn't feel false. I take in everything without shame. Though we're formal, he hasn’t shaved. His hair is short on the sides and longish on the top. A natural wave sweeps it off a low forehead. The flame of his hair burns a deep bronze above eyes that are almost too large for a man's face. No female alive would mistake Jared McKenna for anything but male. His broad shoulders anchor our table, his biceps stretching the dark navy suit.

His crisp white shirt is a blazing star beneath his dusky complexion. I think of how calloused those strong hands are. “You're blushing,” he comments softly, and I nod. Mick studies me and I don't look away. Still brave. Finally he lets his hands drop to the table draped in fine linen. “You don't seem embarrassed.” I shake my head. I’m not blushing from shame; it's the effect he has on me. I've never felt arousal, and now it's here to stay because of Mick. It's in the beating of my heart, the ache between my legs. My nipples are sharp pebbles beneath the lightweight material of my shimmery dress. It's all... and nothing.

“Then what are you, Miss Mitchell?” Mick asks in soft inquiry. “I'm not a game to be conquered,” I say. Though I’m not being honest. Jared makes a purr of contentment deep in his throat and leans back. The waiter comes in and asks what I'd like to drink. “Whatever he’s having,” I reply. I know that McKenna has some agenda and is accustomed to seeing his pushed through. He orders a bottle of wine I've never heard of and smiles at me, the dimple in his chin flattening. But he knows nothing. What Mick senses as contrary simply is what it is. I'm not playing hard to get, I'm simply

calling out the shots of whatever this is. I don't have time to play metaphorical chess with him. I have patients to help and dances to grind through to get my mom in a place where I won't have to worry. In all that, I can't lie to myself and say I don't want what he offers. McKenna doesn't have to know about me. He won't care anyway. A man like him can have anyone he wants. The wine comes, and he swirls his sample around, stealing a breath from the top. After McKenna’s imperceptible nod, the waiter fills the glass the rest of the way and leaves to give us time to drink without ordering right away. I look away from Jared for the first

time that evening and gaze into the black velvet view. The sky is sprinkled with stars, some of their glory stolen by the lights of the city. The slowly spinning top of the Space Needle gives us bites of the beautiful city in appetizer-sized chunks. “I'm not playing a game,” Mick says. I turn back to him, shaking my head. “I don't think so... Mick.” I gather up my courage. “You're not guilty. You're a rich guy. Really rich.” His smile fades, and I almost feel bad about what I'm going to say. “You can have any woman, and a lot of them will say yes because of what you are rather than who.” He nods, but his face takes on a

grim edge. “I don't care about your money.” I've never meant anything more. He sees it and can't hide his surprise. “I believe you. I don't know why... but you're different than the others.” He takes an unhurried sip of wine, his eyes gleaming at me over the crystal rim. “Than the others?” He spreads his large hands away from his body. “I didn't mean there's been a bevy of women.” My eyes lift to his. He has the grace to look embarrassed. “There have been other women, of course.” “Yes, I'm aware.” I mean, look at

him! “There's nothing I can do to not be what I am. I'll never meet anyone on equal footing.” “Well tonight's your lucky night.” His brows shoot to his hairline. When the waiter returns, Mick’s hard glance makes him meld into the background again. I don't try to hide my smile. Mick’s is sure of people's acquiescence. It's kind of disturbing. But I'm so off-kilter I can roll with whatever this strange night throws my way. “Oh really?” he asks. His face shows he hasn’t been surprised in a long time. About anything. “Yes.” My hands are beyond damp. I'm so sure, yet so nervous. “We can

date.” “Who says I want to date you?” I'm not going to outline the method to the madness. Maybe it's just a fancy way of substituting dating for screwing to him because there's an historical precedent; where there is none for me. “Please.” I lean forward, my forearms pressing against the tablecloth. “You say you're not guilty, you're so rich you probably poop one hundred dollar bills in your 24K toilet, and you’ve been with so many women they're quantified as 'others'.” Mick cocks his chin back and laughs, full throated from his chiseled belly. “Tell me how you really feel.” The corners of his eyes crinkle, and

I smile at him. It's so liberating to say what I think. I wish I'd tried it before. “I want to know why you want a girl like me. When you can have anyone.” Mick searches my face again before his eyes dip to the cleavage I offer him with my posture. I don't move; I let him take it in. His eyes rove up my arms, delicately constructed with fine muscles from ballet and athletics. Finally that gaze continues to my hair that looks like melting caramel in candlelight. Mick's eyes lock with mine. “I don't want anyone.” He wants me. It's in his face, the determined set of his jaw. Those eyes that never waver, soften, or fall from

mine with the rawness of my words. In fact, if I were to guess, I'd say the enigma I represent is part of it. Though he might not acknowledge it. “I don't want a relationship.” I say it because even if the great Jared McKenna wants a relationship, he can’t have one with me. I can at least be honest with that much. He exhales sharply, his eyes piercing me. “That's fine.” I lean back, feeling a vague sense of disappointment. Ignoring it, I ask, “So what now?” “We enjoy each other's company. You are agreeable to that?” I grin. Oh... this can work. As long as he doesn't figure out that I'm dancing

at his revolving lap club. Thorn didn't seem interested in revealing our arrangement for reasons unknown. If he can keep his perverted trap shut, this might work. I certainly don't think Mick will be interested if he finds out that I'm one of his dancers. My mom can be secure for the short future she has left. I can throw caution to the wind because the rules of life no longer apply to me. I have free license to experience whatever I want. I nod. “Yes.” A smile plays over his lips as Mick orders for me. He's good at taking care of everything. There are some things that a person can't manipulate.

~ 10 ~ I forget I'm with a billionaire. I forget what Doctor Matthews told me. I even forget my mom. For one night. Mick makes me laugh. I just hope he doesn't make me cry. I won't fool myself though. We move through the tables of the other diners, their eyes on Mick then me. He drapes my shawl around my shoulders as we step into the elevator, and I shiver as his rough palms slide against my skin. I enjoy the view as the elevator eases its way to the ground. Not the view of the city but the view of Mick as

he leans against those fragile looking walls that cage us with an apparent indifference for his own safety. I stand in the middle of the elevator and watch him watching me. Mick's arms are crossed, a new set of cuff links blink back at me in a glittering wink in the cool blue lighting. The elevator kisses the ground with a soft nudge, and the doors slide open into the 60s retro décor. Mick takes my elbow and I stop walking. I look around for Henry, scanning the parking for a glimpse of an actual car, wondering where he's parked. He turns back, his large hand cupping the boniest part of me. “Henry can take you home.” “Oh... you're... are you coming

with?” He nods, and I notice his lips twitch as he tows me along. “He drove me here first then went back for you.” I'm so glad I seem to amuse the hell out of him. I frown but allow him to lead me to the limo. Henry stands sentinel beside it, resplendent in a tux. It seems too elegant a wardrobe for his position, but he seems comfortable—as if Henry just grew out of the ground beside the sleek length of the limo, two halves of a whole. “Sir,” Henry says with a slight nod. Mick gives him an affectionate slap on the back before he hops into the limo. The sight of it twists Henry's lips into an

almost-grin. I see the affection Henry has for Mick, and it makes me wonder. Actually, everything about Jared McKenna makes me wonder. Mick takes my hands as I slide in opposite him; he holds my hands and lets me drop when my butt hovers an inch above the plush leather upholstery. I laugh as I sink down and catch his eyes gleaming like obsidian marbles. I can't make out what he's feeling. I want to. Anyone who can make me forget the things Mick has is a tonic I need. And there I am, back to the addiction that is him. The limousine pulls away from the curb, and we cruise through the noise and lights. Walls of people line the

sidewalks, crawling to the various destinations in their lives as lights blur in a rainbow of neon and diamonds. My eyes roam his form. Mick's hands rest with languid casualness on his knees. His socks disappear into soft black leather shoes. I can't tell if they're the same ones I picked money off. I swallow hard, looking at his trim waist, the tie tack securing a red silk so deep it's sunset burnt down to smeared tangerine. It perfectly complements his understated rich copper hair. Finally, my eyes lock with his, and he laughs. “Did I pass muster?” Mick asks lightly, and a blush flames to life on my cheeks for the second time. The unwanted heat leaks over into

places I don't realize it will. I cross my legs, suffocating my sex as if it'll tell my secrets. His eyes dip to the movement, and his small smile widens. I frown, and Mick laughs again. “Yes,” I say with a perfectly sullen bite. “What have I done that offends you, Miss Mitchell?” Everything... nothing. I can't believe he's still calling me that. Mick leans forward until our knees are a breath away from touching. I feel the limousine slowing and blurt, “You're so rich!” I must be insane to say what I'm thinking. A recent trend.

Mick cocks a brow and puts his hand on my knee, barely beneath the lightweight material of my dress. A soft gasp breaks the seal of my lips as his eyes shift to my mouth, his favorite part of my body. For now. “You are prejudiced because of my wealth?” Mick asks, and his breath is now on my face, minty and fresh. I'm in too deep. “Yes. No. I don't know.” I'm so confused. Why do I have to find something so intoxicating when I don't have time to partake? He cups my chin with his free hand while the other lightly dances over my knee, causing a rush of moisture to my panties. My thighs clench tighter, but nothing numbs the subtle throb.

Mick turns his head, his stubble whispering against my jaw. “Let me kiss you, Miss—” I interrupt, “Faren.” His eyes press into mine, stealing my thoughts like water finding a crack in a stone. “Faren.” He says my name like a melody, the heat from his lips a fraction above mine. I gulp my reluctance like medicine I don't want to take but must. I whisper my response against his skin. “Yes.” I think he'll crush my mouth, ravage me like I've heard about. Worse—I think he'll be lustful. I want whatever he'll give me. I admit it.

Mick’s lips move over mine, rolling the softness of his mouth over my lips and attaching to the arch of my cupid's bow. He moves to the corners of my mouth and pecks back and forth as I remain placid. My hands clench to keep from launching at him like a ravaging animal. The limo parks. Mick moves his hand farther up my dress, his fingertips grazing where my garter attaches to the stocking. He slides a finger under the circular attachment as his other hand circles the nape of my neck. He licks beneath my jaw before he dots my mouth with another bead of heat and flesh. My hands break away from my lap and slap the leather as I lean back,

eyes shut as I pant. Mick's mastery turns to the deep hollow of my neck, my heart rate no longer a secret to his mouth. His tongue. “Touch me,” he commands. There's no way I can say no. Any argument was lost long ago. I move my hands to his shoulders, expecting him to move or come forward, but he doesn't. Mick doesn't pause in his rhythm, but continues as his face dips to my breasts and nuzzles them. His hand is at my upper thigh, only a wish away from where no one's been. I bury my hand in his hair and hang on for dear life. “That's it,” he encourages as his hand dives beneath me to cup my ass.

The lace shifts when he jerks me forward. I gasp in surprise, and the heat of his tongue takes me while I moan into his open mouth. Mick's legs are between mine as his hand moves to my lower back. He kisses me everywhere skin is showing. My shawl slips to the floor unnoticed, and he kneads the globe of my butt. Then we hear a sharp tap on the glass. Mick moves back, carefully disengaging himself from the tangle of our limbs. I sway a little and feel a flush so far from my earlier embarrassment it seems like a shadow. Mick holds my hands, his perfect hair standing in haphazard spikes

from my hands diving through it. He looks so beautiful I want to cry. Mick gives a satisfied chuckle. “God, you're good.” His eyes rove me head to toe, satisfied with my boneless dishevelment. I don't reply for a moment, my intellect swimming somewhere far away from my body. “What?” My eyes go to the window where Henry waits. I look back at Mick, confusion and arousal making me fuzzy. “Good?” I’m still reeling from the most intimate make out session of my life. I don't regret using Jared McKenna. He’s both a distraction and an experience sent from heaven. Sexual amnesia—Mick

makes me forget everything but him. I don't know if it's a talent, skill, or destiny, but whatever he's selling, I want it. Of course, nothing's free. “Yes.” “The blushing virgin act is such a turn on... But you don't have to act.” Mick chuckles. “I know you're twentytwo. We can be adults about this. You say you don't want a relationship and I'm all for it. You don't have to pretend with me.” My stomach drops like a stone as he studies me, reading my expression. “Faren, what is it?” His eyes grow sharp in the shadows of the limo. Mick really doesn't know what he said, the rug he tore out from underneath me.

I'm falling, and I'll never catch myself. I think I want to puke. “I'm going to go now,” I say like a robot as Henry opens the door. I guess my clawing for the handle gave it away. “Faren, wait.” Mick gets out right after me. “No,” I say, backing away. “I thought we were being honest?” His voice has more than impatience threaded through it. There’s some other emotion I don't recognize, and I don't want to look too closely at it. I nod a little too quickly as I catch Henry dive back into the driver's seat in clear escape. “Oh yes.” I stalk back to

him and poke him in the chest. It bounces off the wall of muscles. “Maybe you're not so smart, Jared McKenna.” Stab, poke. His eyes narrow as I drop his nickname. “Did you ever think you don't have it all figured out?” I ask with soft menace. I'm so angry I feel sick. Or I just feel sick. Heartsick. I stare at him. When his expression darkens, I walk off. I don't wait to see if he gets his elephant of a conversational faux pas. I jerk the apartment door open and shut it with a kick that echos in the hollow corridor. The heel of my stiletto embeds in the grated iron. I jerk out my foot,

leaving the shoe there like the physical manifestation of fury it is. I feel Mick watching me, and I ignore him as I limp to the freight elevator. I move through the doors with one shoe on, ready to turn and send him off with a world-class death glare. I want Mick to disappear. I turn, and he's gone. So is my stiletto.

~ 11 ~ Kiki rifles through my outfits as I lay on my bed, hands crossed over my stomach as I stare at my ceiling. The old beadboard ceiling has the original creamy paint, which has alligator crazing throughout. Kinda like my heart now. The days of what's left stretch before me like a black ribbon of road sinking into an uncaring horizon. “Gawd, you're a wet blanket, doll. Just sayin'.” Her full lips purse, and she gives me what I like to think of as the mom look. I don't put much stock in it. I have a mom. She's not really alive, but her

presence is more powerful than it's ever been. It motivates and orders my steps each day. She tosses a deep bronze dress on the bed, eyes it critically, and says, “Come on, get up. Get out of this depressing funk or whatever the hell you're jonesing at.” Her dark eyes search mine. “No pity parties on my watch. Let's do this.” She's right. I can't tell Kiki everything. She knows enough already. I roll off my jammie bottoms and cami to slide on the second skin outfit she chose, my hair still damp from my shower. I move to the full-length mirror. I admit her choice is a good one. The deep bronze material shimmers as I turn,

and it accentuates the slight caramel color my hair possesses. The color of the dress makes me think of Mick's hair. Mick the prick. I watch a sad little smile pop on my face like a weed that needs plucking. Kiki scrunches her nose. “Why do you look like you're gonna throw up in your fuck-me shoes?” Good question. I jump when the buzzer sounds. “I'll get it,” Kiki says. I nod. My eyes move back to my reflection. I know the outfit will be a real hit for the laps that await me tonight, like I care. I've already tabulated my earnings. My mind dismisses the

emotional tally that keeps building. I don't know how much longer I can stomach the breast fondles, hand jobs, and other “extras” they want from me. Hanging onto my virginity isn't such an accomplishment when innocence is taken in increments. Chunks of who I am are stolen right from underneath my nose. My mind focuses on two nights ago. That night. That kiss. Mick. That wasn't thievery; it was consensual. It touched something in me that had never been caressed, awoken. I could dance on a thousand laps and never experience the tender assault of

every sense I had from Mick. My head snaps to the front of my apartment, and I walk in there. I forget I'm wearing the costume for my set. Jared McKenna is standing in my living room. I suspect he's tired of me ignoring his texts and calls for the past forty-eight hours. Yeah... that's probably it. We regard each other for maybe three heartbeats while the late afternoon sun streams into the apartment, half of it cut by the tall building north of my own. It illuminates Mick, setting his hair on fire and shading his jaw, making the cleft at its center a deep pocket of shadow. His eyes don't meet my face.

He's too busy looking at my outfit. What little there is. A hot flush rises to the surface of my skin. Mick's gaze lingers at the knot of material at my neck then sails to the deep v of the bodice and the almost-sheer straps that hardly cover my breasts. The thinness of the fabric doesn't hide the betrayal of my nipples. They harden at the sight of Mick, the memory of what he's awoken in my body an involuntary reaction I'm helpless to stop. His eyes take in my breasts. They move to where the skirt skims and cups my butt, the satin material clinging to my every curve. I know it will hitch up to reveal my panties when I straddle laps tonight.

I swallow my nausea at the thought of being that close to anyone. But him. Then I remember what he thinks: I whore myself out. Mick presumes I act like a virgin in affectation. He can't know that's the only real part of me. To assume it's not possible is a blow I'm not sure I can overcome. But Mick is also right; I am some kind of whore. If he only knew. These thoughts race through my mind in those brief transparent moments of introspection as his gaze finally lifts to meet mine. I see many things contained in his tight expression. I latch on to the one I want to see,

dismissing all others. Disappointment. Kiki looks between us as if we’re a ping pong match, having not gotten a word out of me post-Mick date. “Well”—she looks at me with wide eyes that say, you're so talking about this later—“I can see the two of you have to discuss… stuff.” I want to hurt her. Kiki looks into my face and gives a subtle shake of her head, her eyes brimming with thoughts of matchmaking, cupid's bow strung taut. “Stay,” I beseech. I keep the pleading out of my voice by the slimmest of margins. “No, you're right, Miss...”

“King,” Kiki says with a purr and eyelash flutter. Forget hurting. How about murder? “You're an insightful friend to understand that Miss Mitchell and I need to straighten out some misconceptions.” His dark eyes tell me how he likes straightening those out. That gaze holds a hunger only a banquet of food would satisfy. I'm the first course. Kiki swipes her keys out of the bowl and grabs her jacket. I follow her to the door as a swarm of butterflies inside me vies for escape. Their fragile wings glide and sing beneath my skin. My nervousness is a living thing.

She hugs me. “Whatever the hell your problem is, solve it,” she whispers. “Don't play this stupid!” What she doesn't realize is I'm not playing. I'm slowly losing. Everything. Kiki releases me and tosses herself out the door. I close it behind her, touching my forehead to the solid wood. I wish that when I turn around, Mick won't be there. I can't bear any more of his assumptions. I can't stand to be near him and not touch him. “Are you ever going to turn around?” His voice, a gravel-threaded melody, commands that I answer, and I turn slowly. He rakes a hand through his

neat hair, sending it into disarray. “Jesus, Faren, don't tell me you're going out in that?” His voice sounds as if he's in physical pain. That is so not the real issue. “Why do you care, Jared?” I walk into the kitchen, slam the tea kettle on the burner, and light it carefully. Let him get an eyeful. I don't give two shits. My hand trembles around the kettle, and I switch to my good one. Great, my hand was good through work with six patients, and it decides to stop working in front of him. I have lap dancing in four hours, I remind myself. I hunch in on myself. Don't let him see how much he hurt me. How much I'm hurting myself.

Don't. I'm so deep in my thoughts I yelp when I feel him slam into me. He triggers every bad memory of what I've gone through, and I get so scared I stop breathing. Gooseflesh springs up everywhere. “What are you doing?” I yell. Mick doesn't answer. He tears me away from the stove with a smooth spin and slams me against the wall. Only his palm holding my back keeps me from ricocheting off the surface like a broken doll. I look up into rage-filled eyes, and he scares me. My emotions betray me. I feel him through the thin material

of my dress, ready for me. For all of it. “I'm sorry, Faren... I shouldn't have assumed,” he says, his knee pushing my legs apart, pinning me. My wrists are buried against the wall above my head, and my bad hand starts to twitch. I can't take anymore: the sexual tension, my mom's situation, the impending job I hate. The prognosis I can't escape. The tears scald and burn their pathway down my cheeks and I turn my face as my hand continues its spasmodic jerk and dance inside his hold. His eyes flick to my captive hands, and then our gazes lock. “What? Why are you crying?” My eyes squeeze shut, but the tears

don't care. They slip out, impervious to my unwillingness for them to escape. I sob and break apart as the one man who's made me feel alive holds me captive against my wall. My emotions crumble as the tea kettle shrieks. My eyes spring open, and Mick is a wavering image seen through desperate tears. His face never comes into focus as he takes my mouth. And I let him as the tea kettle sings its symphony behind us.

~ 12 ~ He punishes me tenderly. Each kiss erases the hurt of his words. A man could never speak an apology as perfect as the one he makes with his mouth. Mick drops my hands, and they grip his tailor-made suit, crumpling the shoulders without mercy as the kettle sings. With a casual slap, Mick hits the kettle off the burner. It skitters across the surface, screaming its anger at the rough treatment, as he plunders my mouth. His body begs to take mine, his every hard line against my soft ones. I forget again, my body melding to his as though it's always been meant to. Then my cell alarm chimes.

Once, twice. Three times. I lift my head. My early alert before work. “Let it go,” he says, kissing me into oblivion. Our tongues twine in an intimate dance. I almost do. Then I think of Mom. The sinful selling of my morals needs to continue for her to live. She has less than a handful of years to exist, but they have to be on my terms. A state home is not part of the plan. I gently push Mick away. His lips are slightly swollen, and I can't imagine what mine must look like. No collagen needed for these babies. My sarcasm doesn’t make a dent in my grief. “What?” Mick asks.

“I have a second job... That's my alarm...” Don't ask. Mick smiles, his sexiness lighting him from the inside. “I know what you do, Faren. It's fine.” His fingers bite into my hips, a fraction away from a location too intimate for anything but consummating what we've begun. My stomach drops. “You do?” He nods. “I know you're a physical therapist. I know about your mom.” The air in my lungs freezes into shards of glass that cut me from the inside. Only Kiki knows about my mom. Now Mr. Perfect Billionaire knows. “I think you should leave.” It creeps me out that he's stalking me, checking my

background. It’s a small relief he doesn't know about that job. Guilt. I assume he knows I was attacked by my psychotic stepfather and saved by my mom. Who was beaten into a coma by fists that know no mercy. Double guilt. I’m not interested in being somebody's pity case. I have enough pity. I want to forget. Can Mick distract me? I roll my lip into my teeth. His eyes track the movement. He leans down and touches my mangled lip with his own. “I want you.” “It's not enough,” I say.

Mick puts his hands on either side of my head, caging me, and cocks his head to study me with hard-edged eyes. “I thought you didn't want a relationship? Think of what I can give you. Think of what we can have.” I think those thoughts until it repeats in an endless loop. It's all I think of lately. It's all I can. “You know more about me than anyone else, Mick. You've seen to that.” I can't keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “I don't know everything.” He's so close I taste his breath, yearn for it. “I want to know more. All.” He moves aside the strip of dress across my breast and presses his mouth to my nipple in a possessive suckle. A

thread of connection I didn't realize existed that tethers my breast to my core begins, and a slow ache steals my will. I arch into his lips and moan. How can I stand anyone else doing this to me? He lifts his head, wraps my full breast in his palm, and squeezes just shy of true pain. I begin to pant. “Do you like this, Faren?” I can only nod as I step away to deny myself. By the look on his face, I deny Mick as well. “I can't talk you into staying?” he asks, his voice so low I strain to catch it. “No, you won't be deflowering me tonight, Mr. McKenna.” That came out harsher than I meant it to.

Mick's expression darkens. “I apologized for my presumptions about you. That wasn't fair.” His eyes follow me as I walk to the door, hyper-aware of his gaze on my body. I whirl around to face him, so close to the knob I can touch it. “I know. And I already told you I'm not into rich men.” His lips twitch as though he's amused, and I want to impale him with my stiletto. Speaking of which… “Do you have my shoe?” I ask. A shit-eating grin lights up his entire face. “I do indeed. Why do you think I came by?” Another chink in my armor forms.

Because you want to see me. I hoped. Of course, Mick dashes that all to hell. He strides to the front of my apartment, and there by the door, a fancy silver high heel mocks me. I don't wait for any more indecision. I yank the door open and sweep my palm out. “Why are you being so difficult? We both know what we want—what we need.” Mick asks against my cheek as his hands grip my shoulders. “Why do you assume we'll end up together?” I counter. “I assume nothing,” he says. My brows arch as his hands heat my bare shoulders. He pulls me to him, and I'm so sure he'll kiss me that I close my eyes, holding in my sigh. But it moves

out of me unbidden, like an invitation. Mick doesn't kiss me. “I know it.” He walks out, leaving me standing there holding the door. My lips are swollen from his kisses. Every patch of my skin burns from the memory of his touch and my desperate want of it again. I slam the door and stalk to my vanity table. Time to put on my face for strangers. * I arrive promptly, the bronze dress a perfect complement to my coloring. I know how it looks in all lighting. Kiki

encouraged me to pay attention to detail, and I stay the course. Hardest path of my life. I strut inside, not feeling like myself after Mick's frontal assault. I haven't felt alive in so long that I feel as if I'm dying piece by piece as I move deeper into the underbelly of the newest venue. I walk with a false seduction toward the knot of men like I always do, but a man I've never seen intercepts me. “Miss Faren?” He cocks a brow in question. I nod, glancing nervously about me. “You’re the auction tonight,” he says. I blink stupidly, and he smiles, all teeth and condescension. A rolling hot

lump moves through me. “Here's how it works,” he begins, taking my elbow as he scans my outfit. He gives a slight nod of approval, and I adjust my mask. “You go behind those curtains there”—he indicates ceiling-tofloor velvet drapes in a deep scarlet. “and come out when the bell chimes. Walk the entire length of the floor, come to that center, spin.” He does a little pirouette, and I fight a surge of nausea through sheer grit. “Then continue back from where you entered.” I’m a piece of flesh to be chosen by one of the men tonight. A random dancer selected like a prize, my humanity forgotten in the discarded pile of hundreds before me.

“Faren,” he gives me a significant look, “the winner might pay quite a bit to have you crawl onto his lap.” I cast my eyes at my feet so he doesn't see the sick anger swimming in them. “How much?” I ask to the ground. “I have seen some prices go as high as ten.” I meet his eyes, so filled with greed I can't make out the color. He takes my silence for acceptance. “Good.” He smiles at me, and I just stare. He moves nearer and I fight not to move away. “Now move that hot ass to the stage.” I feel him leer at said ass as I move away. I don't blink so the tears won't

fall.

~ 13 ~ The lights are too bright for me to see the shadowed faces of the men. I make out the white bidding paddles easily. I step onto the stage, and the curtains whisper open. The velvet makes a sinister slithering sound as it drags across the floor, widening the crack I look through. I stroll across the mock stage, and the whispers stop. I turn, and I feel the eye-molestation of the all-male crowd. I walk back and try not to cave to my desire to run and never stop. The curtains close, and the shouts and bidding begin.

The horrible auctioneer goes on and on as I wait for the winner in the cramped space between the hall and the stage. Finally the gavel sounds, the stern echo final and unforgiving. A security guard comes for me as if I would run off and leave the money. I think about it. In the end, I hear the amount the winner promised. I walk down the hall to the room I always dance in. Different building, same rooms. All with peeling, elegant wallpaper like memories of a time when there was hope. The rooms weep their sins all around me. I move through the door and walk to the damning chair.

I don't turn when the door opens and shuts behind me. I wait until the unknown man makes the first comment. That’s what I always do. Then his voice paralyzes me, my every nerve ending singing with adrenaline. I can't turn. I'm rooted to the spot. My heart beats a jagged rhythm of fear. “Well hello, Faren,” he says, and I turn. It's better to face the nightmare than hide from the monster underneath my bed. My hands grip the back of the chair, the only safeguard between us. “I've been waiting for this for a long time,” my stepfather says like the

predator he is. My mother’s murderer. “I know.” I see the tunnel of my escape narrow to a pinpoint of light. Then disappear. Instead of thoughts of escape, I have only one thought. It fills my mind, pressing every empty space in my skull until I think it'll explode. As despair chokes me, I think only of him. Mick. #

Faren Mitchell keeps the secret of her second job from the one man who could see her

through some of the darkest moments of her life. She doesn't want Jared "Mick" McKenna for the billions he's amassed, but for the one thing she's never given any man: her innocence. Mick's guilt over the injury he inflicted fuels the beginnings of something more; a sexual consumption of each other that neither were anticipating. When Faren's actions don't match her words, Mick suspicions are raised. His feelings turn to ones of protection after Faren is mugged and he can't reconcile his desire for her with the reality they now find themselves in. As Faren's bucket list grows, so does the danger that surrounds the choices she's made. Can she take what she needs from Mick and also secure her mother's life? Or will the truth she has weaved between the lies doom them both?

THE TOKEN A Token Series Novella

Volume 2 New York Times Bestselling author

MARATA EROS All Rights are Reserved. Copyright © 2013-14 Marata Eros This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Marata Eros Website Marata Eros FB Fan Page Editing suggestions provided by Red Adept Editing

“Love sears the heart immortal The embers burnt down to the token which remains ....”

~1~ Stepfather “You can take off your mask, Faren.” He smirks, confident now that I’m cornered. I can't help but notice there’s only one exit. I force myself to breathe deeply and ignore his request. Security is right outside. The police have been looking for Ronald Bunce for four years. I bet they'll make it a national holiday when I tell them he's alive and kicking- right here. If I can. It's Ronnie. I try never to think of my mom as ever having been married to him. She's still Tannin Mitchell to me. I

can vaguely remember my parents, James and Tannin. A time of normalcy, family dinners, movies, and ballet recitals. When daddy died, I lost the anchor in my life. I was cast adrift. So was my mom. Not for long though, as she was caught in the current that was Ronnie. Sadistic and manipulative, he knew all the right buttons to push to capture her. By the time Mom knew what kind of man hid behind his mask, it was too late. Now he looks at me, with my own mask firmly in place, and I don't know how to escape. “How's your mom, whore?” He smiles, and rage fills me. I'm so angry I want to cry from the

sheer frustration of not fulfilling what your mind pleads for me to do. I covertly pick up a glass dildo as Ronnie slinks closer. His slight belly and stocky frame belies what he was in his former life: a star wrestler. My day's come. I know how strong he is, middleaged but not finished. My palms slick against the sex toy's smooth surface as it goes slimy with my fear and I almost drop it. I watch his eyes flick to my hand. My bad one twitches and he grins. “That's the one I fucked up, right?” he asks softly. I shake my head, moving backward, hoping I can make a run for it as he circles me around the chair.

“You can't get away, Faren. Your stupid mother only delayed the inevitable.” My mother was dying a slow and miserable death because of him. I notice that I had picked up something else as well. I fling the lightweight box of condoms at the wall opposite of where we stand, and Ronnie glances back as the foil-wrapped goodies cascade to the floor in a rainbow of plastic squares. I bolt for the door. My bad hand circles the knob while my right clutches the phallus. A strong arm winds around my waist like a snake, and I'm airborne. I want Mick so badly I can't think.

Somehow, I know he would save me. But Mick's not here, and as my stepfather spins me around, he slams me against the door. My head thwacks the unforgiving wood. He hisses, “This is going to be my way—all the way. You got that?” I nod as I slur, “Your way... with a caveat.” I'm not always wise with my words, but I don't want to die before I must. I don't want to spend what life I have left this way—with him. My head lolls to the side as his eyes narrow. He shakes me, and I wince as my head makes contact with the door again. I briefly wonder where security is. Are they ignoring my safety because

this excuse for a man paid over ten thousand dollars for a dance with me? I know the expectation of more hangs between us. No amount of money is worth letting Ronnie see through what he’d meant to four years ago. If he does, my mom's sacrifice will be in vain. “Stop with the fancy words, girl. They're not enough to save you.” His rank breath belies the artifice of a suit that cost half of what I make in a month. My hand cramps as I struggle like a drowning person through vertigo and nausea. “Caveat?” He jerks his chin back, making a low grunt in the back of his throat. “Caveat my ass.”

“Yes,” I whisper in a low hiss, smacking the dildo onto the side of his head with the last of my energy. Even I know he rang my bell with the head-todoor attack. Ronnie staggers back, his expensive suit like a costume to hide the fiend beneath. I slump against the door and shake my head. The room swims in streamers of color, and I let the toy drop. A fine fissure, like a delicate spider web, spreads from the point of contact at its smooth tip. Ronnie falls to his hands and knees like a stunned and enraged bull. I see cufflinks appear out of the sleeves of his suit, and I stumble toward him, insulted beyond reason that Ronnie

has anything beautiful. I plant my feet, my bad hand shaking so badly it's doing its own dance. I ignore it and sweep my foot into his face. A spray of blood arcs, splattering all over the rich upholstery of the chair I would have danced on. He rolls over as his blood dots every surface within three feet of him. “You bitch!” he wails through his broken nose. I look at my foot, already turning black and blue. The top took the brunt of the force. As he fights for air through his shattered nose, I close my right hand around the cufflink and tear it off his sleeve. His eyes bulge, and I see my

death in them. As he tries to stand, I back up to the door. My bad hand reaches out for the knob. I glance behind me. His eyes are on me. His blood drips all over his expensive white shirt, now dulling to rust. Ronnie's fists clench as he moves toward me. I bat at the knob again, and my fingers ignore my command. I'm panicking so much that I forgot to use my good hand. I transfer my cufflink trophy to my left hand, jerk the knob with my right, and swing the door open. I almost stop when I see that pandemonium reigns supreme. But it's not safe to pause when the

devil's at your door. I feel his breath on my neck as I fling myself over the threshold into the pack of screaming and running people. I know why the security guards weren't at my door. They're on their knees. Cuffs like fine jewelry slip onto the wrists of the men who may have guarded me from Ronnie. A cop looks up and meets my eyes. His gaze narrows, and he shouts to a free cop, “There's one of them.” I turn and run, expecting to see Ronnie with open arms, his shirt stained from my high heeled move. But he's gone.

And so am I. I scatter to the back entrance and leap down the stairs. My head is on fire, my temples pounding. My sense of balance feels as if it's permanently gone. I grip the cold metal handrail, smack the paddle handle of the emergency exit, the alarm shrieks, and I jog into the night. I take a right at an alley I know then a left. I hop on one foot and ditch the heels in a trash can. I get caught in the reflective headlights of a cat, indignant and hissing when I disturb his hunt for a midnight snack. I really run then, pouring on the speed as my bare feet slap sidewalks full of dirt, gum, and eighty years of pedestrian traffic. I see First Street as

my lungs burn. I think of nothing but getting to my apartment. I run to the main door of my building, slapping my palms against it and fumble with the security number for the coded lock. I jerk it open and run inside, feel the cool hex tiles on my bare feet and look down. My foot is a nightmare of red. A large bruise forms with a deep knot of color in the center. From a nose. I shut the door and pray that I lost the cop. My forehead feels hot against the metal door. My heartbeat slows, and my bad hand stops shaking. But not my body. It trembles, proof of my adrenaline drying in a fine sheen

against my skin. I hope the freight elevator works tonight, because if it doesn't, I might sleep right where I am. A small mirror with flaking paint hangs crooked to the right of the elevator, separating the stairs from the fine mesh of the metal elevator doors. I catch sight of my face. Relief pours through me. The mask. I never took it off. The cops don't know who I am. With a quaking hand I remove it, and reveal my gaze to the mirror. It's me in there somewhere and I give the girl in the reflection a sad little smile. I faced my worst fear tonight and

survived. My anonymity is still intact. I leave the mask on the shabby table just beneath the mirror. Probably meant to hold something while a person adjusts their tie. Or cufflinks. I slowly open my left hand. Uncooperative in battle but faithful in this. I turn my palm up and peel my thumb away. My stepfather's cufflink glitters at me, solid gold with a small diamond in the center. Tears blind me as my bad hand holds onto that tangible evidence of my success. It’s a token of my survival. Maybe I'm like the cat I met at the dumpster. Nine lives. I could use one about now. I move through the elevator doors

and close them with a clank. I shut my eyes as the elevator moves to the fifth floor. The soft rocking motion lulls me as I move closer to my haven of solitude. The bell chimes when the elevator arrives at my floor, and I walk the short distance to my apartment door. Opening it with my right hand, I shove the door open and close it behind me, turning to latch it. I lean against the familiar surface. Finally safe. Not for always but for today. I turn and see Jared McKenna sitting on my couch, long legs stretched out. His face changes to a look of concern when he takes in my disheveled clothing.

Or it could be my wide, shocked eyes. “Faren,” Mick says, unfolding from the couch. I watch his big body move, and I can't hold my emotions in check anymore. I know it's wrong to use him like he wants to use me. I should be ashamed but all I feel is relief. “What happened?” Mick asks, those dark eyes raking down my torn dress to my dirty, shoeless feet. His expression darkens. “Who hurt you?” I meet his eyes, and they're full of protection. For me. My bottom lip trembles from the aftershock of the night, his

concern, my revelations. He takes my hands and my left isn't prepared. The gold cuff link rolls out onto the floor with a clatter of metal against wood. Mick's eyes sweep to the trinket. He scoops it up and holds it in front of my face. “Who. Is. He?” he asks with quiet menace. Not directed at me, but the phantom attacker. My mouth parts, and his eyes move to my lips. “Nobody,” I reply. It's the truest lie I've ever told.

~2~ “Faren.” Mick grips the cufflink, and it winks its damnation at me. What had possessed me to take it? “I got mugged.” It's not a smooth lie, but it's all I have. Mick searches my face, and his arm falls to his side. His eyes drill me for a heartbeat, then Mick sets it down carefully on the small table that holds my keys. He frowns and puts his strong hands on his hips. “You were mugged by a man wearing cufflinks?” What can I say? “I... yeah.” When his eyebrows pop, I quickly expound, “I think he was a pimp or something.” The

web of deceit grows and sounds even more ridiculous. And it does circle the truth fairly well. Of course, the whirlpool remains, and its vacuum is trying to suck me in. Mick's gaze shifts to the cufflink again. “What did he look like?” Mick's trying to take charge, flesh out the culprit, exhaust the inconsistencies. I don't lie. He and Ronnie don't run in the same circles, I bet. “He's about my height.” That hot gaze slides to mine, full of rage, and I step back. “Don't look at me like that. It's not my fault...” He rakes his hand through his neat hair. It spikes and makes him look

younger, though I know he hasn't seen thirty yet. Who the hell is worth a billion dollars and doesn't even have a gray hair? My distrust builds as quickly as my lust, and they jockey for position inside me like enemies. “I know that.” His eyes sweep back to mine, the black of his anger bleeding into the deep chocolate of his gaze. “I'm not blaming the victim.” His earlier comment about me leaving in this outfit stains the air between us, spoiling our breaths as he stares at me, yet he never references it. His brooding gaze seeks me like a heat missile, and I see something different in their depths. “Come here.”

I take two steps that put me close to Mick, so near I feel the heat from our bodies. He makes me feel small, and I'm tall even without heels. He must be 6'3”. His hands land on my shoulders and stroke the skin. Mick moves those hands back and forth, warming me. His touch causes a riot of goose bumps that run to my nipples. They rise like small peaks on the mountains of my breasts. Mick's eyes flick down before they slowly rise to mine, holding my gaze prisoner. He captures me easily as though he understands on some basest enigmatic level... I never want to let go. I step back. His hands slip down my arms, his fingers moving into my hands. Our fingertips cling for a breath before

parting. My left hand twitches as he releases me, and I see him smile. I smile back, reminding myself that he has the means to learn anything about me. He's already investigated me enough. “I'm going to get cleaned up,” I say. “You should call the police,” he says, his eyes tracking me as I make my way to the bathroom. I nod. “You're right.” His eyelids drop, covering his skepticism. “But you won't, will you?” I shake my head and dip my head to hide my smirk. Neither of us ask the biggest question: What was I doing that got me mugged by a man who wore solid gold

cufflinks? Why doesn't Mick demand to know where I was? His eyes ask, but nothing comes out of that sexy mouth of his. How can Ronnie Bunce run from the law but do well enough to pay ten thousand dollars for a lap dance? “I'm staying,” Mick states as he strolls to my couch and gracefully falls into. “Suit yourself,” I murmur, when its all I can do to breathe through him being here. His lips twitch and I stalk into the bathroom. I crank the shower faucet on, and it groans to reluctant life. I let the water run because it takes so long for hot water to travel through a thousand feet of

eighty-year-old cast iron piping. I strip out of my outfit and toss it into my small waste basket. It's garbage, like the memory it symbolizes. There's so little material it fills up only a third of the hole in the can. My eyes fixate on the glittering sunset material and tears threaten. I know deep down that just because I've thrown away the evidence of what I do doesn't mean I won't do it again. I know Thorn will move the lap location like he does each week. He'll stay just one step ahead. I just can't do it with that monster. Not now, not ever. I can't tell Jared McKenna that my stepfather tried to attack me tonight. Jared can’t serve justice to Ronnie

because the job I perform places me before him like a platter of forbidden fruit. My mom's sacrifice will be for nothing if I keep dancing. I can't go back. I must. The water hits my neck, and I lift my chin and let it pool and run down the front of me. My billionaire... whatever he is, is sitting in my cramped living room while I bathe mere steps away. Arousal beats a path between my legs and pulses there. I leisurely soap myself, forgetting my brush with danger. I take extra time between my legs. My guilt roars up in a hot flush when I remember how Mick assaults my lips. My breasts.

I want him to do everything to me and know nothing about what I do, I bury the shame of using him deep. It's a dangerous game that I've set myself up to lose. I simply don't have Mick's fiscal resources. I have to follow the path I've set, but I don't have to like it. I finish washing my hair as the water cools. The tank in the old building blows through hot water in less than fifteen minutes. I step out, towel myself off, and wonder if Mick wears a suit to bed. How does he look without it? My cheeks singe. My cell rings outside the bathroom, and I let it go. After the fifth ring, it cuts

off, and I hear the melodic tones of Jared McKenna. Jesus, maybe it's Thorn. Or someone equally awful. My heart starts an unlawful rhythm. Why would Mick answer my cell? That... He just thinks he can do anything. I jerk the towel around myself and stomp out to the living room. My long hair wet enough to drip a trail of pissed off behind me. Mick's eyes flick up. His large hand holds a big rectangular cell. One I don't recognize. He finishes his conversation. “Yes, I’ll be there.” His eyes glitter as he takes in my lack of clothing. “I've said yes twice. Handle it.” His head dips, and his

gaze slides away. Mick listens to the anonymous caller and says, with finality in his voice, “I won't revisit this conversation, Jimmy. That's what I hired you for.” He swipes the cell and it appears to power down, the screen brightening like a falling star before winking into velvet blackness. Mick's shadowed eyes return to mine. He points the cell at me and cocks his head. “You know... I like what you're wearing, don't get me wrong, but shouldn't you have clothes on?” My face flames. Images of where my hands were on my body filter through my mind like a shuffling deck of cards and I reply in anger as I often do when I'm nervous.

Or cornered. “You answered my cell,” I accuse. Mick smiles. “No.” He lifts his own in answer. I feel my face furrow. He expounds, “Same ring tone, perhaps?” He crosses his leg casually. His eyes belie the aloof mannerism. Holding heat, his gaze never leaves the bare skin my towel reveals. I back up and want to cross my arms so badly I almost drop my towel. He smirks again. Nothing so obvious as that. When Mick smirks, just the corners of his lips turns up. “Prove it,” I bark. And with a thumb press, his phone blinks back to life and my ring tone

sounds from his phone. “So it's a coincidence,” I say quietly, mollified. “It appears so.” His eyes touch mine then look away. “Though I am not a believer.” My head whips to his. “In what?” Those eyes lock on mine as he stands and stalks toward me. He watches the water drip around the hollows of my collarbones, running to the shadow between my breasts. “Coincidence.” His breath whispers against my face as he reaches me.

~3~ He inserts a finger inside the terrycloth that tightly circles my breasts. I clutch it with my good hand while my bad hand loosely holds the fine material of Mick's lapel. “I want to finish something between us,” he says. Mick's eyes roam over all my exposed flesh. “And I want to know what you're doing in my apartment,” I answer, and Mick chuckles. It seems as though he's always laughing at me, but nothing I'm doing is funny. Time's at a premium. I barely escaped from “psychotic daddy: and now I have sex-on-a-stick moneybags

who blanks my thoughts every time he's within a mile of me. That's a good thing. I’m not much for introspection at the moment. I need to take back the reins. I glare at him, wanting him while despising his assumptions. Mick spreads his hands inoffensively. “I am a man of many talents.” “Okay.” My death grip on the towel tightens without mercy. “This is your modus operandi? You pick girls' locks as an attraction maneuver? Because I've got to say, pal, that’s a creeper move.” My brows rise. “For the record, after the whacked out night I've had, coming home to you was the cherry on top of a freaky

cake.” Mick's eyes crinkle and he laughs, filling my small apartment with the genuine and wonderful sound. “What's so funny?” My tone changes into clear suspicion. His grin stays as he answers, “You.” “Fine, you park out here like the rich stalker you are. When I come back, I expect a full explanation.” “Yes, ma'am,” Mick answers. It sounds more like come and get me. Or maybe that's my overactive imagination. I’ve been doing a lot of that since I met Mr. McKenna. I slam the door to my bedroom, rip off the towel, and fling it into the corner. I stride to my dresser, tear open my top

drawer, and hunt through my panties and bras. I pick, without shame, my sexiest matching set. They remind me of the outfit I threw away. That I can't afford to throw away. The memory that sunset dress represents is worse than keeping it around to remind me. I slide the all-lace thong onto my body, the edges glowing like a deep burning sunset along my creamy skin. I throw my bra on with a vicious hook and twist, dumping my breasts into the wide lace. The thickest part barely covers my nipples. I take a quick look in the mirror, the adrenaline from my escape the fuel to the fire of my eventual consumption by Mick.

I want answers. Why is he in my apartment? Why is he taking over my life? Why am I allowing it? I know why but can't admit it. Too many truths in too short a time. I feel as if a fuse in my brain has short-circuited. A trend where he's concerned. Mick hit me with his motorcycle. Even I have to concede how weird that is. Mick knows a lot about me, but he doesn't know about my terminal illness. He doesn't know that Ronnie Bunce bought me for ten thousand bucks and never got his dance because of a fortuitous raid. What's with his relaxed attitude? Wasn't his “classy” Black Rose going to get tarnished now that his

revolving lap dance club got nailed by the police? Exchanging sexual favors for money is illegal. A spike of shame pierces me. It feels so real, the hot poker of my embarrassment is there regardless of my justifications for why I do it. Mick would probably die a thousand deaths before he'd date a dancer. Unlike him, I know what will happen. My fate is set. My eyes slide down my body in the reflection, noting the healing bruises. The one high on my upper inner thigh is a pale gold smudge. The one from McKenna's bike is solid with the faintest trace of tread. I fight the urge to laugh, Mick’s ownership is a stark duality. I work at his club, and it

bruises me; his bike hits me, and I bear his mark. Bruised but not beaten. The final consummation remains. An idea forms, and my lips twitch. I can taste whatever I was before drowning in my current reality. The truth sets us free. I slip on a pair of shorts so skimpy the bruise from the bike is in full relief, a lash of purple against my leg. The proof of my occupation lays hidden where Mick can't see. Yet. I want the pole bruise to show like the brand it is. I want His Hotness to be acutely reminded of how we met. Though I know he remains blissfully ignorant of that pivotal first meeting.

I'll never forget the way that filthy money felt as I clutched the damp bills. I throw a pewter cami over my bra and turn slowly in front of the mirror. The soft pewter sweatpant shorts look like mist against my pale skin. The color is a perfect compliment to the bruise, showcasing it. I slip on platform flip flops with a glitter thong of silver and walk out of the bedroom. Project Guilt Trip is in full throttle. I want to provoke Mick. Shatter his reserve. I'm shaking off my stepfather trying to resume abusing me. I'm moving toward my goal of spending my remaining life the way I want. People always think about what they'd do if they

have no time left, but I surprise myself every day. My plans morph as time unravels. I walk out of my bedroom and pause when my eyes catch Mick reclining on my couch. His long arms flow along the back, nearly spanning the length of it, and I gulp. Mick's sheer size moves me, makes my attraction to him more acute. I like the idea of being overwhelmed by him. He has shed his jacket. His cufflinks glitter on the bare glass of my coffee table. As I move toward him, Mick studies me with eyes that stand at halfmast. He appears casual, but I'm familiar with pain and anxiety. It's how I gage how much torture my physical therapy

patients can endure. I smile when I see how I'm playing him perfectly. His eyes roam my form and skitter to a pulse-freezing stop at the large bruise. Mick takes a cleansing breath and the exhale shudders out of him in an empty echo. “Okay,” he relents, “let's talk.” His eyes don't move from that mar against my pale skin, heavy and damning. “Go ahead.” I sit down across from him. I cock my head, my long hair sliding over my shoulder, and I watch him lick his lips. “After all, the burden is on you. Every bit of it.” “I'm sorry, Faren.” “You spend a lot of time apologizing.”

His eyes narrow, deepening to dark chocolate. “You know, you're goddamned rude sometimes.” I nod. I don't know if that's the truth but it feels right. “Yes.” “Fine,” Mick says, non-plussed. “As long as you know it.” I lean forward, pushing my elbows into my sides, the motion driving my breasts forward and Mick's speech is arrested, his gaze pegging my assets as surely as the sun rises. “Listen,” I begin, “you hit me with your bike.” His eyes return to mine and a flush takes hold of his face. It's subtle, a heightening in the color across his cheekbones. It spreads as I watch,

lighting the top of his ears slightly. I watch Mick fight his emotions. Bingo. If there's one thing lap dancing's taught me, it's my value. My body is a powerful tool. I've given up chunks of who I am in exchange for control over others. It's evil. It's also a terrible necessity. I put his feet to the fire. “And you more or less called me a whore. You implied that I was faking innocence.” I lean back, and cross a long leg, so utterly not innocent. Mick watches my movement with a look I can't read. “And now”—I throw my palm vaguely toward the door—“you've

shown up in my apartment through entry of dubious means. I think the weight of explanation lies firmly with you. That color that rose to the surface of his skin fades. “Fair enough. But you might not like what you hear.” We stare at each other as my heart drums a rhythm that's fierce and insistent, reminding me I'm alive. That reminder is brutally beautiful. “Fine. I'd rather have the bald truth. It's better than lies through omission,” I say. His dimple flashes and disappears. Mick plows a hand through his hair, and I take in the edges of a sleeve tat. It’s been hidden all this time underneath custom tailored shirts, tethered by

precious metal. Now he has rolled up his sleeves, folding them halfway up a bulging muscled forearm and I'm struck anew by his physique. He has the body of someone who's known physical labor. A man honed by honest work. Not the privilege of the wealthy. The honest part is up for discussion. That can't be. Rich guys like Jared McKenna have people who do all the work. They just delegate. Like the old story about Henry Ford pushing a button from his desk. An expert would come in and answer whatever question Ford couldn't answer. Mick leans forward, his legs spread while his knotted hands dangle between his knees. He sighs, looking at me. “I've

misunderstood you.” He has no idea. Mick stares at me, and I make my face blank. Easy to do when he's not touching me. I stay on my side of the coffee table, and he stays on his. Miles separate us, and nothing does. Thinking about it makes my head ache. I feel the heat and magnetism between us like a living vapor twining and seeking entry into me. “You asked me why I want to date you. Can it just be that I find you attractive?” he asks and I answer a question that might be rhetorical. “No.” I hold his gaze. “You're mega-rich. You can have any girl you want. I'm not flattered.” Yet.

“True.” I laugh and fold my arms. The arrogance. “You told me you wanted honesty,” Mick defends simply when he sees my expressions morph in a myriad of emotions. I nod. “Yes.” “When I hit you with my Harley...” Mick dips his head, and his hand massages the back of his neck in a frustrated swipe. He lifts his eyes to mine, and his hand falls. Mick's gaze seeks the bruise on my thigh, on perfect display against the backdrop of my gray shorts and peaches and cream perfection. It's ugly. A battle scar.

He moves forward. “I had to make it right. Here's a young woman, so distraught she doesn't look where she's going, and I barely stop in time to...” I finish for him in my head. Not kill her. “It's an Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole, Faren.” His molten whiskey eyes never leave mine, and the intensity of that gaze pins me helplessly against my chair. His eyes caress me as he speaks. “I never meant to fall down that hole, but once I made sure I’d taken care of your needs and you would live without permanent damage...” He lifts those broad shoulders and claps. “I found out what I needed to. His eyes don't waver as he pierces me with the heat of his

confession. “I know you take care of others. Then, I wondered why you chose to be a physical therapist. So, I googled you.” I feel a slow tumble of muscled limbs as Mick rotates down that unknown tunnel that is my life. Oh my God, he googled me. Goosebumps rise, fleeing over my skin and I shiver, thinking of what he knows. His expression frightens me, it darkens like the promise of a storm bent on staying awhile, cleaning the corners of everything it touches and scattering it to the wind. “And that bastard who called himself your father.” I watch those large hands of his

separate, clenching and flexing. They remind me of my own bad hand. My eyes stray to my isometric device, and Mick follows my glance. He nods. “I know how difficult your recovery was. I know what he did.” “You don't know everything.” My stomach burns even though he does not mention Ronnie by name. My mother's beating and subsequent hospitalization was sensational enough to be easy pickings on the internet. Mick shakes his head. “I know enough.” I can handle him knowing, I can compartmentalize his hotness, his wealth. It doesn't have to affect me. It's something for me to experience as my

punchcard for this life fills as I sit here with him. What I cannot stand is his pity. I can't bear the compassion in his eyes. I won't be some kind of mercy case. I want to know, just once, what real sex is before what I do makes me indifferent to what sex can be. And my heart has made up my mind for me. My intellect screams that I should just find out about sex with an anonymous Joe. Hell, there're a million laps that would take what I offer. I don't want those. I want Mick. He knows it. I know it. For the first time in my life, I'll have what I want on my terms. I stand, and he does too. His fists

are still clenched, ready to pound someone. Those few seconds of introspection I force on myself were mine alone. Mick still wants to avenge me from the phantom mugger. I scare myself with how badly I want him to hurt Bunce. Feeling that way doesn't help me with my most pressing goals. I need to keep my shit together. I can't allow things to get all jumbled. Ronnie will turn up. My mom needs me. I need the job that's under Jared McKenna. And I want to be underneath him as well, losing something precious Not stolen by the thievery of men who hold value only for their wants.

~4~ Mick takes my left hand as we impose an artificial and calculated distance between us. He raises it to his lips and kisses the hills of each knuckle, lifting his eyes to mine between the valleys of my left hand. My hand spasms in his grip, and his eyes tighten. I'm embarrassed and try to snatch it away. “No, Faren,” he says. I can't make the damn thing cooperate. My lip rolls into my teeth, and I hold it there, worrying the supple flesh like a dog with a bone. Mick turns over my hand, and his deep brown eyes run over the fine scars that map where

the doctors played Humpty Dumpty. Putting me back together again. I gasp as he lays his mouth against my shaking hand. It quiets under the heat of his lips, and a sigh escapes me. His touch commands a visceral reaction from my body. It's sensual when he doesn't mean for it to be, tender and resolute, taking me by surprise. An unguarded moment, but not unwanted. “He did this to you.” Mick’s tongue flicks over the uppermost knot of scar tissue, a peak in the center of my palm. The press of his hot tongue undoes the yarn of my memory and the ball unwinds. I try to hold it back, but like all memories that hold savagery, this one

runs like uncontainable water. I see the knife stab my hand, pinning me to the carpet. A matted pool of blood congeals under me, binding me and cooling me. I can't move. Bunce gets close. He twists the knife. My fingers flinch involuntarily, movement where none was meant to be. “Gotcha,” he whispers in a foul vapor of stale beer and unwashed teeth. I scream deeply, my voice a hoarse shriek. Mom lays unblinking, one side of her face frozen. The other eye slides to her daughter crucified on the floor. Bunce never sees her roll in a graceful turn of feral fluidity, the instinct to protect her child the only

one that matters. The heavy glass sphere in her hand hits his head with a meaty thwack. He's unconscious when I tear the knife from my palm. The metal slides and grinds as it sucks out of my flesh. I gasp in pain, swallowing it like the deeply bitter pill it is. “Run, Faren!” Tannin Mitchell screams. I stagger to my feet and stumble out the door and down the steps that led to our perfect house. Like a spoiling cake, the interior had rotted while the frosting remained pristine. My call for help came too late to save my mom.

“Faren.” I hear my name through my fog of recollection, a soupy existence on a plane only I know. My private hell. My eyes open to Mick cradling me. “Come back to me,” he says. “I'm here.” My mind still floats in the horrible memory, suffocating me. I went away for a little while when he kissed the remnants of that battle for my life. Mick folds my body against his. “I'd kill him if I could.” His face contains thunder. For the first time in my lust-filled dilemma, I wonder who the real Jared McKenna is. I come back to myself as Mick

watches my personality fill the vacancy of my eyes. I see the truth in his. Mick doesn't want easy. He might even believe in fate. I've never believed in fate more than I do in this moment. “I know,” I say, answering him. His eyes search mine. “I really am sorry.” I nod. His strong hands wrap around me. Then, inch by painful inch, he sets me away from him. Our bodies silently cry out for each other, and he actually winces. Mick continues to gaze at me, seeming to come to a decision. Maybe it was him watching me battle a memory he can't know anything about. Maybe it's

my recent close call with danger. “I have something to confess.” A smile ghosts his full lips and I find myself licking mine in unconscious response. Oh no, what now? “I want you to know how I made my money.” His weighted eyes land on mine. I shrug. Nothing he can tell me will bring him down to earth for me. I'm living a rare existence measured in breaths, not years. He can't affect me with his background, though I am curious. My heart races from remembered tragedy, from his nearness to me. “I—I invented something.” The way

Mick says it, he sounded as though he's admitting something embarrassing. That’s not what I’d thought he would say. His words peg me to the floor as my mouth hangs open, begging for flies to catch. He chuckles, nervousness threading through his attempt at a light confessional. He explains his invention, giving me the layperson's rendition, I'm sure. I fold my arms under my breasts as I get up and walk to my couch. I stare at him. The calloused hands, the muscles too striated for words make sense now. Those muscles don't dance before my eyes because he's a mirror lover in his thousand-square foot gym of glass and exercise equipment I imagine is at his

disposal. “Let me get this straight... You invented a fuel cell for airplanes? That’s ground-shattering technology. What, do you have an incinerator for the money in your mansion?” Mick doesn't deserve my sarcasm. I can tell he told me that to normalize himself in my eyes. I scan his expensive clothes. His shirt is worth more than a quarter of my monthly pay. His face hardens. The beautiful cleft in his chin is a dark spot like a period on the end of the sentence of his anger. “Listen, I never had money. I did the same thing my dad did, but with a twist. He was an auto mechanic, and when I was a kid, I dreamed of planes.” He

stuffs his hands into his pockets, stares at his Italian shoes, and frowns. “I wanted to fly planes, but at the time, pilots needed perfect vision. So I became an airplane mechanic. I went through school, working full time, and I found I had a knack for making a leap of logic. Several, as it turns out.” I don't miss his double entendre. My ear has been to the ground since the minute I lay on that cool street, his hand in mine as his bike rumbled in the background. Mick meets my eyes. A trick of light makes them look like low burning embers of raw emotion and conviction. “It's not only planes. The part I conceptualized to advance fuel economy

has given me the means to do more than I’d ever imagined. I've used those means to grow an empire of holdings. But in the beginning, I was just a kid with a dream who used what he'd been given.” His eyes bored into me. “With a ton of sweat and determination, I made my life what it is now.” I don't know what to say. If he says he misjudged me, I'm guilty of that as well. I feel shame, but for different reasons. If he has billions of dollars, why does Mick choose to run the premier strip clubs of the west coast? His Black Rose establishments pepper this side of America. If he's so goddamned good, so hardworking, so everything... why is he okay with selling

flesh? He nods, almost to himself. “There you have it. I'm not some rich guy who... what did you say?” He chuckles. “Poops gold,” I reply absently, buried in my conjectures. Mick laughs in a rich baritone that makes my insides clench and my core tingle. I'm so in trouble. Why did I have to meet someone who seems so tailormade for me when I can't fully realize the potential? It's like a horrible tease. As Mick unwraps his history like a finely packaged gift, the mystery, the fine layers of the man don’t dissuade me. His motivations should alarm me. Instead, they heighten my desire. “Hey,” Mick says in a quiet voice,

seeing something on my face that makes him move toward me in two graceful steps. His eyes search mine. “I told you that because I want you to know we're not much different.” I shake my head with a little laugh. “Au contraire, Mr. McKenna. We so are.” His lips twist in sage agreement. “You're right. I'm jaded and you're... innocent.” I feel the heat from my blush and hate it. I hear another low chuckle and move away, erecting that careful distance again. But Mick gently tugs me against his hard body. “No, we're the same where it counts, Faren.”

He laces his fingers through mine and raises our knotted hands to his heart. I swallow through the heat of my desire and my despair at my circumstances. I feel the warmth of our hands through my thin cami and close my eyes, so lost in the sensation that I can't think. His words slip into me like cool water against my parched mind, soothing... complete. Dangerously drowning. “In here.” Mick presses my good hand more tightly against himself. His heartbeat pushes against my flesh. He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. Our hearts beat in sync like they were always one, and I suddenly know. He wants meaningful sex.

And I want more.

~5~ We bounce apart like guilty teenagers caught making out as pounding reverberates against the door. “Faren!” Kiki. Fuck. I give Mick an apologetic look. He frowns but walks over to where his jacket lies neatly folded. My heart rate decreases. I heave a sigh and undo the three locks. The chain keeps the door latched as I take in Kiki's brown eyeball. “What?” I hiss. Her wide eye lights on my body, roaming me head to toe. Seeing I'm in one piece she glances behind me at Mick. “I heard.”

“Not now.” “Yes now,” she insists. I close the door, slide the chain back, and open the door. Kiki breezes in wearing half of her costume from the club. Mick gives her a considering look, the wheels in that fine mind turning. I guess he really doesn't know who works for him. Too many women to keep track of. Mick sure as hell knew who Thorn is though. But acknowledging him in my hospital room would have meant explaining why, and I don't think Mick's ready for me to know that part. He hasn't told me he owns ten clubs on the west coast. His confession might have meant more to me if he'd come

clean about that. However, it's not a requirement. I cast my eyes to the floor, regaining my composure. It's not fair that I expect him to tell me why he owns strip clubs when I don't admit I'm one of his many employees. I turn my bad hand over and look at the healing bruise on my wrist. Using my wrist as a balancing tool on the pole instead of gripping had become too much. I don't know how much longer I could have kept it up. Certainly not on the complicated sets. That'd been a small part of my decision to move to laps. They were awful, but they didn't take hand work. Well, not that kind.

“The cavalry's arrived,” Mick says dryly. I smirk, my eyes roving to his crotch in what I think is a subtle glance. His brows pop as he catches me checking on the condition of his package. I feel heat climb my body, and I want to gag at my obviousness. He's making me obtuse. “Yeah,” Kiki says, her hands on her curvy hips. She looks from me to him. “Did I interrupt anything?” Kiki doesn't care. She asks the question as she faces me so Mick doesn't see her expressions. Not obvious or anything. Yeah, right. But he sees my expression. My eyes are the window to my soul. Finally, I answer, “No.” My eyes

flick to Mick's, and his tighten with my words. “Mick was just leaving.” I don't want to put him off. But he was waiting in my apartment, breaking and entering. Into my body. My heart. I should be scared by his intense interest. Worried over him waiting for me. Alarmed about his knowledge of me. But I don't have the time. I have time only for what I choose. Mick's unhurried gaze roams my body, pausing where he wants. He moves to the door, giving Kiki a second glance. He seems to be trying hard to place her. I see it when he does, and I clamp down hard on my expression.

“Have we met before Miss King?” His piercing scrutiny is unnerving. Kiki tilts her chin up to meet his eyes. “Just here, with Faren.” She gives nothing away, and I want to kiss her. They have a stare-a-thon while I stand uncomfortably beside them. “I guess not,” he says in a slow drawl, his eyes shifting to mine. She nods. “See ya.” His eyes meet mine in a fierce stare. He pulls me against him as if Kiki's not there, as if his realization of who she is and what it means for us doesn't exist. Mick's thumbs press under my jaw. His long fingers wind around my neck, and he lifts my mouth to his. My platform flip flops bringing me inches closer to

those full lips. But it's not enough. His head bends, and I rise to my tiptoes to meet him. The kiss grows, and I melt against him as his tongue slides between my lips. When my hands move to his shoulders, I grip his lapels, dragging him nearer. Mick resists deepening the contact, releasing my face and stepping away. His eyes flick behind me. The translucent brown of his irises are replaced by the black velvet of desire. “I'll be in touch, Faren.” My lips still tingle with the touch of his. I can still taste him. My hand covers the mouth he just kissed and I say nothing as I watch him leave.

Kiki walks around me and shuts the door with her ass, slapping her palms on the wood and stares at me. “What the fuck was that?” I turn away, guilty over Kiki not knowing. I don't know what to do, so I talk about what I can. “My stepfather showed up.” “What?!” she shrieks, put off course by the revelation. I cringe before I go to the stove and slap on the tea kettle that Mick had moved. My hand shakes as I turn on the burner. “Faren? Sweet Jesus, talk to me.” I don't say anything, cranking up the heat while I wipe down the already clean countertop.

“Okay,” Kiki says and paces behind me. “I got a weird ass email from Thorn saying that all laps have been suspended. He gives an alternate address for the next lap place. I'm on call, so I still get the emails.” I pivot toward her. “Yeah... There was some kind of raid tonight.” Kiki's eyes go from slits to saucers, her brow furrowing. “What? Laps aren't illegal.” Neither one of us talk about the extracurricular stuff, but someone obviously did. I don't think any of the girls don't do the extras. I might be the only virgin, but I'm certainly no longer innocent. Kiki exhales sharply, and a strand of

dark hair floats around her face. “Bunce was there?” Kiki's face crumples. “What the fuck is he doing? I mean, he should be in jail, and he's going to lap dance venues?” “I was the auction girl,” I admit as neutrally as possible. “Oh shit-in-a-sack, girl.” Kiki's eyes narrow. She puts it all together easily. Pity, sympathy, and fear mix in her expression. “He won you.” I nod again, my eyes still dry. That’s a miracle. “Yes. I didn't know. It was like it was a setup, but I don't think Thorn knew.” “How...?” Her brows rise. “Cops busted in as he was chasing

me around the room.” Kiki puts her hand to her ample, heaving chest. Her throat convulses in a hard swallow. “That was close.” “Yeah, it was.” My anger rises like high tide, swamping all my other emotions. “He has no right.” I shake, my bad hand trembling with my anger. “Mom is in that stinking mental limbo— lights on but nobody home—because of him. Yet all he can think about is getting at me. What the hell is Bunce doing that he can even afford to come to a place like that?” “We gotta go to the cops!” Kiki says. I shake my head. “What do you think will happen if we do, Kik?”

After staring at me for several moments, Kiki answers, “They'll throw your ass in jail because of the extras.” “Bingo, give the girl a prize,” I mutter. Neither of us says what I'm thinking. I wouldn’t be able to see Mom. I wouldn’t make money. Mom would go into a state home. Ronnie Bunce might go to jail, but maybe not. He's free to come after me. He obviously has financial means. Somehow. “It costs a lot of money to be a member,” Kiki says speculatively, voicing my thoughts. My cell chimes with an email notification, and I ignore it. The kettle whistles, so I pour the water into cups I

always keep on the stove top. I stuff tea bags inside the cups. “How much?” I ask as I face the stove. “When I worked there, the other girls would talk. It's a short term occupation, obviously.” I glance at her, and again that silent communication flows between us. It's a grab-the-cash-and-go job. Or become more than a lap dancer. I have an epiphany, and I almost drop the tea. Kiki's eyes move to my face as she twines the tea bag string around her finger and dunks it. “What?” Kiki whispers, watching my expression as as the lightbulb flicks on. “Holy crap, I think I know what that

creep is doing.” Kiki studies my face, pumping the tea bag up and down, her eyes full of questions. “Pimp,” I say emphatically. A light goes on in her face. “You think?” Her shaky breath skates across her hot tea, and her eyes meet mine over the rim. “I know,” I say, taking silent inventory in my memory banks. I think about how he acts as though he owns women, especially me. I've witnessed his attitude with Thorn at the club. Of course, I know better. Nobody owns me.

~6~ “Do we have a plan?” Kiki asks, pouring more water and leaving the old bag in the cup. “We?” I say. “Wrong pronoun. Don't own this, Kik. You gave me the idea, and I took the job. It's my mess.” Kiki leans forward, her hair tangling a little around the tea string. “You didn't bargain on Bunce.” We sit in swollen silence for a moment. “True, but there's more.” Kiki flops against my couch, tea forgotten on the coffee table. “God, what now?” My eyes aren't dry anymore. The

mist of my sadness hangs on tenaciously... but I'm not inviting her to the pity party. Instead, I face it head on. “Remember when I got hit by Mick's motorcycle?” “Mick, huh?” One side of her mouth lifts into an amused tilt. I slowly nod. “Yeah.” I meet her dark eyes, and something she sees smooths out her features. “Okay...” She snaps her fingers. “You were seeing the headache doc.” Her brows rise. “It's more than a headache.” Her eyes search my face, her posture tense. “What?” I spit it out like a chunk of barf. “Brain tumor.”

Kiki had been leaning forward, but she slumps back again. I know then that it's more of a stunner than I thought. Nothing shuts up Kiki. Finally she looks at me. “Why the hell didn't you tell me, Faren?” I look at my hands, the left scarred from many surgeries, the right smooth and perfect. I lift my shoulders. “I... it was too much.” Kiki blows out a breath that sounds like a deflated balloon. “Oh my god. Jared McKenna... the job… Your mom!” I don't wince at the tone. Those are the same things I considered though not in that order. “Yeah,” I say, taking a sip of my cool tea, grimacing, then setting it down.

We sit in silence, Kiki staring at the solid sheet of black that meets my window, midnight fast approaching. She looks at me. “I know this sounds hard... and shitty...” “Months.” Kiki puts her head in her hands and cries. “That's not long enough!” I nod. Hell yes, it's not. I reach into the almost-empty tissue box and pluck out three tissues. They float and settle on her thighs like discarded clouds of sadness. Kiki crumples them, her eyes pegging me with such intense sadness that I have to breathe through my own grief. Her wet face, the snot mixing with her tears, is too much. The reality is

worse than what I’d envisioned. “Are you sure, Faren?” Her hope nails my sadness to the walls of emotions. It squirms for freedom. “Yeah.” “This is how you want to spend your... time? With a billionaire strip club owner, running from your stepfather, and dancing on laps?” Kiki shakes her head, trying to make sense of my reasoning. Anger boils inside me. “It's about my mom. They'll put her in a state home!” Kiki stares at me. Then slowly nods as my angry eyes beat the hell out of her. The situation makes me so mad, but Kiki's here, and she's asking the

questions I don't want to explore “True. So what's your excuse with Jared McKenna?” I can't stop the blush that rolls over my skin in a hot wave of recall. “Wow, you've got it bad,” she says, watching my reaction. “He has something I need,” I reply, not meeting her eyes. Kiki leans forward. “I'm really sorry, Faren. You're my best friend, and I can't stand... can't even think...” She hiccups another half-sob. “Don't,” I beg. She nods, struggling with her emotions. Finally, Kiki wrestles them into submission. “Any guy has a cherry picker, Faren.”

I get a visual of a giant penis with a gizmo at the end- virgin slayer. I frown. “He's your boss, he's...” She rolls her eyes as if the whole scenario is unbelievable. Because it is. “He's Jared McKenna. So far, you've been lucky the hunk-o-love moneybags hasn't put two and two together.” Not yet but soon. “Not so far.” I put my hands under my butt and jiggle my legs. “When he finds out you're a dancer, that your mom was... hurt by Bunce—” “He knows.” Kiki's brows shoot up. A laugh escapes my throat, which is so tight with

grief I didn’t think it was possible to laugh. “He's had me investigated. I mean, he googled me.” Kiki narrows her eyes. “That's just weird. I don't know if I should think that's flattering or you should run like hell.” I laugh again. “I kinda told him that.” “And?” “Mick doesn't think there's such a thing as coincidence.” Kiki shakes her head. “No guy believes in fate.” I just stare at her. Kiki whistles. “Huh, he's a different dude.” “A different, filthy rich dude.”

“Yeah.” Kiki shoots me a significant glance. “Let's address the filthy part.” I sigh. “I don't know why he peddles visual flesh.” Kiki barks out a laugh and points at me. “Making me laugh in the middle of this revelation is pretty smooth.” We fall silent again. “He didn't get rich by accident,” I say. “He wanted to fly airplanes but invented some fuel-saving thingie, and now he's got his own planes, pilots, the works.” Kiki's nose scrunches up, then she wags her finger. “Uh-uh. No.” Her expression tunnels down to skepticism. “So he makes bank with the invention. He was a real guy before—”

“Kinda a real guy now too,” I say, somehow keeping a straight face. “Stop with the sarcasm, ya witch,” Kiki says. I smile. She can almost make me forget. Almost. “He's Mr. Right Now?” I cross my arms in a huff. I can’t explain the enigma of chemistry. I've never felt it before, and I've had tons of opportunities. Why does it have to be Mick? Why couldn't losing my virginity happen with some anonymous fool who can give me the experience without caring about anything more? My shoulders sag. “I don't know. I can't explain it. I

just know that it's not fair for me to offer him what's not there.” “Faren,” Kiki says, as serious as a heart attack, “you gotta know he wants more than a few fun humps.” Kiki thrusts her hips back and forth with a cocked brow, and I laugh again. I know Mick and I share something. I keep saying we don't need to go further, that we can be casual. Somehow, he nods and says the right words while his body moves against mine like ownership, forever... and maybe the promise of something I can't contemplate. Love. The L word is worse than a curse right now. It's a have not.

“He can have anyone for a fuckfest, Faren. He doesn't need you.” Kiki folds her arms, deep in thought. “This is going to sound awful because you know I think you're a little hottie, but”—her eyes apologize—“he can have any hot piece of ass he wants. Experienced tail.” “I know.” I shrug with a small, sad laugh. “I don't understand it either. The more he knows about me, the more he seems determined to have me.” “And?” Kiki says. Truth time. “And I want to let him.” Kiki stands, and I do too. She walks over and hugs me, some five inches shorter than me. “You don't have to do this, Faren. You want an anonymous guy to take your virginity? Done. You want

to quit the laps? I'll give you the money. You want me to make an anonymous call to the cops and let them know their local high-end pimp is wanted for attempted murder?” Her eyes hunt in mine so deeply I feel as though she's mining my soul. “I'll do anything to make this better.” Kiki cups my face and swipes the lone tear that tracks down it, pulled by gravity, eased by her finger. “Tell me what I can do. Because, god damn, you don't want love mixed in the witch's cauldron here.” I'm so overwhelmed by her generosity, I can't speak. The lump in my throat chokes me. Our eyes lock. “Don't tell me you're falling for...

Mick?” I say nothing. I don't have to. “Oh shit, honey...” Kiki wraps me in her arms as I sob. The pity party's begun, and she’s crashed it. Just like I knew she would. What are friends for?

~7~ Bryce again. One-two-three, he huffs through his leg extensions and for the first time, my mind wanders during a session. It could be because Doc Matthews is pressing for protocol. I have big decisions to make about radiations, chemotherapy and the rest. I don't like “the rest.” I know the counteractives will make me sicker than the actual progression of the tumor's growth. They'll screw up the things I want to gain from the short life I have left. I can't allow it. So I'll go in and sign a novel's worth of release forms. They don't want to be responsible

for my decision. My phone chimes with a text just as Bryce finishes his set. He stands and grabs a terrycloth hand towel from a peg that reads Bryce, and he gives me a penetrating look that's part glare, part inquisition. “You're not all here today, Miss Mitchell.” He wipes sweat off his forehead then drags the towel up his forearms. You're not all here... True. Definitely not all here. I don't answer with the whole truth. “I have a doctor's appointment, and I'm... thinking too hard.” “Huh,” he says, staring at me. “Headaches,” I supply, and Bryce's

brows cock to his hairline. I sigh. “Y'know, migraines.” He nods, and my shoulders drop as my mind skitters across things like another therapist taking my patients when I'm gone. I shove the thought away, latching onto the conversation at hand. “Yeah, my mom gets those once in awhile,” he says. We stand awkwardly for a moment. Then Bryce asks, “Am I about done?” I am. I push through my emotions. “Yes, you've got almost full extension now.” I narrow my eyes, thinking about how hard he must have worked to finish his sessions early. My brows arch. “I guess you were doing your homework?”

Bryce grins. “For this? Yeah.” I hear the part that he doesn't say —not for school. “Listen, Bryce—” He gives me the hand. “Nah... don't need a lecture about my future from my physical therapist.” I smile. “Okay.” Bryce nods and turns away. No limp anymore. He pivots back, and I see the light bulb of a question on his face. “Yes?” I ask. His eyes travel to my hand. The left. “Is that why you do this?” I don't look at it, but I feel the subtle tremble. “Yeah.” I give him steady eye contact. “Can I see it?” Earnest. Young.

Leave it to a teenager to go where adults fear to tread. “Okay.” I don’t want to show anyone—ever. I hold out my hand, and he towers over me. Bryce was a lineman on the football team before he wrecked his knee, and I feel the acute disparity in our sizes. He’ll play again. We made sure of it —together. Bryce's large hand opens my left hand. My fingers slightly curl, but the pinky sticks straight out, frozen. The twisted pucker scar on my palm is just off center. He runs a finger over it, and my entire hand convulses. His eyes sweep to mine. “Why does

it do that?” I swallow hard. “It...” I collect myself as he hangs on to my hand. “There was nerve damage from the wound.” His eyes darken. “Who did this to you, Miss Mitchel?” I try to lighten the moment. “I thought you hated me?” I give a small smile, and he frowns. He doesn't take to my effort at distraction. Bryce shakes his head. “No, I never did. I hated the therapy.” I nod. I knew that. I gulp again. “My stepfather.” “Jesus,” he whispers in horror. He looks at my messed up hand, a raw ball of pink flesh stares back at us.

It’s pretty horrible, bare to the scrutiny of a teenager whose main gripe is not playing football. “Can you use it?” he asks. Not much. “Yeah, some.” His anger is palatable. It beats the air between us into a thick trench of emotion. “Where is this dick nozzle?” I burst out laughing, and he lets go of my hand. “Dick nozzle, huh?” I grin, the tension evaporating. He replies, totally serious, “I was editing that.” My brows quirk. Wow, editing. Must've had a really choice comment. “I hope they find that bastard,” Bryce says. I hope so too. My palms sweat. I

have laps tonight in a new location. I don't know what I'll do if Ronnie shows. Somehow, I don't think Thorn will give two shits who Ronnie is. Why does Mick have that prick in charge? More questions than answers. Ones I can't ask without giving away what I'm doing. After Bryce leaves, I reach into my smock and pull out my phone. A text from Mick. Of course. A thrill shoots through me with dread at its heels. Mick is circling so close to the truth. Truths I don't want him to know. Before I leave the clinic, Sue asks how my visit to the doctor went.

I thank her for the recommendation and say it went well. It's just another of many lies. I'm becoming expert at sinning by omission. I have the papers to sign and my mom to see. And money to collect off the lust of men. But... I look at the text from Mick. Apparently, no circumstance in the universe can distract me from him. I'm getting sucked into the vortex of Mick. I want to see you. I want to see him too. My hand shakes as I text back the most important word of the day. When?

* I load ice into a washrag that I press against my eyes. It'll take the swelling down to something I can hide with makeup. The tears come no matter how hard I resist them. My mom's situation is worse. They’re talking of moving her to the state facility. The discussions have moved to down payments for retention. Like my finances are incontinent. I have two weeks to come up with ten percent of the year’s care of my mother, or she'll be moved. My right hand throbs from the papers I signed at the hospital. Do I hold

them liable since I don't want drugs that lengthen my short life but make what's left diminished? Yes. I sign anyway. After thirty signatures, Faren Mitchell is a parody of who I am. White pages with blue mock me. I slip on another work outfit. They all blend together now. I twirl in front of the mirror with no admiration for how it makes me look. Deliberate calculation stares back as I go through my mental tally. Is it short enough? Does it show just enough skin? Did I remember to coat my nipples with edible strawberry lotion in anticipation of a stranger’s suckling? Can I shower fast enough before

Mick arrives to scour the filth of other men's mouths and fingers from my body? A burn begins behind my eyelids. I widen them, and the feeling passes. I will not cry. I will work, dance, and collect money. Above all else, I will not contemplate what it means if Ronnie Bunce is psychotic enough to reappear. I drop my cell inside my purse, along with my keys and lip gloss. I slip through my door and turn the bolt with a swift click. I turn and scream, my hand flying to my neck. Mick stands there, a wicked look on his face. My startled gaze drags over him. His outfit is impeccable but more causal than I've ever seen. I'm in my stripper outfit. Thorn is

expecting me. Shit and double shit. Mick had told me he'd be here at midnight, not nine. I moved heaven and earth to get off work early, and here he is. I'm so mad that Mick can't keep to our arrangement. I get a physical reaction of pleasure that he ignores it. My nipples harden, and a sliver of his neck holds my eyes as his heartbeat pulses in the exposed hollow. My body remembers him perfectly, reacting in a predictable, pulse-thudding surge of desire that hits my core like a typhoon. The fingers of lust touch every intimate spot on my body. Awakening it for him.

“Surprise,” he says, his deep rumble threading through my body.

~8~ My hand lowers from my chest, my heartbeat undaunted as we stare at each other. “I thought we agreed on midnight...” Mick's deep auburn eyebrow arches. “You agreed.” I swallow, and his eyes catch mine. “Where were you going?” he asks, his eyes driving up my body like a whip of heat. Oh god. “Out of milk.” “Really?” He folds his arms. My gaze shifts to his bulging biceps. He probably gets those sleek muscles from counting his money and throwing the extra into his built-in incinerator. I

realize how uncharitable I'm being and laugh at myself before slapping my hand over my mouth. I'm living a surreal existence, and I keep finding pockets of humor at the strangest times. At least it gets me out of my insta-lust problem. Mick strides to me, and my mouth closes. His athletic fluidity makes all of my other senses step back as my vision narrows to only him. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The material stretches taut over his chest and arms. The fine muscles in his forearms ripple as he puts one against my locked door and presses against me. I feel his hardness through the thin material of my outfit. It should trigger every alarm I have from the soulless job I perform...

but it doesn't. Everything to do with Mick seems too real. “Are you laughing at me, Miss Mitchell?” he whispers, pressing against me deeper. I gasp when his mouth moves from my earlobe to the soft skin underneath it. His mouth swings back and forth, making me shiver uncontrollably. I lose every thought of work, timing, and my inappropriate milk-fetching outfit. In his arms, I come alive. My hands creep to Mick's broad shoulders as I beg with my mouth, rasping against the stubble that peppers his jawline. He doesn't make me wait, taking my mouth in a sweep of brutal ownership that makes me stop breathing.

He ravishes me with a kiss so simultaneously deep, hard, and tender, I let go of him through sheer selfpreservation. Mick sweeps his arms behind me and draws me into him, disallowing my escape. When his fingers plunge into my hair and my lipstick is worn away, Mick finally lifts his head. We stare at each other, our ragged breathing the only noise that fills the hall. Mick grins. “Now that's the only look I want you to wear, Faren. Naked would be better, but I'll take this too.” His deep voice vibrates against my body, and I shiver from that subtle vibration, from his scandalous words and the images they provoke. I swim to

the surface of my mind. I'm in the hall of my apartment building making out with Mick in my lap-dancing outfit. Mick scrutinizes my morphing emotions as they blaze across my face. His brows pull together. The dip of dark red hair at his forehead is near-black in the shadowed hallway. “Tell me where you're really going, Faren.” Mick demands, not with his words but with the gentle kisses he lays between my breasts and I shudder, sinking my fingers into his hair. He groans. “No.” My face turns, and his fingers tighten into my hips as he drags me deeper into the stiffness that presses between my legs. “You don't own me,

Mr. McKenna,” I say in a voice low with need. “God, I love your defiance,” he says, his tongue against my flesh. “It's such a turn on.” My eyes seek his. “Only because it's true.” He raises his eyes to meet mine. I can feel each of his fingers blazing like spots of heat through the slinky material of my dress as he cinches those fingers tighter. “I could find out,” Mick says. His words are light, but his eyes are dark with intent. I nod. “You could,” I challenge. Mick cages me with his arms, the heat from those hands beside my face,

and sighs. “It's not good enough. I want you to want me.” I laugh, and his brows jump above those dark eyes. His expression makes my heart race. I want him to dominate me, control me because I don't want the control I have to own. In this one thing, he is the antidote to my situation. The perfect opposition to my decisions. “I do,” I answer. The truth is almost painful. He surprises me by cupping his large hand over my sex, his thumb pressing against my clit. I buck against his hand, sucking in a breath that he captures with his mouth. “I know that you want me.” He lifts his mouth and meets my eyes.

Mine are half-closed with lust. Mick moves his thumb, and moisture surges down against where he touches. I whimper at the swirl of that soft pad against my most intimate of areas. I can't argue because what he says is true but... “Okay,” I gasp as that dexterous thumb swirls faster, harder. “Then what are you saying?” His hand leaves me, and I slap my door, my bad hand steady as a rock. My core throbs for a finish he doesn't provide. It's not blue balls; it's blue clit. His finger moves to my jaw, running the length of it. “I don't know.” His stare never drops as his finger slides a trail of heat between my breasts.

I sigh, moving my face away from him. He steps back, and my body is cold without his. “You do know, or you wouldn't have said anything. You've made yourself into a billionaire.” I glare at him with uncertainty and sexual frustration. “You're not going to let one woman get under your skin, screw up your agenda, your easy life.” Mick's expression darkens. He slams his hand next to my face, and the door rattles as my eyes widen. “You're scaring me, Mick,” I whisper. “Good,” he says, an inch from my face. “You don't seem like you know what you want or how to protect yourself. Keeping me at arm's length

because you're scared of what's here between us isn't working.” His eyes move to my mouth. “It isn't going to work.” I move into his body, and his hands drop, clenching to keep from touching me. His body leans toward me, a physical tell of his desire and forced restraint. But I keep pressing. “It is working.” I plead for neutrality because I know what I can reasonably give. And there isn't one speck of reason within our entire relationship. A casual meeting was lost the second he took my hand in the middle of the street. Neither one of us would admit it. We still won't. He loosens a hand and touches a

tendril of my hair, spreading it to thinness between his fingers then tucks it behind my ear. “It's not going to work for me.” He drops his hand. “I don't know what to tell you.” I want to tell him everything. Mick is telling me that he wants sex, that he wants more. But he wants the Faren he thinks he knows. The martyr who has been through hell and survived, who takes care of her mother. A woman who is an enigma. A fixer. Not the Faren who performs illicit dances at his clubs. Who is a dead girl walking. No, he doesn't want her. I change the subject like a gutting. “I'm meeting Kiki later. We need a little dress-up girl time.”

I can see he doesn't believe me. “Fine,” he says with a casual shoulder lift. “I don't offer this to most women.” “I feel so special, Mick.” My sarcasm echoes in the hall where kisses did moments before. Mick rakes a hand through his hair. “That's not what I meant and you know it.” I shake my head. “No.” I press my finger into his chest, and his scent wafts between us, cinnamon, spice, and male. I suck it in greedily. “What I do know, is that you're used to getting what you go after.” I fight my instinct to fling myself in his arms and wrap my legs around him.

His face falls into grim lines. “True.” “Then why are you telling me you want more? That my 'defiance' gets you off? We both know it's some kind of flame that'll burn bright only to snuff out. What's the point?” I shouldn't say those things. I had planned to give Mick that precious part of myself, and now I think, worse than my approaching death, that I might have given more than I meant. Having sex with him might slowly kill who I am instead of being the easy experience I wanted to mark off before I'm gone. Mick grabs me, his fingers desperate against my bare back. He breathes against my goose-pebbled

flesh, and his steady words sink like talons of truth into my psyche. “What if it's not?” What if the flame doesn't burn out but more brightly than before? That's the question that presses between us, understood all too well. Mick gently pushes away from me, and I look at his face, gorgeous and serious. He walks backward, his eyes pinning me as time stood still between us. So much unrequited. “Midnight?” he asks, like confirmation. I nod. I know what’s on the table. I know how it'll end. It's the journey that scares me.

~9~ I wait until my racing heart returns to normal and then slowly walk to the freight elevator. I slap the down button. After the elevator lumbers to its aggressive stop at ground floor, I push the metal door aside. I look around the foyer. It has been recently cleaned, and I watch my footing on the hex tiles that gather like a sea of white puzzle pieces. I throw on my unattractive puffy coat and move through the dark, narrow sidewalk to the offstreet parking, shivering as I fumble with my keys. I slide into my mom's rattrap VW. I try not to cry because I have half a

dozen dances to slink through. I tip my head back, and hot sadness leaks down the sides of my face, dampening my temples. I gulp and bear down on my emotions. It's unnerving how smooth I’ve gotten at that. How numbingly simple. I drive to the new venue after tapping the address into my GPS. The arrow rotates as an iconic race car appears on the screen. I follow the directions given by the sexy British voice and park where it tells me. My eyes take in the skyscraper as my hand clutches the gearshift. I can't count the stories. The building seems to disappear into a sky polluted by the light of the city. In glittering silver neon, the name

blinks at me: Rose Enterprises. Of course, Thorn’s venue would be one of Mick's buildings, though I’m surprised he's so careless after the big raid. I thought he'd be more cautious. Embarrassment seizes me. What kind of woman wants a man who peddles what Jared McKenna does? He’s hiding behind being a self-made billionaire when he gets a hefty kickback from young, desperate women. It's sick, and I wait for the justifiable shame to strangle me. A wheezing exhale escapes my lips. My moral compass no longer points true north. It's guided by circumstance and fate, neither conferring with the other. I sit inside my car, hands gripping

the wheel. A second cell chime reminder sings in the silence of my car and I jump. Sighing, I slide out of the cold darkness of the car's interior that held me like a cocoon and walk toward the gigantic sleek glass doors. A bellman greets me with a secret smile I want to slap off his face. I brush past him as though it doesn't hurt that he knows what I do. I wait until I get into the elevator before I slip on my back up mask, both hands trembling tonight. I can't remember where I left my original. The altercation with Mick, the surprise of him showing up. It's too much to hide. But somehow I must. I walk through the elevator doors as they slide open.

The venue is the nicest I've attended, if I think on those terms. Handcut glass chandeliers drip their elegance like an upside-down wedding cake, five tiers tall in a triangle formation. The table is dead center underneath them and holds a group of ten men. I approach, thinking the “clients” are in short supply tonight. My eyes seek every corner for who else might be here, what other anomalies are present. Thorn rises like a Poseidon in a deadly sea, reaching out to me. I want to run from that outstretched palm. Instead I move nearer and slid my damp palm into his dry one. “Faren,” Thorn says, giving me a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

He draws me behind him, and every male's eyes are glued to my ass. I whisper by them. A hand passes through the fringe of beads that make a faint noise as I walk. “No touching,” Thorn reprimands him playfully. Tension sings in a taut line through my center. The man from my first dance slaps a paddle on the table. “Enough of this showmanship, Thorn.” Jay shoots Thorn an angry glare, and Thorn smirks. He has all the power. I am merely the puppet whose strings he manipulates. I want to speak, and Thorn sees it in my expression. “What is it Faren?”

I hate his face. “I...” I feel the intensity of my blush and know it's bad. “Why am I the only girl?” “That's an interesting question,” Thorn says. Jay rolls his eyes, twirling his finger. “Get on with it. Your attempt at foreplay grows tiresome.” My eyes flick to Jay's then back to Thorn. I'm not sure what's going on. It can't be good. My gaze lands on each man, and I feel my shoulders drop. Ronnie Bunce isn’t among them. The laps are old. Jay is maybe thirty-ish, but the rest are over fifty. The old pervs. I keep the revulsion

off my face, but the effort's not pretty. “Faren,” Thorn begins, running his eyes down my body like he knows it intimately. I loathe his show. Jay narrows his eyes on Thorn, his assessing gaze moving between the two of us. Thorn lowers his voice. “You've been selected for a bidding lap dance.” His words are a sucker punch to my gut. The last auction had been won by my stepfather. I had escaped by a hairsbreadth. This one has all the trappings of some new violation. An older man dressed as a butler flows out of a corner. His silver tray is ready and waiting with a single card on it.

Thorn said, “A predetermined figure has been selected for this dancer based on popular demand.” I cringe at his words, my eyes hopping from one face to the next. I watch the card pass to each man. Whatever they see causes them to look at me then each other. No one speaks. A silent acquiescence flows between the bidders. An excited but invisible buzz begins, and I cringe. What's on the card? I realize they've all been my laps. That's the common denominator. I’ve tried to expunge the memory of dancing for them only to have their physical presence serve as a grim refresher. “The winner of this auction gets all the extras as part of the cost and can pay

an extra five thousand for a maskless dance.” Maskless. My head whips in his direction, my hair skating across my bare shoulders in a flurry from my response. “No!” I say, backing away. “Thorn, you promised.” I know it's pointless... like that man owns a shred of integrity. I've never wanted to kill anyone but Ronnie. However, Thorn might be the exception. He sees it and throws his head back, laughing. “No one is going to want to pay that much to see my face anyway,” I say. I cross my arms, unconsciously putting my

breasts on sharp display. All eyes follow the movement, and I fling my arms to my sides. “You can always say no, Faren. No one here is about force.” Thorn looks around at the men's lascivious eyes. “Right, gentleman?” They murmur their agreement, but their gazes reveal their lies. They want more than they have a right to. It's laughable. Thorn hides behind his position, his criminal coercion. I look at the one client who might show me mercy. My eyes lock with Jay's, and I beg a silent plea. Our stare is broken when one of the men stands, tossing his cloth napkin on the table. “This is absurd. No woman is

worth that!” The room falls instantly silent. Only money has the ability to suffocate noise so completely. Thorn inclines his head. His cufflinks are a parody of Mick’s. Thorn’s like a one-dimensional copy. He tries so hard that all a person sees is artifice, not the result he covets. For me, everything circles back to Mick. Mental, physical—all of it. The irate client stalks toward the door. Thorn makes no move to capture, wheedle, cajole or beg. He just lets one of the birds walk. He turns back to the others. “One less man to take away this lovely, young... dancer.” Thorn says dancer like

whore and winks at me. My head dips and tears sting. They are not tears of sadness but pure, unadulterated rage. I hide it, casting my eyes to the floor like lures. “Faren.” I inhale deeply in an attempt to calm myself and lift my hate-filled gaze to Thorn. He nods at my expression, his indifference to my feelings profound. “Let's begin, gentlemen.” They wouldn't know gentle if it bit them on the ass. They begin at the atrocious figure that should make me gag and feel like a prostitute. Instead, it makes me greedy for what it can do for my mom. Twenty

thousand dollars could pay off half her debt tomorrow. I'm game, I decide. I feel as if I'm watching myself from a distance. This is happening to someone else. Then the bidding stops. A final twitch of a finger rises then falls with the softest tap on the circular table. The ticket slides across the smooth wood to Jay. He's won. I'm so thankful. So resigned.

~ 10 ~ Jay leads me by the hand to a new room. We're encased in a modern swath of chrome, metal, and glass. It’s so unlike the seedy, once-glamorous confines of the carousel of past venues. The door is still marked with the number one, like the other doors before it. The number hangs slightly askew and I can't help but think Thorn has a sense of humor. He must run around with numbers in bulk. I put the fist of my free hand against my mouth to stifle the giggle. I know it's an insane stress reliever and take what I can get. Inside the room, the bright city lights stretch below us. The acres of

glass reflect the artificial lights like chips of brilliance embedded like diamonds. The dark velvet of the cityscape appears vast and untouched. We move to a chair that anchors the center of the room. Ten chairs stand in a half moon around the one I know will hold Jay and me. I whip around, my hand still clasped in Jay's warm, large one. Thorn is there, the evil smile of accomplishment a natural break in a face that should be handsome but just looks chiseled apathy. I can't believe I didn't anticipate this eventuality. Thorn has met someone who

presents a challenge. Someone he instinctively knows does not fit. Thorn doesn't know why, but his masochistic edge hones in on my innocence and desperation like a tuning fork, and I am helpless before him. The old laps file in. Toward me, surrounding me. Their eyes tell the story of their intent. They're the audience for my performance. My eyes narrow on Thorn. “This isn't a problem, Faren... right?” That empty gaze challenges me to deny him, to quit. But like any predator who senses a weakness in his prey, he's got me by the short hairs. Thorn doesn't know the

reason; he just knows he does. The soft underbelly of my desperation is present for slicing and dicing. Thorn jumps in with both feet to crush my hope. I turn away from him as the men settle in. Jay squeezes my hand gently, and my eyes rise to his. Jay's gaze tells me it's still just him and me. We can do this. I don't know when I went from being a girl giving him release to a girl he wants to save, but it happened fast, like a switch being flipped. We move toward the chair, and it looms large at our approach. Jay drops my hand, and the fringe of beads sways at my rear as quiet music fills the space. Not a murmur, mutter, or voice can be heard.

Jay begins a silent striptease, removing his suit. The tie pulls through his collar, a flag of silk floating to the armrest as he unzips his pants. My hand shakes when I pick up the towel. I can't stop my eyes from making a downward shift to his giant erection. I swallow, brave as I've ever been, and stand before him, ignoring Thorn's presence at my back. Jay reclines in the wide chair, a copy of every chair I've done a lap dance in. The cushion is wide enough to accommodate my knees on either side of his muscular thighs. I slide my knees in place, straddling him. “Faren.” Jay threads his fingers through my hair. His grip tightens, and he

pulls me toward his mouth. No kissing. The heat of his lips touches mine. I pull away. The bruise on my upper thigh throbs as it begins to deepen, and I search his face. Beyond the tightness around his eyes is care. Concern for me. I can't have that. Right now, I feel as though I'm cheating on Mick. It doesn't matter that it's a job, that my mom is the beneficiary of these illicit monies. No, those are emotions. Real, vital, undeniable. “No kissing!” Thorn barks. “You know the rules, Jay.” I wonder what his full name is. I'm certain the reason for first names only is

anonymity. Jay's fingers leave my hair and trail down my arms, gooseflesh rising in their wake. He gives a barely perceptible nod, and I run through the “extras” I remember. Hand job. Breast suckling. Vaginal digit penetration. Anal digit penetration. There won't be a police raid to save me. My head dips when I think about anyone but Mick touching me there. I'm selling my soul to the devil. I can't go back. It's bought and paid for. Being a virgin doesn't mean I’m innocent. There're degrees of

compromise. I'm becoming an expert on skirting the inevitable, like swimming against a vortex. I look into Jay's eyes and move. I’m subtle at first, my upper thigh pressing against his erection. He takes liberties without asking, and I bite my bottom lip when his hand covers my breast. He grips the fullness at the bottom and squeezes it just on the good side of pain. I muffle a gasp. His hand moves to my back, fingers spread wide, and he bends his head over my captive tit. He covers my nipple with his mouth, and my body's confusion surfaces. Mick's tongue has been on my flesh, and my body remembers. It rejects all other tactile memory and latches onto the

one that resonates. My nipple reacts in traitorous spontaneity. It rises as Jay laves the sensitive bundle of nerves, and my head tips back. My cheating mind thinks of Mick, and the thin strip of my panties grow moist. The shifting of legs and clothes behind us breaks through my fantasy of dancing on Mick's lap. Ten rich, perverted men are watching a young, desperate woman dance on a stranger's lap. I ignore them all, keeping my eyes shut tight. I rise up, moving expertly, faster and faster. My legs are more powerful than they once were. The bruise sings like a beacon each time my flesh strokes

his penis through the thin barrier of my clothes. Jay's breathing becomes harsh. I hear a distinctive groan behind me and move a little more slowly, grinding in deliberate, arced strokes against his rigidness. His hands move to my ass and flip up the hem of my dress. The beads slide like cool ice against my flesh. The air glides against my butt cheeks, which are on full display. The slim thong offers no coverage. Jay's hands slap on the globes of my butt, and my eyes snap to his. I’m startled me out of my fantasy, rudely awakened into the reality of the moment. I hear a symphony of sounds under the music. Primitive and dark, they speak of

what's happening behind me. I suddenly realize I'm present. I can't watch from the outside. I begin to panic. “I need this,” Jay murmurs as he thrusts his hips... and a finger penetrates my anus. My butt clenches against the invasion, and I fight against moving away. I battle for my shattering fantasy as a stranger takes yet another liberty, stealing one more thread in the fabric of my lost innocence. His finger breaching that entrance is so unexpected, I fall against him. His finger sinks a little deeper inside me, and I cry out in surprise and horror. Jay mistakes my intense reaction for arousal. He forces my knees wider in a

spreading shove of his knees, and I'm wide open. My panties are totally misplaced, and he crams his stiffening erection against the bare cut-out on my stomach. I feel his hard flesh connect with my soft belly, and I know what will happen. I'm helpless to move away as he traps me, perfectly unbalanced. With a final thrust, he releases against my stomach. I feel nothing as I hear the chorus of grunts and moans behind me. The only proof of Jay’s release is the cold edge of my dress as his cum soaks the material. My heart tattoos a staccato rhythm. Artificial detachment coats me in icy calm as I crawl off Jay's lap. His penis

sits like a limp, soggy noodle and provokes my gag reflex. My good hand comes to my mouth as I meet Jay's eyes and choke. He rises, stuffing himself inside his slacks and zipping up. He reaches for me. I stagger back, vertigo hitting me like a released demon. Strong arms come around me from behind. A man's forearm sinks into the damp mess at my front. “Pull it together, Faren... or we're going to have some words.” Thorn. My teeth sink into my tongue. Copper pennies fill my mouth, and the dizziness floats away. Jay's face comes into sharp focus.

I elbow Thorn in the gut, and his arms release me. I run to the door while men in various states of undress follow me with hooded eyes. I tear open the door and rush to the bathroom. I shake as I empty my stomach into the porcelain bowl of the toilet. I can't do this. But when Thorn gives me my cut from the twenty thousand dollars, I bend my head as he berates me. I say yes to negotiations for something more. With Jay. Even though my heart longs for Mick, I agree to the deal with the devil for my reasons.

They don't seem as important as they once did.

~ 11 ~ I drop my keys twice as I try to unlock my apartment door. My bad hand trembles so much, I'll have to put a heat compress on it to loosen it. I move through the door and slam it. I tip my head back, resting it on the solid wood, as I close my eyes. My heartbeat slows as I stand in my soiled dress and cry. Tears run down my face, and I stop the sounds that want to go from whimpers to wailing by sheer will alone. Memories of my childhood after Ronnie Bunce took over fill me with steel. Nights when he creeped past my door as I feigned sleep. The doorknob

wiggling. The kitchen knife in my sweaty grasp, underneath my pillow, that comforted me. Cold metal with killing potential guided me toward sleep in that faraway memory. I slide down my door, and my soul shatters. Broken sobs tear out of me as I clutch my handbag in my good hand. I cry for what I'm becoming, what I've lost, and how the end of my life is turning out. At first, I don't hear the pounding on the door. When the noise breaks through my despondency, I rise up on my knees and turn the bolt. I sneak it open a crack and meet Kiki's eyeball. “Oh my god... Faren! Baby, what's wrong?”

What is right? My chin sinks to my chest, and my tears soak the bit of material that makes up the bodice of my dress. The door swings wide, smacking against the wall stop. Strong hands lift me by my armpits. My bad hand thumps Kiki, and a nervous laugh chuffs out of her. “What the hell?” She kicks the door closed and looks down at the stiff material of my dress. Her eyes rise to my swollen ones. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.” I shake my head, tearing off the dress. Somehow, as I trip out of the thing, the fringe comes away and tiny glass beads skitter across the scarred

wood floor like rioting gems. The music of their escape scrapes across my raw nerves, and I hitch in another sob. “Okay,” Kiki says, throwing up a hand. “We're getting you out of this...” She wrinkles her nose and picks up the ruined dress with her long nails. “Dress, and getting you into a hot shower.” I laugh. Water won’t wash away my crimes, my grief... my sins. Her brows sink low over her brown eyes. She’s so full of compassion that I look away. She grabs my arm, and I let her herd me into the bathroom. When the pipes stop groaning, I step into the spray. I let the warm water trail over my face, gather in my open mouth, and fall across my body.

Kiki’s silhouette remains a ghost of shadow through the opaque shower curtain. I don't know how long I stand there, but when my fingers prune and the water begins cooling, I raise them in front of my face. My abused left hardly twitches. The steam and heat of the shower had restored most of its function. The bright pink scars crisscross my palm, and I squeeze it. Kiki's shadow has departed. My hand jumps, and I force it to soap my body. I take my time, putting myself back together piece by piece. When every part of me is clean, I move out of the shower and towel off. I tuck the edges of the towel underneath

my armpits and move to the door, surrounded by a cloud of steam. I hear low voices and hesitate on the threshold of the open bathroom door. I take a few deep breaths and pass through. I’m not surprised when Mick greets me from my couch. He holds up his phone. “You don't answer your texts.” Oh yeah... midnight. My eyes shift to my clock. It's twelve fifteen. I nod and turn away, heading to my bedroom. I shut the door softly. I can't handle Mick tonight. I feel like the worst kind of human being. I’m losing everything that's ever mattered to me. Mick can't fix it, and he can't take away

how he makes some of his money. Nor can I stop my feelings for him. I jerk on sweatpants and a cami, leaving my feet bare. I walk out of my room with my dripping hair and face free of makeup. “What are you doing here?” Kiki blanches. “He was worried... and so was I.” She gives him a covert glance. God, they're ganging up on me. “There's no reason to worry.” I turn toward the stove. It's pretty easy to act emotionless when I'm so numb. If I can perform one normal task, I have a hope of getting past this recent batch of misery. I feel Kiki behind me. Her soft-

scented vanilla body spray heralds her arrival. “Faren,” she says in a low voice, “just tell him. Maybe he can help.” Does Kiki think I don't want his help? That I haven't rolled the obvious around in my mind 102 times? I have, and I won't. I need Mick's money, but he has something I want more. I have almost enough to erase my mom's debt from the clinic. One more stint of laps, and I'll be free of that. It won't stop the pole dancing after the laps are through, but if I never see another lap in my life it'll be too soon. I'll still need the cash from a few times per week at the pole for my mom's monthly care. Or that debt I've danced so hard to get rid of will

come back to take a second bite out of my ass. “No,” I answer just as quietly. Kiki lays her face between my shoulder blades and sighs. “I can't make you, but he's not stupid.” “She's right, I'm not.” Just his voice makes warmth spread from places that had been dry and quiet moments before. How can I respond sexually to anything after what happened only a couple of hours ago? I can't answer. I don't know. Kiki slips away from behind me as my hand grips the kettle. I feel Mick’s heat behind me, radiating through my thin cami. I shiver

as his hands drop to my shoulders. His fingers dig in almost painfully when he leans forward. “Let me in, Faren. Please.” I can't fight them anymore, my best friend and this man who is wealthy beyond my wildest imaginings. He can have anyone he wishes, and it’s me he pursues. My grip leaves the kettle, and Mick feels my subtle shift. I turn, and his hold on my shoulders softens just enough to allow it. When I face him, he crushes me tight. I shake in his arms, and Mick lifts my chin with a finger. Tears leak from my eyes all over again. “Hey, hey,” he says, kissing each eyelid. “What's wrong?” When my tears

become too much for his lips, he chuckles and wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs. “I can't stop this, but I want to try.” I look at him through the waterworks and see Kiki behind him with her arms folded. Her eyes beg me to accept help. From him, from her... from anyone. I put my forehead against his chest so I don't have to meet his eyes. His hand strokes my spine, his fingertips going from the top of my backbone to the bottom and trailing up again. I speak into his chest, “I don't want to use you.” The truth eases out of me like a feather on the wind. “Use me, Faren. I want you to,”

Mick answers. “Yeah, use him,” Kiki pipes in, and I smile through my sadness. Mick chuckles. “Listen to your best friend.” I tilt my head back. “You mean listen to you?” His eyes search mine. His fingertip brushes away the last of my tears, and he nods. “Yeah, that's what I mean.” I feel my arms creep around his waist, and Kiki claps. “Thank god,” she squeals in a whisper that sounds like a hushed shout. “Yes.” Mick doesn't ambush me with his mouth but sips slowly, awakening me anew.

I rise on my tiptoes and press back. I hate that a small part of me clings to a hope I don't have, that I don't deserve. It's wrong. Except, in Mick's arms, it feels so right.

~ 12 ~ Thorn I can't quit. I need one more lap gig to make that last ten thousand. One more horrible, soul-sucking dive into the abyss of loss. Of who I am. I don't have a penny. I've paid every dime to my mom's debt, and the balance stands at only ten thousand. Only. I sigh. My thinking about money has become so skewed. This last gig will tip the scales, and she won't be moved to the state facility. I breathe through my nervousness as Thorn stares holes through me. His chair creaks as he tips it

backward, his muscular weight forcing it to accept his movements. He ignores its protests and taps an elegantly appointed lighter on his desk. “Faren... you know how much I enjoy you.” He tips the lighter upside down. Tap. Flips it right side up. Tap. I cringe. Yeah, I know. He smiles at my obvious discomfort. I nod but say nothing. Flip. Tap. My eyes key in on that lighter, the silver winking as he flips it. I hate it. Hate him. He tosses it to the desk with a final resounding tap. Thorn swivels to the side and stands. He walks around the desk, sets

an ass cheek at the edge, and folds his huge arms in front of him. “We can't have a repeat performance of what happened with Jay.” My hands twist in my lap. “I... I wasn't expecting...” Heat bites my skin like a colony of fire ants. “Your little starfish to get a tap?” Thorn's so vulgar. I think I hate that about him the most. I glare at him, letting all the loathing I feel fill my expression. He barks out a laugh. “I should make you give me another lap dance because I know you hate it. Hate me.” I stay silent. I can't speak because I can't contain myself. I keep looking down, trying not to out myself.

“Look at me.” I raise my eyes to his. His dark face is perfectly sculpted, every feature beautiful separately, even better together. Thorn works hard on his physique. The tattoo sleeves that cover both arms are mere shadows against his dark brown skin. But his eyes are vacant of understanding, compassion... feelings. “You have one chance to redeem yourself, or it'll be off with your head,” he says, laughing manically. I seethe but nod. “You looked green at the last venue, and that can’t happen again.” “Even with your behavior, you're a favorite.” Thorn's eyes bore into mine. I lift my chin. This big, beautiful

man with a black heart will not cow me. I can't allow even the finest crack in my composure. I need this. Tannin Mitchell needs it. So I wait, my breath held as he lets me stew. “An associate of mine has thrown his hat in the ring, so to speak,” he says, letting out another dark chuckle. But his amusement overrides everything. “Who?” I ask, hoping for Jay. Gross as our dance was, I'd rather have the evil I know than one I don't. One more time. “Ron.” I feel my mouth open and close like a fish out of water. Thorn nods, spreading his hands

apart. “You should be happy. He paid the big bucks and the cops came. He didn't get his piece of the pie.” My eyes flip to his. I wish I'm wrong, but I know I'm not. “The Faren pie.” When I stand, my handbag falls to the floor and the contents spill out. My hands fist as I hiss, “I am not food.” “You're what and who I tell you to be. If you want to suck up the cash, you need to do the deed. Period.” Thorn makes me sick. But sicker still is being forced into dancing for my assailant. “Does your boss know how you get girls to participate in your pathetic merry-go-around?” Thorn jerks his chin back.

“McKenna? You think Mr. Bleeding Heart is aware of this?” I stumble back. I think over my interactions with Mick, how certain things didn't fit. Thorn's perfect inky brows pull together, and he laughs. “What? You thought that McKenna...” I nod, and he scrubs the short black nap on his skull. Thorn shakes his head, palming his chin. “No. Jared McKenna plays everything above-board. He does not have a bead on this... game.” “It's not a game. We're people, Thorn.” He shakes his head. “You're a bunch of girls who give rich dudes what they need. You can't play innocent when you

rub your kitty against the pony.” I kick up my chin. “I could tell him.” I lay my fingertips over the lips he'd kissed. If I tell Mick, then he'll oust Thorn and I can come clean. “I know,” Thorn says with a smirk. “What? What do you know?” My eyes become slits as I glare at him. “I know you're McKenna's new plaything. Why do you think I don't force you for personal laps?” His words are a slap in the face. My thoughts scatter like dandelion seed on the wind. I stare, my hands loosening, and dizziness seizes me again. I grip the chair behind me with my right hand. I fight against it, hoping I won't get a

headache to remind me of my short path. Thorn sees me sway, and his arm reaches out to steady me. I jerk back unsteadily. His eyes are on me, his hand encircling my arm with bruising force. “You tell him about the laps, and I'll tell him you work it.” He's collecting money behind Mick's back. Blackmail in its purest form. My vision narrows to a pinpoint of light. Thorn's face fills it. “Test me,” he provokes. I don't. Instead, I feel my right orbital region explode with pain so acute, it staggers me, and I fold where I stand. It's the only time I’ve seen Thorn

have an expression other than contempt, greed, or lust. That emotion surprises me as consciousness departs, and it follows me down the spiral of darkness. Fear.

#

Faren collapses, narrowly escaping discovery upon hearing traumatic news delivered by

Thorn. When Thorn becomes her uneasy accomplice in the deception of Mick, Faren decides she needs to come clean with the truth. Shelving her pride might be the last thing she wants to do, but as facts and actions continue to contradict one another, her hands become tied in the lies she creates to survive. Faren only needs one last lap dance to erase the final debt that hangs over her mother's head like a cloud of doom. But when Ronnie Bunce circles closer to Faren and threatens the last sanctuary she possesses, circumstances unravel to reveal lies that run deeper than she knew. Can Faren and Mick consummate their passion before her deceit is discovered? Or will the last dance be the ultimate loss?

THE TOKEN A Token Series Novella

Volume 3 New York Times Bestselling author

MARATA EROS All Rights are Reserved. Copyright © 2014 Marata Eros This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Marata Eros Website Marata Eros FB Fan Page Editing suggestions provided by Red Adept Editing

“Love sears the heart immortal The embers burnt down to the token which remains ....”

“... Driving towards the daylight, running from the midnight, trying to get my way home. Running from the spotlight, trying to find the daylight, trying to get back home....”

JOE BONAMASSA- guitarist and singer

~1~ Light. Searing and complete. My eyes remain shut, but I feel a deep burning behind my heavy eyelids. A sharp click like a pen closing. Then, “When did this happen?” I think I know that voice. “I don't know, a couple of hours ago.” A pause. “We were talking and then”—I hear the shrug in his voice —“she just folded like a deck of cards.” I know that voice. Thorn. My eyes open slowly. The bright light is gone, and Doctor Clive Matthews’s compassionate gaze comes into focus.

“Hi there, Miss Mitchell.” I say nothing. Thorn is here. Where is here? I look around, my neck stiff and see that I'm in another hospital room. Great. “Your boyfriend said you fainted.” Oh, my God. My head swivels to Thorn, and he grins back. His hands are jammed in his designer denims, his sleeve tats in full relief. “Ah...” I croak. The good doctor gets a cup of water and bends the straw to my mouth. I sip, leveling a death stare at Thorn. I finish and open my mouth to deny Thorn's claim of any attachment to me.

Before I can speak, Thorn says, “Doctor Matthews said that you shouldn’t be working so hard in your condition.” My head turns to Matthews, and I narrow my eyes to slits of condemnation. Had he told Thorn? His brows rise. “I thought we talked about management, Miss Mitchell.” His brows fall as his head cocks to the side. “You agreed you would minimize your activity as part of that plan.” Thorn looks on with keen interest, his eyes ping ponging from Matthews to me. I have to take this in hand, but I'm not sure how. I mentally recap. Matthews believes

Thorn is my boyfriend. I don't know if Thorn knows I'm terminally ill, but he knows something is up. Mick doesn't know about the lap venues, but Thorn holds that over my head. It's a circle of madness and deception I can't decipher. I close my eyes against the chaos that my life has become. Just then, my cell sounds a text chime, and all eyes move to my purse. “Want me to get that, babe?” Thorn asks, his tone light and his eyes dark. “No,” I answer through gritted teeth, “let it go to voice mail.” Doctor Matthews pats my knee through the hospital gown. “I'd like to keep you here for twenty-four hours.” He

sees my face and chuckles. “But I know you won't stay for that.” I nod. Damn straight I'm not going to stay here. “You're free to go, but remember what we agreed on.” Matthews looks at me before his eyes slide to Thorn. I nod quickly, hoping that Thorn doesn't know everything. He already knows too much. * “Get out of my room,” I tell Thorn the instant Matthews leaves as I hike the blankets to my chin.

“No,” he says. I scowl, and he waits. An exhale rushes out of me. “I don't owe you an explanation.” His chin kicks back, and a large hand scrubs his short hair. “Uh, yeah, ya do.” His dark eyes peg me to the bed. I stubbornly say nothing. “Listen, Faren, I've got a good thing going with these lap gigs. McKenna runs his uppity-whitey shit—” “Whitey shit?” I ask, my fingers coming up in airquotes. He gives a stiff nod. “Yeah. McKenna and I go way back, same hood.” My brows meet above my eyes. I didn’t expect that revelation.

Mick had told me he was self-made. His intellect isn’t in doubt. But that edge that he wears—his dark, gritty side? Here's the proof. Thorn isn't an accident as an employee. There's a real man hidden inside the suave shell of the billionaire that everyone else sees. “So you're a charity hire?” I confront. Thorn steps forward, his expression flashing from neutral to angry. “You don't know jack shit, girl.” We stare at each other. “I know you're skimming money with the revolving lap venue,” I say. “That McKenna remains unaware.” Thorn scowls, rubbing his face then putting his large hands on his hips. I

watch his tats undulate with the movement and swallow. I can't deny Thorn scares me on a primitive level. Or maybe any level. “And I know that you like boss man,” he says. I shake my head, but my expression gives me away. “Yeah,” he says, nodding and palming his chin. “You dig my man Mick.” “How did you know I was... seeing him?” Am I seeing him? Oh yes. “I know it's real because my bro doesn't dish on the cracks unless he's

serious.” “Cracks?” I ask miserably. Thorn nods. “Y'know, chicks?” Oh my god. His vulgarity knows no bounds. “Please leave so I can dress,” I ask as politely as possible. “Yeah, fine.” Thorn nails me with a hard stare and pops his thumb into his chest. “Then we're gonna chat, you and me.” I nod. Anything to get rid of him. I wait until the door clicks behind him, then I swing my legs around and wait for the dizziness. When none comes, I let the breath I've been holding leave me.

The floor leeches the heat from my feet as I walk to the bathroom and lock myself inside. Some wonderful nurse has hung my things on the back hook, and I smile, tearing off the offending hospital gown. I look in the mirror and see a pale, pinched face. I stuff myself back into my clothes, slide my feet into my shoes, and walk back into the room. “What took all that time?” Thorn asks, lounging against the door jamb. “Let's go,” I say. He moves to take my elbow, and I wrench it away from him. “Don't touch me.” Thorn wags a finger. “It'll look suspicious if I don't act like the

concerned boyfriend.” He leans in, his grip on my elbow a painful circle. “Besides, we've done a lot more than this.” Shame engulfs me. A flush of anger mixed with embarrassment slides up my face, and he chuckles. “Good girl.” Or bad, from my perspective. His brand new, fire-engine red Porsche 911 turbo Carerra hugs the curb like a screaming jewel. The color yells nouveau riche to all who stroll by. Mick probably has ten of these tucked away somewhere, though I've only seen him ride the Harley. I swallow hard at that memory. “Hey?” Thorn says, and I realize

I've allowed him to drag me to his car. “Get in.” Right. So we can chat. Accepting help from Thorn isn't smart. He's probably keeping a mental score card of favors, and mine is adding up. I don't need any more debt. But I have to get home. I sigh and dig at the handle from the top and clamp my good hand inside it like a claw, jerking it open. The heavy door swings across the curb, inching over the sidewalk with a whisper of space between the shiny red metal and the cement. I breathe through the look Thorn gives me when he sees the door hovering a fraction of an inch above the sidewalk.

“Good thing you didn't damage the goods.” His eyes bore into mine. “I'd have to reconsider taking it out of your hide.” Wonderful. The prick. I lower myself into his car. It's like lying down in a bed, it's so low to the ground. I scoop my hand into the handle and shut the door as Thorn smoothly pulls away. We travel silently for a few minutes, and I watch his hands shift and maneuver in traffic. I wonder what Thorn could have been if he wasn't a rich thug. He's somehow a boyhood friend of Mick’s. That fills me with unease because I can't reconcile the two.

His hands clench the wheel, and I know I can't get out of our chat. “So… what made you face plant? Believe me, if you're some sickie, I can't have you passing out all over the laps.” Thanks for the compassion, asshole. The laps. It always comes full circle to that. His eyes land on me for a beat then slide away. “I have a business, Faren. I know you think I'm a cold prick.” I laugh—I can't help it. He's so right. He frowns, tightening his grip on the steering wheel, taking me down familiar streets. There's no way I'm telling him. “A

business that's behind Mick's back,” I say instead. He pulls over at a curb. The meter clicks to a glaring red expired as I look. The engine rumbles, causing our bodies to tremble. “And the first girl I've ever heard Mick talk about is a cum-sponge for old pervs.” His eyebrows cock, and my face flames. My hands twist in my lap, and I don't reply. “Not so high and mighty now, are we?” Thorn asks softly. I don't move when he snatches my left hand off my lap. I can't. He's that strong, that fast. He flips my palm over, and my

fingers helplessly clutch against his hand. Thorn's eyes meet mine. “What the fuck is this?” I shake my head and hope he'll let it drop. I know he won't. “I... I had an accident... about four years ago.” “Bullshit.” His black eyes blaze into mine, his hand tightens, and a little whimper breaks the seal of my lips. “Please.” I breathe through the pain. His eyes flash to mine before he drops my hand. It twitches between us. I won't be able to use it for a few minutes. My eyes meet his. “I know accidents,” Thorn says

slowly. “This isn't no accident.” I swallow, clearing my throat. “How do you know?” My voice is quiet inside the purring car, my body tense. Our gazes lock. “Because.” His hand gently lifts my palm as it spasms between us and runs a finger over the scar at the center. “I know knives.” Of course he does.

~2~ I can feel myself begin to thaw toward Thorn as we sit there beside the curb in his purring Porsche. The silence seems to bind us together as we commune over our differences- our sameness. He hasn't coerced a confession out of me yet. The man who forces lap dances on all the new girls and asks no questions. I am so sure I know exactly who he is, what motivates him, only to realize that I'm not the only one who is guarding secrets. I startle when a street cop comes up to my window and give the glass a sharp

tap with his knuckle. A blue uniform and irritated eyes blare into mine. Thorn raises his middle finger and pulls away. I turn. My hand presses against the window as I watch the meter cop take down Thorn's plate number. “That wasn't smart!” I laugh, whipping around and sinking back against the seat. He laughs too. “No, it was stupid, but if felt fucking great.” I nod. I understand great. I mean, I did. “Listen, sweet cheeks,” Thorn begins. I glare at him again, and he

chuckles. “You're so easy to get worked up.” I think of Mick's hands on my body and I can't deny Thorn's claim. But not for what he thinks. “Truce?” Thorn asks, his face in profile. “What does that mean?” I ask. I’m hoping for an alliance, even an uneasy one he seems to offer. “It means you don't tell Mick I'm doing the merry-go-laps, and I don't tell him you're riding the ponies.” I get a visual of a carousel filled with wooden horses that have the faces of men I've danced on. I hear the dry click as I swallow. Another lie.

Another secret. I concede. “Okay.” “You can always go back to the poles,” Thorn suggests. His shadowed face turns to mine. “Just be one of Ty's pole girls.” I stare at him, and he smirks as his eyes travel to the street again. I say nothing. “That's what I thought. You need the cash.” I move my left hand under my right. A nervous habit. “Why?” Thorn asks, inching closer to First Street. “Do you have to know?” I don't want him knowing about my mom.

He laughs. “No.” His face swings to mine as he pulls into my narrow alley and the cobblestones make us bounce as he slows. “Remember when I told you how you walk?” I nod, my eyes dropping. How could I forget? “You said that I was... a... whore.” My voice drops on that last word. I don't deny it. I'm splitting hairs at this point. “I've gotta be tough, Faren. There's no way to survive this biz without my shit in one sock.” I wait. He sighs, raking his hand over his skull cap of black hair. “I said you walk like a whore. I didn't say you were a

whore.” We stare at each other. I offer my hand, and he takes it. One light pump, and it's done. “I'm a fucked up dude,” he says. “Just so long as you know it. I'm not soft on the bitches—I can't afford to be. But I don't let any violence or hooking shit go down on my watch.” My eyes search his. “What about the extras?” “That's up to the girls.” He shrugs. Thorn leans forward, and I press back against the door. “I'm not gonna hurt you.” Right. A truce is one thing, trust is another. Mine doesn't come easily;

Ronnie trained me well. “No girl is getting the beef stick during laps. If she wants to spread the peanut butter on her time... I'm not policing that.” I blink, processing his words. “Speaking of...” The raid plays out in every corner of my skull, and I wince from the memory. “those cops...” Thorn nods, intercepting my thoughts like catching the football from the quarterback. “Yeah, I won't lie. That was close.” Yeah, it was. “I don't like lying to Mick,” I say. The first absolute truth I've spoken since this whole mess began. Thorn exhales in a rush. “Me

either.” “Then why do you do it?” “Why do you?” he counters. I can't. I just can't. Thorn's eyes move to the rearview mirror and widen. “Fuck me.” His tone of voice puts me on high alert. “What?” My hand flies to my chest as I turn to see what he does. Thorn revs the engine. “Get your head down!” I press my head between my legs as he guns it, shooting out of the alley. I pop my head up as he accelerates headlong into a hole in traffic that's hardly more than a gap. His wheels screech as he depresses

the gas, shifting hard into second and ripping the wheel to the left as he zooms into the two lane opposing traffic load. I hit the door hard. “Holy shit!” I scream, ducking my head again. “Yeah!” Thorn hoots, punching the roof. “That rocked balls!” He decelerates, and I ask meekly, “Can I sit up?” “Oh yeah, go ahead.” I lift my head up and wilt against the seat. A leaky sound escapes, and I notice it's my breath. “God, what the hell was that about?” “Not what—who.” I look at him as he circles back toward my street. We crawl along in stop-and-go traffic in front of Pike Place

Market. “Mick.” “No,” I reply in a wheeze. “Yeah.” * Detour Thorn drives past my turn off, and I say, “Hey, where are we going?” “You want to explain to Mick what you're doing with me?” Not really. He watches my face. “I didn't think so.” I look at his strong hands, the tat sleeves bleeding up his arms and ask, “So what's the plan?”

“I'll drop you off somewhere else.” “Where?” He pulls up at a building and parks. I see my mom's clinic, and my heart stops. I whip around to hit him. “Don't.” Thorn's eyes are hard. “I'm not a complete asshole, but I'm no punching bag either.” He saw the violence in my eyes that fast. Thorn is brutal around the edges, and the potential for instant physicality surrounds him. My breathing picks up. “How did you know I was going to hit you?” “You're nothing but a big tell, Faren.” My brow cocks.

Thorn laughs. “Y'know, like poker.” I give him blank face. “Yeah, okay. Everyone has subtle body signals that give away what they’re gonna do next. Your tells are big.” Oh. “That's not good,” I admit. Thorn laughs. “You really wanted to give me the smack down?” “Yeah.” Thorn's humor seeps away. “Nobody abuses me. Ever.” I nod. Got it. “You knew about my mom.” I fold my arms as my eyes wither him with a glare. “Google. I Google every name I hire.” His eyes glitter in the dome light

when I open the passenger door. Bunce. “Then you know I can't do that dance with Ron.” I guess Thorn doesn't know him as Ronnie. Thorn frowns, clearly bewildered. “I know you don't like the laps—I get that. But the dude laid down some serious cash, and you're gonna have to dance that lap. Cops breaking it up or not. He wants a big time raincheck.” Thorn spreads his hands. “I got a rep, ya feel me?” I did, but I had been hoping that Thorn’s little compassionate streak might extend to this. I hold up my palm. “He did this to me.” His eyes widen, and his surprise

hums along with the powerful engine underneath the hood. He strokes the scar with his thumb, my fingers curling inward with every stroke. I want to snatch my hand away from the disconcerting intimacy. “Yeah?” he asks softly. I can only nod, my eyes are so full of tears. Thorn is a silhouette of muscled black, his image wavering through the water of my sadness. He puts my hand back on my lap and looks into my eyes. “I'll see what I can do...” “Thorn... no,” I groan. “I can't... I can't face him- that way.” Thorn sighs, his head slapping the

back of the seat. “Fuck, I didn't know.” “It's the fucking mother of all coincidences. But... it's gotta come out of someone's hide.” My eyes widen. I get one leg out of the car, wanting to escape this conversation so badly the city air feels like a salve. “Don't freak on me,” he says. “Let me see what I can do. But, Faren?” I turn. “Maybe think about going back to poles.” “Why?” I ask. I only have to do one last lap auction. Then my mom will be debt free, and I'll only have to cover the monthly expenses. A couple poles a

week will take care of that. “Some chicks can't tolerate the laps.” Some chicks don't need it like I do. “I don't think Mick will forgive ya for the laps. He might for the poles.” Thorn's warning me, giving me an out before it's too late. But I don't need Mick's forgiveness. There's only one thing I need from him. That's a secret I've only shared with Kiki; I'm not sharing it with Thorn. To him, I'm just a desperate girl who’s been dealt a raw hand. No bad pun intended. I feel a little bubble of hysterical laughter beg to escape.

In his own skewed way, Thorn's trying to help. “Why are you helping me?” Thorn's eyes slide away, and I realize I should take his olive branch and run. “I don't know,” he says, carefully avoiding my eyes. “Mick would want me to.” “What?” I laugh. “You're doing these shitty lap venues behind his back and you're worrying about...” I lift my shoulders. “If he knew what you were screwed up in... hell,” Thorn hits the steering wheel of his fancy car and I jump. “He'd...?” I prompt, my eyes searching his face.

“He'd kill anyone who touched you.” I think about how tender Mick is with me. “Mick doesn't do halfway. He's an all the way kinda dude.” “He can have anyone,” I halfexplain. “No shit.” He jacks his eyebrows up and gives me a look that says he questions my intellect. “He's got history. Trust me, you don't want to put him in a position where he feels he needs to protect you.” “Why? Tell me about him,” I say. Thorn lifts his chin toward the open car door. “It's not my story to tell. And my cup of care is all filled up right now,

so why don't you scoot your ass out.” His eyes are softer, but that hard edge is still there, still sharp. “Okay.” This is all I’ll get out of him. For now. I get out and shut the door. His red streak of a car screams away from the curb, and the smell of rubber fills my nostrils as I trudge up the stairs to see my mom.

~3~ The doctor stops me before I enter her room, and my heart drops like a stone in a lake. The ripples and splash are seen and heard only by me. “What is it?” I ask. Dizziness assails me, and I remember that I collapsed with Thorn, that I'm damn lucky Matthews hadn't kept me overnight. I swallow against what feels like a panic attack, and when I open my eyes, I'm calmer. My mother's primary caregiver comes into sharp focus. “Are you okay, Miss Mitchell?” Hell no. “Yes.” My eyes move around him to

my mom's door. “Is… my mom okay?” His face breaks into a smile, and my life changes that fast. A rare sunny day in overcast Seattle pierces my mom’s room with late afternoon sunlight. By habit, my eyes trace over the tubes that have kept my mom's meager existence going. But they're gone. Tannin Mitchell is breathing unassisted. Her eyes are shut, the withering look is there, but the bloom is back on the rose. Soft pink unfolds across her cheekbones as if brushed on. I move closer to her bed and softly

stroke her cheek. Without warning, her eyes pop open, but they're not hers. “Hello, Faren,” Ronnie Bunce says, his eyes inside my mother's face, latching onto mine like a bird that catches sight of its prey. I pinwheel backward, screaming as I fall. Into blackness. “No!” I scream, clutching damp sheets as I sit straight up in bed. I'm in between, that place where a nightmare seems truly real, a dream that still clings to me with tenacious fingers. My eyes search every surface of my

room. I come up with nothing out of place. My personal effects mock me from their benign place in my life. Inanimate, unreal. I fall back against the bed as my galloping heart slows to a trot. I try to regain the sense of joy I felt when my mom's doctor told me she's woken up, that she lives. Not in that vegetative existence where she might thrash on a good day, breaking the surface of the unconscious water she drowns in. On a bad one, Tannin Mitchell appears as if she has already left this world. I sit up again and stare vacantly into the dim emptiness of my room. The

clock fills the silence with its ticking. I feel something land on my left hand, oozing wetness into the well of my scar. My tears. I dread tomorrow. Not my day job. But the night. I turn and see the clock reads three thirty. I slide my cell off the nightstand and scroll through my messages. Two from Mick. My palm dampens against the hard shell of my phone. A soft flutter like moth's wings ignites inside my stomach. Mick: Faren, text me. Mick: Are you okay?

I smile. No, I'm not okay. I put the cell down next to my body and close my eyes. It's late and I have no right to respond. I've screwed things up six ways to Sunday. I grab the cell and text him anyway. Me: I'm okay. I wait five minutes. I watch the numbers on my digital clock flip over into my uncertain future. Me: You awake? I hold the cell in my good hand.

He'll text. I roll over and settle into the warm nest of my covers, knowing I have to be at the clinic by eight. I don't feel my eyes close as my hand wraps my cell. It sits against my chest like the teddy bear I no longer sleep with. What seems like seconds later, the alarm sounds. It blares its rhythmic discordance like a tortured duck. I slam my hand down on the button, and blessed silence ensues. Thank god. I sit up, wiping my eyes and feeling like shit. I rummage through my covers,

hunting for my cell phone. I find it buried in my pillowcase. I scroll through texts from work, from Kiki. No texts from Mick. My stomach falls to my feet, and heat floods my system. I think of Thorn evading Mick in my alley yesterday and wonder if it was the last time. Maybe Mick figures I'm too much of a pain in the ass. He'd be right. I get up and stretch. I pad into the kitchen, make my tea, and head for the bathroom. I crank on the shower. When steam rises, I jerk off my pajama bottoms and cami and sink into

the spray in abject relief. I think of Mick as my hands glide over my body, my slippery fingers touching every bit of me. I linger at all the places I want him to touch. I crank the faucet to cold, and it jerks me out of my reverie, my desire to climax so I can control myself around Mick. I hold myself back from pleasure. It's a savage torture of my want versus the experience I must have. If he gives me a chance to redeem myself, I want to be so primed for the pump that nothing can stop us. No excuse. No truth. Just my need to take Mick.

Before he takes me. * I bolt my door and turn, instantly stumbling over something. Another card. Wrapped in elastic and attached to my mask. The mask I misplaced! I do a mental facepalm and cringe. How does he know it's mine? My brows come together as I rack my brain. Maybe it's an innocent “find.” One that doesn't warrant a total meltdown of my threadbare control of my emotional fabric. I bend over, retrieve the mask, remove it from the card, unlock my door,

and throw the mask inside without a glance. Closing my door, I lock it again and turn the card over. My heart thumps harder. Came by to see you. Out of town for a few days. Mick I run my thumb over the deep, hastily scratched cursive. I feel each indent. I caress his signature twice. The rasp of my flesh over his penmanship evokes a sharp pang of lust mixed with longing. I slip my phone out of my smock

pocket and look at the texts from Mick. They're from before Thorn and I almost blew it in the alley. Just the thought of any kind of collusion with Thorn sets my teeth on edge. I still can't get a feel for him. But I have different things to consider with his new information. Mick doesn't know about the laps. It doesn't get him completely off the hook with me though. I mean, he's still okay with making some of his money off pole dancers. And I'm hypocrite enough to be pissed about it. In a roundabout way, he's providing for my mom's care. I cringe and put my cell inside my

pocket, along with the card. My fingertips linger on the thick paper. Can I afford my pride anymore? What kind of game is Mick playing? What kind am I? I move into the freight elevator and slam it shut. It lurches down and lands at the bottom with a teeth-slamming crunch. I flinch, step out, and high tail it to the door. I look left and right, letting the building door close behind me. I notice my VW is sandwiched between two cars. My off-street parking is not-goinganywhere parking today. I can't back out without ramming the yahoos who take

parallel parking to a new level. Shit. I guess I'm going to get some exercise. I know it's not part of the protocol Doctor Matthews has in mind. I imagine him saying, “Brain tumor patients shall not run to work.” Well fuck it. I run. * I grab Trixie’s thigh hard as she does a particularly good hamstring extension. I feel for the proper lift, hardness of muscle, and method. It's perfect. She grunts, staving off another with

five seconds of unapproved respite. “Come on,” I encourage, “one more.” “It's killing me!” I know. “Give me one more real one. Otherwise you're just going through the motions. I'd rather see five real than twenty fakers.” “Gah!” She bellows like an enraged cow and pushes through the last set. She collapses against the weight bench underneath her, arms dangling like limp noodles. I pat her leg. “Don't touch me,” she barks. “Grumpy,” I answer in a neutral tone, though I can feel the smile in my voice.

Trixie whirls around, her mousy hair and thin body like a whip that doesn't sit still. “Where am I at, Faren?” I hate to say, but I know what she's asking. “There's still a good amount of atrophy.” Trixie's hazel eyes narrow at my evasion. “How. Much.” I fold my arms. “You're organic, Trixie, not a robot. Each patient is different. I'm not here to defeat you, but to encourage you.” “With pain?” she asks, disbelieving. My lips twitch. I've heard that so many times I've lost count. “Yes. We don't call this ‘the torture chamber’ for nothing.”

She stands and looks up into my face. “What do you estimate?” Her shoulders droop, her mouth a grim line. Yet, I deliver news that makes her face fall further. I never lie to my patients. Only myself. * I slide my patient folder through the glass slot and meet Sue's eyes. “How's Doc Matthews?” she asks, flicking a finger through the sheets page by page, swiping stickies away where they're not needed. I say nothing at first.

Sue looks up over her eyeglasses. The bottoms of her eyes are magnified, and the tops are sharp. Focusing on me. Those two words—brain cancer —stick in my throat like a burr, and I want to spit them out. Instead, I swallow the lump in my throat and force a smile. “He's great.” Sue exhales in obvious relief. “So you're feeling better?” I nod, also true. Except for the terrible headache attack yesterday and fainting, I've never felt better. I smile at how easy it is for me to dismiss the horrible incident when the little ones are becoming less

frequent. Of course, it could be the calm before the storm. My smile fades with my pessimism. I turn to go, hiding my face to shroud my thoughts. “Oh, Faren!” Sue calls out and I turn back. She waves a mask at me. The twilight doesn't fail to catch the refractions the Swarovski crystals fling around the room like tiny diamonds in flight. I can't speak. I left that stupid thing inside my apartment. I know it. The mask that I had misplaced, that Mick found and used as a handy

message-holder. My belly does an unwieldy flop. “Who... what?” I ask. Sue is obviously pleased she’d remembered to give it to me. She slides it through the slot. It sparkles as it moves. “He said it was yours.” “Who?” I ask again, my voice fragile. Sue's brows draw together, and she shrugs. “Some man. He says you dropped it outside the office.” I stand there like a zombie, and my bad hand gives a vicious jerk. My good one is softly fisted around the damning mask. “Is something wrong?” Sue looks as

if she's about to dive around the partition and tackle me in full-on mother hen style. “No!” I say, a little more harshly than I mean to. “It's mine. Just a little leftover Halloween stuff still running around in my purse.” Sue nods, but her eyes track me in a way they never have before. I'm getting more attention than I want from a co-worker. But that's the least of my worries. My stepfather has been in my house.

~4~ My body freezes outside my apartment building in fear. Strobes flare at me in greeting, red then blue, pulsing in the descending twilight. The sunset bleeds away as I approach my building and a cop car stands sentinel by the glass doors. My thoughts fill with Ronnie. Cop cars at my apartment, dumped mask like a message... I can think of only one conclusion. Out with pessimism, in with realism. I'm not a fan of coincidence. My hand only trembles a little when I whip out my cell and text Kiki. Me: Holy shit, the cops are at my

building Kiki has her phone glued to her ass. Unless she's in the shower, she'll reply. I wait until my cell pings. I look down and give a nervous laugh. Kiki: What in the fuckinstein is happening? Are you ok? Am I okay? Hell no. Ronnie had my mask; he knows where I live. I'm not safe. Oh god—I'm not safe. Me: No... Yeah, I'm okay but Kik— can you come over?

I'm finally asking for help. Kiki: Gah! I can't, I've got poles tonight. I've got to wiggle my ass and play grab the cash... after? Me: Yeah. Kiki: You're not lying... are you really okay? No. Me: Yes... just, come over, k? Kiki: <3 I walk toward the apartment building and see cops milling around in the small foyer.

A cop walks up to me, his badge reads Tagger. He's my height, and his watery green eyes meet my gray ones. He does that eye flick most men do when they see me. Though my sexy clinic smock gets in the way of an in-depth perusal, he still lingers for the perfunctory two-second eye rake. “I'm sorry, miss, I can't let you enter the building.” His hand hovers over me as if I'm going to sprint for it, slide across the tile, and make a home run as I land inside the elevator. Right. “I live in the building,” I say, not quite keeping the bite out of my words.

I'm tired, my feet hurt, and I'm freaked as hell about Ronnie. Now cops are telling me to get lost? Don't they effing know I am already? So lost. Tears of frustration fill my vision, scorching me as I refuse to let them fall. Instead, I level a glare at the cop who's just doing his job. Anger feels better than tears. It's not his fault he just stepped into the pile of shit that's my life. Tagger's brows rise, and he takes out a piece of paper and slides a finger down what I know must be a short list of tenants. His eyes meet mine, and they have a look. It's not easy to decipher

sandwiched between two buildings in a tight, narrow alleyway full of puddled shadows. “Faren Mitchell?” My heart pounds harder, and my hand gives a warning tremble. That's one of the “tells” Thorn spoke of. The full-on shakes might happen in a minute or two for extra fun. “Yes.” Even to me, my voice has the quality of a squished whistle. He lightly touches my elbow and I don't retreat. “I'm afraid we have some bad news.” His words hollow me. I don't think I can handle any more of the evils of life. I follow him through the door. My eyes take in my irate landlord and the

splayed guts of the security code box. “You fuckweasels didn't get here after my tenant called it in- what? Ten minutes ago?! What in the blue fuck do we pay your salary for? To goddamned respond is what!” my landlord yells. Tagger narrows his vision to a laser beam on Humphrey. His combover stands like a filthy flag on top of his head. I can just imagine him compulsively raking his pudgy fingers through it. Another cop has a little handheld device, his stylus poised but not touching. Apparently fuckweasel doesn't warrant note taking. “Faren!” Humphrey stalks over to me, and all I see is the spot of mustard

on his rumpled shirt collar. Tagger steers me into the vestibule of my apartment building. I don't miss the look he gives his partner, a significant eye jerk to Humphrey. The other cop, Scott, calls, “Mr. Humphrey! My questions are not finished.” Humphrey stops. He shoots me a scathing look that clearly says later. His fists bunch, and he pivots and walks back to officer Scott in a jerky trot. His chubby body rocks importantly when he halts in front of Scott again. He’s pissed and not bothering to hide it. Tagger shakes his head. “If it wasn't his property, we wouldn't be so lenient.”

“He's a jerk,” I say and bite my cheek. Tagger smiles, and it changes his face, erasing hard years. “Yes, duly noted.” We climb the stairs, and I slow. His hand takes my elbow. “Where are we going?” I ask. Tagger stares at me. So much in his face is left unsaid, and I can feel the blood rush to my feet. “Where?” I ask again. He sighs explosively. “It's your apartment.” I wrench my elbow out of his grip and sprint up the stairs. “Miss Mitchell!” Tagger bellows. I outpace him like an antelope on

crack. I've kept in great shape, working to get out of the hole of disability Ronnie Bunce put me in. There's only my hand now. I can't make everything right. I throw open the top floor door, slamming it against the wall and making another crack in the plaster for Humphrey to bitch about. It slaps me in the ass when Tagger crowds behind me. I groan, clutching the doorjamb, as my eyes take in my doorway. My solid wood door hangs from its hinges like a busted tooth, and I walk forward as though in a dream. Or a nightmare.

“Is it... safe?” I whisper. Tears spill, cutting fine pathways in my heart. “Yeah, but, Miss Mitchell...” “Faren,” I reply absently. “Faren, stay with me please. I can't have you running off like that.” He's not out of breath, but his eyes are tired. Tired of things I've never seen. And some that I will. “Okay.” I walk toward the torn mouth of my apartment. I step through the threshold and don't know where to look first. Everything that can be broken is. The silent tears roll on. I glide over to my stove. My pale green salt and pepper shakers sit untouched, the only perfect thing in the

wreck of my apartment. I hug them, my eyes taking in my tea kettle shattered on the floor. It had been my mom's. “Miss Mitchell...” the cop begins. I walk over to my couch, the afghans scattered everywhere. I sit and look at the couch Mick lounges on when he breaks into my apartment. God, I miss that. I laugh and hiccup at the same time. I raise my eyes to Tagger, feeling like a husk. “I'm sorry, Faren, but I have to ask you some questions.” “Someone just came and beat the shit out of my apartment and you have to ask me some questions...” I thump my

bad hand against my chest, and the salt shaker falls to the floor. We watch the salt dump all over the rug. Our eyes meet, and I think about luck. If weren't for the bad, I wouldn't have any at all. Tagger slowly stoops, pinches some of the salt, and with a deliberate fling, throws it over his shoulder. I stare at him. “For luck,” he says without an ounce of defensiveness. “Okay.” I sound shaky. I don't believe in luck. His stylus comes up above his tablet, hovering like a chopper without landing.

“Ready?” I give the barest nod. My bottom lip trembles as I try to shut off my mind—an engine that never quits. He starts in, and I respond. Where do I work? What are my hours? Everywhere. Impossible. I don't meet his eyes and that makes it easier. Do I have any enemies? I look up. Tagger shrugs. I notice his dirty blond hair needs a cut, curling above his ears. “Seems personal.” Oh... it is. His eyes run over me again and

stutter to a stop at my scarred hand. They lift to mine. His question is there, though he doesn't voice it. The cop knows the evidence of violence when he sees it, like Thorn did. He's not here to question me like a suspect, but he's suspicious. It's in the tense set of his body. I stand, and he follows me. I take a mournful mental inventory of the things in my home. I halt when I catch sight of my bed. My normal clothes are hanging in the closet. Slashed—every one. The only things that escaped destruction are my stripper outfits. Each

one of those is neatly laid out on the bed. Gooseflesh breaks out over my body, running down my arms. I move to my dresser and tear my drawers open. My panties are missing. Bras. Oh my god. I slowly turn, and Tagger gives me a neutral look. I want to hit him. “You could have warned me at least.” He shakes his head. “I needed to see your reaction.” I wipe my eyes, brushing angry tears away. “What?” I move into his personal space. “You some kind of sadist? You

get off on some freak coming in here and wrecking all my stuff?” Tagger's eyes narrow. “No, I don't, Miss Mitchell.” He stares at me then glances at the bed full of stripper clothes. “But I am mighty curious why someone would break into your apartment and wreck everything. Then they take nothing but your lingerie, and keep an assortment of very... interesting clothes in perfect condition on display for your return.” My eyes drop from his. I hear his frustration. “Is there something you're not telling me?” he asks. There is.

But if I breathe a whisper about Ronnie Bunce, I have to answer questions about laps, extras... and my newest love interest. It could be dangerous for me. It could hurt my mom. Oh yeah, officer, I'm keeping billionaire Mick McKenna around to deflower me before I die, and my crazyas-fuck stepdad wants to make good on unfinished business. They'd keep me wrapped up so tight I'd never see my mom. No way. I'm all she has. I can't be embroiled in some mess while her care hangs in the balance. “No, there really isn't,” I lie. The weight of my desperation pins every

word with a grain of truth. Love is a powerful motivator. Tagger closes his tablet with a smack. “I wish I believed you.” Me too. I stare at him, folding my arms. He sighs in frustration. “You have a place to stay?” I don't answer fast enough, and he explains, “You're not safe here. There's no way to secure the door.” I can tell he thinks I'm some kind of whacko flight risk. I open my mouth. “She'll stay with me.” We turn toward the door, looking out into my small living room at the man entering my wrecked apartment.

I heard his voice and, like Pavlov's dog, that ache settled right between my legs, heat spreading from my core to my toes. From just his voice. Tagger whirls around, his hand on the butt of his pistol. “How did you get up here?” His hand strokes the leather holster. My eyes move to Mick's, their root beer brown so deep I drown in them. “Ben Franklin let me in.” Tagger frowns. Mick holds up a one hundred dollar bill.

~5~ “Hate to break it to you, Mr. McKenna, but you can't buy me.” Tagger glares as Mick calmly plucks a billfold out of the interior pocket of his suit. “No?” Mick's brows dump above angry eyes, a tick beginning in his square jaw. “Then maybe you can explain why my girlfriend is being browbeaten by a beat cop who leaves the apartment unattended after it's been rifled through?” Girlfriend? I drink him in as he stuffs the money in his wallet. Tagger's forehead furrows, his body

going tense. “Where's Scott?” Mick removes an imaginary piece of lint from his understated, tailor-cut suit. It perfectly showcases his natural elegance. His eyes cut to Tagger. “I don't know. Why don't you find out and leave me here with Miss Mitchell? I can take it from here.” I cringe at his unflinching handling of the police. Tagger doesn't move. “We may need to assign police protection—” “That won't be necessary,” Mick cuts him off. My eyes find Tagger. “Police protection?” He shrugs, and my eyes narrow. He

makes me feel as though I’m somehow to blame, like a police liability. “You thought you might lean on Miss Mitchell until she cracked?” Mick asks. Tagger stares at Mick, his fair skin taking on a ruddy glow. I turn my attention to Mick, my mouth agape. “I'm aware of Miss Mitchell's background,” Tagger says. I somehow cover my shock. I’m so glad everyone knows everything about me and doesn’t bother to make me privy. “What does my history have to do with this?” I shoot Mick a hard look. Has he said something to Tagger? No, that

makes no sense-- unless they know each other from before. Tagger scrubs his face and scowls at Mick. “I don't know how you know anything here, McKenna.” “Sounds personal,” I mimic and Tagger gives me a thoughtful look. Mick walks over to me and puts a large warm hand at the nape of my neck. The warmth from his voice is nothing to that single touch. A searing flame races from my head to my toes, coming back to latch on to my crotch in a vicious twist of arousal. My lips part; I keep from panting from sheer will alone. I clearly need more oxygen. It doesn't matter that Tagger is

watching us like a hawk. Mick is touching me, and I can't get past that. He's a barrier I can't break, that I want to hold forever. “It is,” Tagger replies, his eyes noting Mick's hand on me. “Ben Franklin always works, Tagger.” Mick gives my neck a gentle squeeze, and a small bubble of sound escapes me. Mick glances at me, his aloof facade slipping around the edges. It's like ice melting before the passion of our contact. “It doesn't work with me, McKenna.” Mick's eyes slide back to Tagger's. “I know you're working a case.”

He does? Tagger pushes his tablet into his pocket slowly, never breaking eye contact with Mick. “I have a right to know what's going on,” I say, stepping away from Mick so I can think. I feel like the only one out of the know. Tagger knows my background, Mick does too. They seem to know each other. And Ronnie Bunce is at the heart. Maybe it beats without their knowledge. “There's been a similar... pattern of break-ins,” Tagger admits. My mouth opens then closes. “When... who?” Tagger cocks his head. “It's local, similar M.O.” Oh... maybe not Bunce.

“Hookers mainly,” Tagger says, and my face flames. Definitely Bunce. First the mask, then trashing my apartment? Mick's expression darkens. “I'm not a hooker,” I say. That rides the line of lying. Have I had intercourse during a lap? No. Have I done everything but that? Almost. And I did it for the money. I think of my mom, how it was before Ronnie and I bite my lip. That long ago memory is a bittersweet whip of velvet inside my mind. “We're not accusing you of prostitution,” Tagger says.

“You’d better not be.” Mick’s voice sounds like a growl, and I barely resist looking at him. Tagger grins, seeming to love his role of authority. “She's not your wife, Mr. McKenna. You really don't have any rights here. In fact, you being here is wrong on a lot of levels.” Tagger turns to me. “Do you feel threatened, Miss Mitchell?” “Of course!” I answer immediately. “Do you feel threatened by Mr. McKenna?” he clarifies. My eyes shift to Tagger’s as I remember Mick slamming me against walls and doors, pinning my wrists above my head while he assaulted me

with his lips. I take too long responding, and Mick looks at me. “No, I don't feel threatened by Mr. McKenna.” Mick's shoulders relax, but there's a question in his eyes that I don't want to answer. Tagger closes the distance between us, and Mick tenses again. I would love to understand the animosity between them, but I keep my mouth shut. Tagger’s arm stretches out, and I flinch. Habit. His eyes tighten at my reaction. “I won't hurt you, Miss Mitchell.” I've heard that before—about a

hundred times when the cops came and Ronnie talked to them. He could be very convincing. I imagine he had his own stockpile of George Washingtons. Tagger’s hand opens, and his card sits inside. “Take it.” I pluck the card out of his hand and slide it into the front pocket of my scrubs. “Humphrey has promised to get your door repaired within twenty-four hours, but until that happens, you'll need somewhere safe to stay.” “I said she's staying with me,” Mick says with finality. I'm so not staying with him. Too many secrets to hide.

“Right.” Tagger looks at me, unconvinced. I blush from his look that brims with assumptions. He's getting a mental image of all the slut suits on my bed along with nightly humpfests with Mick. “Fine.” He walks to my yawning, shattered doorway and turns. “There will be a follow-up.” He leaves. Tagger never did tell me what my history had to do with this. I'm the victim; he knows that. If he knows about my past, then he knows that. So why do I get the feeling he suspects me of wrongdoing? Some people have a nose for the truth.

~6~ Mick presses his fingers to my lips. “Faren, just say yes.” I lift my cell phone and wag it. “Kiki's coming over.” Though I don't know when. Mick seems to sense the cracks in my words and slides through. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear and brushes his lips over mine. Pulling away, he cradles my face, and my hands fall to my sides. “I lied,” he says in a bland voice. Oh no. I can't take any more revelations. His dark eyes search mine, his high cheekbones still splashed with color

from being outside. “You're not like the other women I've been with.” I close my eyes and feel his fingertips against my lips, “Technically we haven't been together.” My eyes open, meeting his. He grins, his perfect white teeth blazing at me. “There's time.” “Yeah, about that,” I say as I step away from Mick. His smile fades, but he continues to regard me with that customary heat. A built-in incubator of desire. I gulp. “I want to make sure that we keep our relationship without strings.” Mick jams his hands in the pockets of his suit. “Yup.”

My stomach twists. My brows rise, and I put my hands on my hips. His face is totally neutral. I'm looking for any bleep on the emotional screen. Nothing. I roll my bottom lip into my teeth, and his eyes shift to the movement. The temperature rises instantly. “No strings,” I repeat. “Nope.” He grins as he watches me gnaw on my bottom lip. It's that tell again. I let my lip go. I wonder how many unconscious things I do that show Mick things I’d rather he didn’t know. Mick strolls toward me. “I'm all about strings.” He kisses my forehead, his hands coming to my shoulders.

Oh god. “Tight…” His kiss falls like butterfly wings against the sensitive spot beneath my ear. “Strings.” My eyes snap open, and his are two inches from my face. I take note of the ring of bright gold around his pupil and feel my control slip further... into his hands. I manage to whisper, “Just until Kiki comes.” I don't address the permanency of what he implies. He kisses me then, a crushing press that takes away my breath and curls my toes. That molten hard press breaks my lips open, and our tongues twine in an erotic collision of wet heat. Mick breaks away, leaving us both

gasping, our swollen mouths seeking more of the same passionate damage. “Get your things, Faren.” His face is hard, his eyes soft with want. I blink and look down at my work outfit. “Oh god, my stuff.” I shake, thinking about all my clothes. My eyes move to my open bedroom door. Mick searches my face, easily reading my expression. “We'll get more.” My pride holds me at knifepoint. “I don't need you to buy my clothes.” I want his help, but the plea is a lodged wedge in my throat. I turn away and walk over to my bed, covered with shimmering dresses

that barely cover my female bits, and sigh. I don't have two dimes to rub together. I've spent every penny on my mom's debt. I roll my bottom lip into my mouth. “Too late, babe,” he says so close behind me I jump. How could he buy me anything that fast? My apartment was just wrecked. I whirl and see his hand on the first dress he ever saw me in. Mick lets the silver glass beads run through his fingers like water. I watch him like visual foreplay. He says, “You can take all this.” Something ripples across the surface of his face that gives me pause.

“Thanks,” I mutter, and I smile when he's not looking. I move to the closet, grab a duffle, and stuff all my outfits inside. My cell chimes. I grip it in my good hand and see the name rising from the blackness of my screen. Thorn. The lap address appears for tonight, and my breath catches. I completely forgot. Nothing like a visit from my deranged stepfather to blank my mental agenda. Mick zips the duffle closed and I slip my cell into my smock pocket. My mind is so thick with my thoughts it's like a mudslide inside my skull.

“Important?” Mick inquires. I shake my head, trying to clear it. “No.” Yes. My nose scrunches. “I need toiletries.” I move to the bathroom and look at the forty million makeup bottles and brushes. When I look up, my fractured reflection stares back. The glass is shattered but intact inside the frame. It makes me want to cry again, seeing all those images of my face in broken slices. I can feel Mick staring at me. His gaze brings my emotions to the surface. My trembling lip and quick swallows to contain the new torrent of tears gives me away, and he gently moves me aside.

He pins the duffle to the rim of the vanity with his knee. He sweeps the entire top tier of items into my duffle. Powder sprays up, and perfume bottles clink together. My hairbrush misses the rim of the duffle and clunks to the floor. Tampons fall like decapitated paper fingers. I look at Mick, and he's grinning. I laugh and can't stop. He takes me in his arms when I begin to cry. “Shhh, Faren.” His big hands slide around my waist and cup my ass, hauling me up on the now-empty vanity. “Stay with me.” “Why?” My hands come to his face, and the rasp of his five o'clock shadow

feels good against my fingers. “Why do I have to stay with you?” Mick's face goes serious, his brown eyes darkening to glittering ebony marbles. “Because I leave town for two days and someone eviscerates your apartment.” His hands move to my waist, his fingers touching at my back. My head tips back, and my breath slides out in surrender as his thumbs stroke my ribcage. Mick's grip tightens with my response. He dips his head, pressing a soft kiss at my throat, and my fingers sink into his hair. The deep bass of his voice continues. “Hacks your clothes to

pieces... and you escape a mugging by the skin of your pretty teeth.” I don't have any words for the evil he recites. Instead, I switch gears. “You called me your girlfriend.” Mick steps away, and I become cold without him, my fingers falling from his thick hair. “Am I?” I ask. I want to be. And I don't. “You're something.” “What?” What am I to him? What are we really doing? Mick looks down, a lock of his dark auburn hair defeats the widow's peak that centers above his forehead. When his gaze rises to mine, those dark eyes

cover every nuance of emotion on my face, missing nothing. Every hill, every valley. As if weighing me. “Special.” He holds out his hand, and I slip mine inside. Mick scoops the duffle from the floor and throws it over his shoulder, hauling me behind him. I begin to turn around and look at the carnage that Ronnie made. He squeezes my hand. “Don't look.” I take a deep breath and follow him out my ruined door. * My stomach drops when I see

where we park. Henry has slowed the limo to a gentle stop in front of the Millennium Tower, and a literal red carpet runs out to the floorboards of the limo. To my left is Puget Sound, and to my right is one of the most expensive highrise condominium palaces in Seattle. This is also where Kiki lives. Holy smokes, how much more convoluted can my life become? “Do you know all your neighbors?” I ask, trying for casual. Mick stops his more or less constant drumming on his knee. “Not really.” His other hand rests on my thigh like a brand of fire. “I thought you said you live here.”

Henry opens the door and I place my hand into his gloved one, that sense of the surreal slipping over me as he helps me out. I feel so conspicuous standing in front of the Tower wearing my cartoon scrubs. Of course, I've been to Kiki's many times. Her studio condo put her back a million dollars. In my ignorance, I'd thought it was a penthouse at first. There is no point of reference when you've never had money. It's all just more. More than what I have. I know Mick McKenna will have a large bachelor pad.

“I do, in a manner of speaking... but I am waiting for a new space to be renovated while I live in a smaller condo.” I look at his profile as Henry walks behind me, swinging the door shut. “Excuse me, will that be all, sir?” Henry asks. Mick shoots me a glance. “Yes,” he answers, giving me a wink. “I'll take care of Miss Mitchell.” “Indeed you will,” Henry replies, already moving around the front of the gleaming black limo. “Oh, you will, will you?” I ask in the coolest voice I can manage. Inside, a dozen butterflies beg for escape. Freedom.

~7~ It's impossible to not look around in awe. I can't hide it, so I don't even try. His is the finest home I've ever been in. There are no walls, only floor-toceiling glass that looks out over Puget Sound. The challenge of catching the state ferry for a day trip to the hippiefilled Bainbridge Island is only a casual walk away. The reclaimed walnut floors gleam as the tall ceilings rise to open ductwork in brushed stainless. A beautiful wide staircase appears to grow out of the floor. A harvest of antiquated brick walls close in around us, lending a

warm intimacy to the space. Mick watches me with a wary expression as I walk through his elegantly appointed smaller holding. As though I'll bolt. He knows me better than I think. Mick trails behind me and sets my duffle on a low-slung, soft black leather couch that narrowly hugs the rough wall. I stroll to the kitchen, where an island of black granite flows like sleek, sparkling oil. It runs underneath cabinets with a soap stone under- countertop sink, the deep bluish-slate perfectly picks up the midnight flecks within the dark sea of granite that surrounds it. “You like it?” Mick asks, studying my face with tender intensity.

I nod and back away from the kitchen. My eyes sweep the high-end stainless appliances, and I spot a tea kettle. Pain cuts me as I recall the one that lies shattered on the floor of my apartment. “Yes,” I answer, my finger running along his living room couch. The couch is perfectly angled to see both the fireplace that bisects the large great room and the water of Puget Sound that appears like an ebony canvas through the acres of windows. I face Mick, and there's a stillness in his body—as there is in mine. As though time has taken leave of the moment. Then it breaks, and Mick strides to

me. I brace myself like a beach when a tidal wave threatens. I watch the water suck away until the only thing left is the wave that is Mick crashing against my body. He moves in a rush of water as he flings his coat to the floor, his cufflinks scattering like platinum pebbles on the sand. My hand grips the couch as he hits me at full speed. Both of his hands find my ass, his lips slam into mine, and we fall backward over the arm of the couch. I cry out. Not in fear, but terror. Terror that what I want might finally happen.

That I'm not ready, not in control. It's not on my terms. Somehow, through a coincidence of circumstance, Mick has me where he wants me. My heart beats with lust for what he can do, with fear from how I feel. Though I try to deny, deny, deny. “Faren,” Mick says as we fall into the couch. One of his feet hit the floor, stopping him from landing on top of me. His left hand hooks the back of my neck. He presses himself into my center, and I groan, deepening the ache that he started with his touch and the desperate way he says my name. He jerks his pants down, a button flying off and skating

across the floor. His ownership of my safety sinks my caution like lead weights and I latch onto his penis with a grip that should hurt. I've lost my mind. My emotions are a tornado of uncontrollable lust and acute desperation as I squeeze him. He's impossibly hard, big. Mick hisses, and my hold loosens. “No.” His eyes go dark and he covers my hand that grips him. “I've been waiting for that... for what I know is really there.” Can't lose my nerve. He releases my hand, and I fumble with his belt. It jerks loose of the loops in a slithering hiss of cloth against

leather. I fling the belt aside, and it clatters to the floor as he presses his knee between my legs. Edgy pressure grinds against my core. Heat floods me in preparation for what's to come, and I whimper. I’m so close to having what I want that I writhe underneath him. “Oh god, Faren.” Mick jerks his pants down further with one hand, freeing himself. I get a good look at him and gasp. I've seen a hundred bare cocks, but never one I wanted. Until his. Mick yanks off my shirt, my arms flinging backward to help him, and his hands latch onto my breasts with my

smock still tangling my wrists. He squeezes them as his thumbs pivot to my nipples, his knee splits me further, and I cry out. A great throbbing pulse between my legs is connected to those thumbs. I abandon my will to Mick, my control. His eyes move to mine as I speak his name. I feel as though every lap dance I've ever done is coming back to haunt me. The sexuality that's been robbed from me because of obligation has been returned to me like a gift. “More,” I ask without knowing what it means. I hear my panties tear, and my eyes spring open as he maneuvers his head

lower. Mick's eyes meet mine from between my legs, and I'm overcome with nervous embarrassment. Mick's hands leave my breasts and hold my thighs open. His eyes flick to mine. “I've wanted to do this since the first time I laid eyes on you.” I blink at him as he dips his head. I have a moment of hysterical realization that he just ruined my last pair of panties when I feel his hot wet tongue on my clit and my mind slides in a languid push of bucking hips and near loss of consciousness. My lungs burn as they beg to breathe, but I can't think of anything but Mick's mouth on me.

It is the best feeling I've ever had, slick, hot, and so blindingly real. My body stills under the press of his mouth. He holds my hips down with his forearm and spreads my legs wider. He slides deeper into the cradle of my body, his hands going to my thighs and squeezing. His eyes flick to mine again, his tongue working the sides of my lips. As Mick sucks from the top to the bottom, my head falls back. A hushed whisper that's half his name and half-moan eases out of me. He continues to stare into my face. I latch onto his hands, my eyes wide, my breath coming in bursts that are harsh and needy.

Our gazes lock. When his tongue spears me, my fingers dive into his hair and I scream, the echo striking us like an erotic slap of unsullied sound. Mick's thumb swirls the wetness from my entrance up to my clit as his tongue is buried in a deep pump. My eyes slam shut, and I release his hair as I break apart. The orgasm is so crushing, so vital, I cry helpless whimpers as he works between my legs. The pulses of my ecstasy are enhanced by his tongue in me, his hand on the swollen bundle of nerves. His face where no one has ever been. I lie naked beneath him, my wrists

above my head in a rope of my uniform. One foot dangles off the couch, one bent leg is plastered against the back. Mick rises on his knees, and I watch my juices glisten on his jaw. His powerful hips flex as he walks closer to me on his knees. I watch him bob, so rigid... so perfect. I haven't told him my state of innocence, but he'll soon find out. His hands come to my hipbones as he steers me toward his engorged penis. I shiver in anticipation, wanting every inch that stands at stiff attention. My cell phone shatters the silence. As does the doorbell.

~8~ “Fuck me,” Mick seethes. He swivels, eyes tagging the door with a death glare. The bell trills like someone's laying their elbow against it. My phone vibrates across the glass coffee table. “Can we ignore this?” I ask, already feeling exposed. The tether of our almost-connection slips away like a rope of vapor. “McKenna!” a man yells, followed by a heavy fist. I almost recognize the voice, but I can't place it. Mick hops off the couch, jerking up

his trousers, and I watch him stuff his semi-erect goodness away. The disappointment is a sucker punch. I feel dazed. I untwist my smock and notice my bra is hanging on by one strap. I heave it to the floor and tear my shirt over my head, accidentally tugging my hair. Mick's almost to the door and I hear my voice mail chime alert. I'm naked from the waist down, my pussy catches a breeze and my wet passion tickles as it cools. I scan the floor and grab my smock pants, kicking my ruined panties off to join the bra. I jerk on the pants as Mick turns around, sees my state of more or less dress, and looks through the peephole.

I know it's bad when he leans his forehead against the door. “Fuck,” he says with feeling and unbolts the door. He sucks open the door, wearing no shoes, no shirt... just his pants. Hopefully minus the hard-on. It's Tagger. I want to die of embarrassment. Twice. Tagger does a head to toe sweep of Mick's... general disarray, and smirks. “Catch ya at a bad time?” Mick holds onto the door, blocking Tagger’s view of my body. “Yeah, kinda sucks. What do you need?” “I'm surprised you don't have a butler and the whole nine yards.”

I can see Mick's face shut down. “You said Faren Mitchell would be with you.” “Yes,” Mick answers, giving him nothing. “Is she here?” Tagger presses. “Yeah.” “May I come in?” Mick exhales. Moving aside, he sweeps his hand to the right, and Tagger walks in. His casual clothes look out of place in Mick's expensive digs. Of course, I still have my physical therapy uniform on. Sans panties and bra. Oh god. My chin drops when I catch sight of my underwear. I give what I think is a subtle swish of my toes in an

attempt to bury them underneath the couch. “There you are,” Tagger says. My stomach clenches. He sounds so much like the men who speak to me at the laps. Horrible condescension and assumption rolled into neat little judgment with a bow on top. My eyes meet his, my teeth setting together in a pre-grind. Mick sees my expression over Tagger's shoulder and frowns. “Okay, you've seen her. Now you can go.” Tagger must know he walked in on something, and it’s even more obvious that Mick's pissed about it. Tagger turns to Mick, his eyes

roving over shoulders hardened through grueling work outs. My eyes follow Tagger's and it doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out he’s jealous. About what? Neither confirms knowing the other, but I don’t think it’s just about male posturing. Tagger breaks his stare with Mick and moves to where I stand, trapped between the coffee table and couch. His watery green eyes move down me like they did Mick, and his lips flatten into a grim line. He gets to my naked toes, and I blush when he sees my torn panties as the crotch flirts at him from underneath the lip of the couch. I want to crawl in with my

discarded underwear. Instead, I stand there and stare at him as he puts the pieces of our evening together. I don't know what he sees in my face, but it makes him turn to Mick. “Tell me this girl isn't one of your playthings, McKenna. Not her.” I frown. Okay, definitely knows Mick. I'm spot-on with my earlier assumption. Mick's chin jerks back, and he folds his powerful arms over his bare chest. His eyes narrow on Tagger. “Listen, Jake, I've got you.” My eyes widen, moving between the two. I move away from them, wondering

what’s going on and hoping I'm not going to find out. “You're pissed because of who I am,” Mick says. Tagger moves into Mick's grill and his jaw flexes. “I'm lit up because she doesn't know who you really are, how we suffer over your sleazy bullshit. What's happened.” Oh no. “Does she know?” Mick shoots this out-of-line cop a warning look. I'm pretty sure I know what Tagger's going to say. If he does, I’ll have to play a role or it'll come off weird. I don't want to. Not now.

His timing is criminal. “What... what should I know?” I ask. Mick looks into my eyes as Tagger drops the news like a bomb. “Prince Charming here owns the hottest strip clubs on the west coast.” My eyes slide away to stall while I gather my will, my expression. My words. I work at one of his clubs. I work at Thorn's illicit club that Mick doesn't know about. I remember picking up that sweaty pole money at his feet like it was yesterday. It won't be my repulsion that drives me away, but my own guilt. I keep my head down and slide by the men.

“Faren,” Mick says, and I can still feel that sensation of his mouth on me. I won't stay here because I can't hide what I'm doing forever. I slip my clogs on and grab my purse off the couch by the front door. “You simpering dick,” Mick says to Tagger. I feel a hand wrap my elbow and turn me around. My eyes move to Tagger's. I don’t like his hand on me one bit. “I can get you out of here, Miss Mitchell.” We stare at each other. “I can get myself out, Officer.” He smiles, and it feels off. He’s completely fine with wrecking my

evening with Mick because he has some kind of ax he wants to keep grinding. Is his hard-on for Mick so important that my supposed need for protection plays second fiddle? I jerk my elbow out of his hand, and his smile widens. Uneasy, I watch Tagger move to the couch. I studiously avoid Mick's eyes, but I can't ignore his presence. His existence consumes me like lava. It spreads over me, and I can't breathe through the suffocating warmth. “Get out of my house, Tagger,” Mick says. I feel his contained anger, frustration and remorse in his bitter tone. Tagger scoops something off the floor with his stylus. “Don't you mean

where you bring your clients?” I look at my panties hanging off the end of that slim instrument. Clients? My eyelids tingle as my eyes fill with tears. Is this some kind of fuckpad? How many girls have been on that couch? I don't know which to feel more hurt by, his lie by omission or his revolving door of meaningless flings that Tagger seems to be so intimately aware of. Tagger strolls toward us. I give hurt eyes to Mick before I can stop and back away from them both. Mick’s jaw looks like granite. “I said Get. The. Fuck. Out.” His eyes roll over my panties in angry possession.

“Evidence, McKenna,” Tagger says in a satisfied tone, holding up the panties. This guy's like a Jekyll and Hyde. My money's on Hyde. “What?” Mick asks, clenching his teeth. “I obviously interrupted an assault in progress...” “What?” I echo. My voice sounds as though it's been torn from my throat in breathy pieces. Mick didn’t rape me. If anything, in some twisted way-I'm the user. But Tagger doesn't intuit that. Mick snatches the panties from Tagger. “I've never forced any woman in my life. You know that.”

Why is Mick defending his honor? “That past of yours though.” Tagger wags a finger like it's a good bit of comedy, though we stand around like shell-shocked survivors. “It wouldn't take anything for someone to snap after what you've been through... do the wrong thing here.” He spreads his hands inoffensively. They glare at each other, the atmosphere thickening. “She's coming with me, McKenna. I'm getting Miss Mitchell's statement, and she can't make one with you standing over her after an alleged assault.” “I don't need to make a statement.” I back up farther, my butt pressing against the cold metal of the doorknob.

“You're making one, Miss Mitchell.” What the hell is going on? How did this cop go from showing up at the scene of my demolished apartment to accusing Mick of attacking me? My back's literally against the door, my heart hammering as Mick clenches my panties. “No,” I say, “nothing... happened here. Mick didn't hurt me.” I meet Mick's eyes, and his are sorry. He didn't want me to find out about the strip clubs from the mouth of a jealous cop. I'm betting he never wanted me to know. Tagger shakes his head, reaching for

me, and I panic. I hit him with my bad hand because my right holds the strap of my purse. Tagger grabs my bad hand, biting into the carnage of nerve damage. I cry out, and even to my ears it's sounds like a wounded animal. Mick doesn't hesitate. He steps forward like a dancer in the first blush of movement. His fist lashes out in a natural strike, the knuckles set and turning as he pivots into Tagger's face. Tagger's face rocks back, his hand convulsing on mine, and I scream Mick's name as the pain rips through my palm. Mick swivels, his hand coming down as he turns, and hammer chops the

cop's forearm. Tagger reflexively releases my hand. Mick turns to me, my hand a shaking nightmare and wraps his arms around me. I know Tagger didn't mean to hurt me. Probably doesn't even consider my damaged hand. I gasp into Mick's muscled chest, tears sliding out from underneath my clenched eyes. “Oh god,” I gasp. The old pain grinds through my hand and halfway up my forearm in the way only nerves can travel the agony highway. I hear a pop and then feel a pain worse than I've ever experienced slices through me.

I fall back, Mick falling with me, his weight covering me in a brutal slap. I see Tagger, his legs spread and a nasty wound on his jaw, holding a Taser. Delivering the jolts that incapacitate Mick and transfer to me. I see his smile before darkness takes me.

~9~ “Billionaire Jared McKenna has been detained overnight for the alleged assault of physical therapist Faren Mitchell,” a reporter chimes. Her bronzer makes her look like an oompa loompa. Kiki turns off the television and stares at me, having just extradited me from the holding tank. I wrinkle my nose-- pee and barf still sharp in my memory. “Oh my god, girl, this is so many levels of fucked up shit.” I can only nod at another ugly turn my complicated life just took. I perch at her small kitchen table, déjà vu slipping over me. I've come full

circle. I'm back at Millennium Tower, about twelve stories below Mick's place. I swallow past the mental replay of what happened in his condo. “Yeah, so what I need. More notoriety.” Kiki leans forward, long black hair misses her coffee by a millimeter. “Is it true?” I roll my eyes. “No.” “But he came clean about the strip clubs?” Her brows draw together as she sets her tea cup down. I shake my head. “No, not exactly.” A laugh of pure exhaustion erupts out of me. “The cop is the one who dropped that bomb in Mick’s little humpshack up there.”

I point to her ceiling. Kiki folds her arms. “I never even knew that McKenna lived here.” She blows a strand of hair out of her face and moves away from the table as I look out the window to the water outside, “here I was, all jonesing to meet his rich ass and then poof-- he lives above me.” She flings a hand above her head. Kiki puts a butt cheek on the superhigh seats around her trendy square nook table. It angles perfectly in the banked windows where west meets south where the glass windows intersect. “Somehow, I'm not thinking you like the proximity.” I look at her, hand around my mug of coffee, forgoing tea for the moment. “No. I mean, I don't know.”

She says, “They're going to dredge up all the shit again.” “Yeah.” I lean back against the chair. “Just as I was becoming a nobody, they'll latch onto the entire Ronnie thing again.” I slam my mug down on the table. “I don't want people knowing...” “You took a chance when you signed up for the titillating stuff,” Kiki says. I sigh. “Yes, I'm aware.” Kiki lifts her shoulders in consolation. “People are entertained by sex.” “And evil,” I add and we lock gazes. “So here comes beautiful Faren

Mitchell, survivor of an attack by her lunatic perv stepfather, only to be assaulted by billionaire bookoo bucks.” I grimace. “Alleged.” “Okay... so spill-- what did happen. The torn panties have made the news.” My mouth falls open, the fire of shame coalesces inside my chest. “Are you shitting me?” Kiki shakes her head slowly as her eyes glide over my sick expression. “Oh my god, my life has become a soap opera.” “It's official.” Kiki raises her hand solemnly. “You're the 'it' girl right now. Your apartment was ransacked, and that prick Tasered your supposed attacker, and you were collateral damage.”

Kiki doesn't look away. “Did he really hurt your hand?” I nod. “I don't think he meant to.” “Don't defend that assjack,” Kiki fumes, “why was he putting his hands on you, Faren? I mean, eff me- that's just weird.” I did consider why he seemed so intent to nail Mick to the wall. How it seems like he's using me for his own agenda. “The whole fucking sick situation reeks.” “I... I guess he thought Mick was a threat?” I throw out lamely. Kiki barks out a laugh, and slaps the table. “That'll do it, good for McKenna.” She throws a victory fist in the air.

“You can play the victim and get the police to lick your boots. You've gotta beat the press at their own game.” I don't like the way that sounds. “You hold a press conference, play the wounded gazelle. You know, talk sappy smack about how McKenna and you have been dating...” “I don't know if he wants that...” “Well, you can't say you and Mick have been casually fucking.” She cocks her brows. The oxygen leaves the room. “Because we haven't.” I manage through my teeth. “I want the deets,” Kiki says. I open my mouth and she does a slicing gesture across her throat. “Later.

Anyway,” she pauses, getting into her scheme, “Moneybags—” “Mick,” I interrupt. Kiki rolls her eyes, “Hotness?” She waits, and I let a small smile slip. She grins at my expression. “Hotness is there for you when your apartment gets burglarized. Then this dirty cop comes by to make sure you're where you said you'd be”—her eyes swivel to mine—“and how many shades of fucked up is that anyway? Nevermind. He stomps in there, interrupts consensual… whatever it was, sees your underwear, and goes medieval with the juice.” I guess that about covers it, but Kiki is missing some finer points.

I hold up my hand. “First, we don't know Tagger's a dirty cop.” I lower one finger. “He's something.” She juts out her chin in defiance and I can't dispute something reeks like a badly camouflaged turd. “I think he knows Mick. There's bad blood there. I mean… Mick knew his first name.” Kiki makes a sound that I translate as knew it. “Second, my place was not burglarized, it was demolished. Third, it didn't look good.... Mick and me.” I whisper that last. “What doesn't look good is Tagger's concern over your underwear and why

he thinks Mick is capable of assaulting women. Where the hell does he get that?” A beat of silence passes as we stare at each other. “Google!” we yell at the same time, making a mad scramble for her laptop. “I can't believe I haven't already thought of this.” Kiki looks at my face. “You little weasel, you've already thought about it.” “Well, he Googled me...” I say in lame defense. Kiki taps her lip. “But you took him at his word.” “Yeah… Tagger said something about how 'if I knew about his past.'” Kiki gives a low whistle.

She flips open her Mac, and I watch over her shoulder as she inputs Mick's name. “Holy fuckballs!” she shouts. “There's like fifty pages.” Her shoulders slump. “It'll take all goddamned day.” I scan the first ten hits; all entail holdings, buildings, real estate... so many stories about Mick and me. I swallow, ignoring those. No... no, no, my eyes flicking through each post. I keep scanning. Second page: Black Rose gentleman's club holdings. “Click that.” I point at the elegant black rose held between a skull’s clenched teeth. Kiki clicks. It's a boatload of boring

fiscal stats. My eye catches on a small thread. Related articles: Black Rose inception. I point again and Kiki clicks. I don't know who finishes first, but when we're done reading, she closes the laptop. “That's horrible,” Kiki says. Yeah. At least I know why he peddles flesh. “He's like... a really honorable guy,” I whisper, feeling like a flea for my layers of deception. The shame I'd held at bay seeps into every pore. “Yeah… a really rich, hot,

honorable guy with a tragic past.” Kiki gives me a sharp look. “It's almost as tragic as yours.” Almost.

~ 10 ~ Kiki drops me at the curb. I flick her a wave, and she lifts her cell. Text me, the gesture says. Our revelations swirl between us like unseen smoke. I nod and turn toward concrete steps. I'm on my way to see Mick when a text comes in from Thorn. Thorn: You get a pass on laps because of what went down with Mick. It's your only freebie. You feel me? Tonight Faren. I chew on my bottom lip while I tap out my response.

Me: Yes, I'll be there. I don't ask about Ronnie. I have to accept that Thorn understands Ronnie terrifies me, his trashing of my apartment is his newest calling card. Thorn isn't heartless; he's determined. I don't know which is more dangerous. I have to talk to Mick about the strip clubs and somehow keep my secret just a little longer. When we quench this fire between us—when he realizes how innocent I am —I'll come clean about the laps. After all, I can't keep that particular secret much longer. He won't want to keep some naïve

virgin anyway. He'll take it and run. I'm counting on that. Mick's tender with who he thinks he knows, not who I actually am. I inhale deeply at the thought of an experienced, rich guy settling down with a terminally ill girl who gives him her virginity while grinding on the laps of strange men. I think about what I learned on Google. Mick's protective nature makes more sense now. A lot more. I just don't know where that leaves us. I know what would have happened if Tagger hadn't burst in. Mick had had me right where he wanted me. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Then fate inserted itself. I push the glass door to the Seattle Police Precinct open, the directional reflects back at me, West. A horse whinnies with a cop on its back as I walk into the old stone building and scan my surroundings. My body feels ultra-sensitive from the shock of the Taser. I'm certain that combined dangerously with my illness. I shove that thought away for later reflection. I walk over to the reception desk and stand there while a cop types something. “Yes?” he asks without looking up. I feel sexist for thinking it's weird that a man is working the front desk

instead of a woman. “I'm here to see Jared McKenna,” I say, my eyes sailing around the huge noisy space. He stops typing and looks at me, really looks at me. “You're Faren Mitchell.” “Yes.” How does he know who I am? Nothing about that seems good. Officer Ferric stands and walks around the chest-level, semi-curved desk. He gives me a once-over. “Follow me.” I don't. He's ten paces away before he notices. “Miss Mitchell?” His brows rise to a receding hairline of unkempt

tufts of dishwater blond hair. I put my hands on my hips. “Let's just say my confidence in police protection has been shaken.” I'm no longer afraid of every single thing in my life. I want to find out what I can about Tagger. What's happening between him and Mick- see Mick. I can tell he's thinking about what words to use. “That's what this is about,” Officer Ferric replies. I cross my arms. I don't have time for this, my life's clock is ticking. I dipped into my vacation time at the clinic and Sue is covering for my last minute request for a personal day. I have do or die laps tonight and haven't seen my mom in two days.

My world is unraveling, a slow spiral of chaos settling in for the duration. My emotions boil right underneath the surface. Being in the public eye again just makes it worse. “Okay,” I huff. At least I can see Mick. We pass through a door as his finger holds it open for me and I walk through. Among the rows of desks my eyes hit on Tagger and I slow. I can't ignore the instant association of Tagger and the Taser. The Ts run together in subconscious connection. Adrenaline rushes through my body with numbing intensity, and I actually step back when Tagger's small green eyes peg me.

I take comfort in the shadow of a bruise on his jaw. The one Mick put there because he touched me. “Miss Mitchell?” Tagger addresses me. And I can almost feel Ferric behind me as he quits breathing. I don't even try for polite. Tagger sends a ripple across the water of my barely concealed emotional turmoil and he's off the list for civility. He's been so out of line I don't know where to begin. “Where's Mick?” Tagger sits on the corner of his desk, one long leg dangling off the edge. “He's lawyered up.” Mick's not here. I squelch my disappointment. “Why... He didn't do anything

wrong.” My guilt over pigeon-holing Mick spurs me on. “You need the supposed victim to accuse someone, right?” They can't just nail Mick to the wall because he wants to. Can they? Tagger inclines of his head, my eyes keep fixating on the dark mar near his chin. “True... but it looked like assault from my perspective, Miss Mitchell. And we're here to protect the victim, even if they don't think they need it.” His eyes hold mine. I see how large his hands are. I’d forgotten until that moment how they'd looked on the grip of the Taser. The damage those hands could do to someone he wished to bring to harm.

Protect and serve, my ass. I lick my dry lips, and his eyes shift to the movement. “It was consensual, Tagger.” “Detective,” he corrects. Condemnation fills his gaze like brackish water . I think of how Mick doesn't care about titles. The very thing Tagger accused Mick of—being arrogant and aloof—becomes more glaring as his character flaws. I cross my arms. “So Mick's 'lawyered up' because of police brutality.” My eyes don't stray, but spear him with my accusation. “How do you figure?” The scorn of his expression hits me with dismissal.

“He's the one who struck me, Miss Mitchell.” “So you gave us both the zap?” I ask. Justify that. My fingers bite into my crossed arms. His eyes drop. When they rise, they’re filled with artificial concern. “You got in the way. It was unintentional.” I don't believe for one second that my safety was a consideration. “You tell yourself that. But remember, you laid your hands on me... and by your own admission, you're aware of my history. I don't need another violent episode in my life.” My short life. Ice creeps into his expression. The

little bit of green in his eyes becomes flecks of hardened emerald steel as he stares me down. “Tagger,” Ferric cautions. Tagger scrubs his face, hiding his expression but unable to remove my memory of it. “I was just about to contact you.” I can tell he's trying to regain his composure. Epic fail. “Yeah, I loved waking up in the holding tank.” He gives a hard exhale. “You didn't deserve that.” I shake my head. My apartment's McFucked, my soon-to-be lover and I were electrocuted, and I woke up in a

holding tank for criminals. Tagger doesn't get it, and I can't figure out why. Ultimately, the biggest thievery is my time. He looks up at me and I lean into his face, gathering courage from I don't know where. Well, yeah I do. Nothing to lose. “My house is wrecked, your assumptions landed me in jail— unconscious—and now the world is going to dig through what happened.” I try to unclench the tight balls of my fists, and they don't budge. Even my bad hand is like stone. “It's sealed, you were a minor,” Tagger responds smoothly. Unflappable.

I straighten and laugh. It sounds like brittle glass. “Oh yeah, that's going to keep everyone from finding out.” My name isn't on Google, just everything else that identifies me. I blister him with my regard. “Everyone will know.” “The Seattle Police is sorry for this unintentional interruption in your life.” I stare at him. “Maybe they are... but you're not. Mick and I are together, and you can't stand it. So now I have to pay by association.” I lean in close to him and he remains immobile. I plant my hand beside his leg and I can feel the other officers’ eyes on us like weight. “Right?”

Anger warms his eyes and I know I've hit the mark. Tagger slaps his hand next to mine. The energy from his rage simmers through the hairsbreadth that separates us. “Yes,” he hisses so quietly only I can hear him. I step away, never letting my gaze drop-- as if we're opponents in a boxing ring. I don't care that twenty other cops are watching; this one worries me. I whirl around and stomp out of there. I don't get to see Mick after all. Ferric doesn't follow. Detective Jake Tagger's eyes never leave me, I don't have to turn to know

they're there. Hate beats down on my back.

~ 11 ~ Me: We need to talk. Mick: Yes... when? Me: Now? He can't sense my pleading via text. But it's there, and I hate myself for it. I wait five minutes for a response and sigh. Forget it. I stuff the cell in my pocket and smooth my right hand over my left while I vacantly stare. I storm all the way from the police station to my apartment. I launch up the

five flights of stairs because a handwritten Out of Order sign is taped to the freight elevator. Figures. A new door greets me. I pull out my key, slip it into the lock, and turn it. I heave a disgusted sigh. Humphrey couldn't even get a new lock for the door! Cheap-effing-skate. Totally not secure. I open the door, anticipating a night of filling huge black bags with broken picture frames, lamps, knick knacks, and my kettle. Instead, I gaze around in wonder. Every surface gleams. Everything that was broken is gone, and a replacement fills the space.

I move to the stove as though in a dream and see a new kettle, a replica of the one I lost, sitting in its usual position on the back left corner of the stovetop. Who did this? Mick. I jump when I get his text. Mick: Are you home? Did you... do this? I quickly tap out. I jog to my bedroom, fling the closet open, and burst into tears. My closet overflows with new clothes. I take inventory of the colorful

smocks and matching pants lining the far end of my rod. Every cartoon print ever made stings my eyes with its primary colors, and I hug the clothing, pressing my face into the laundered goodness. My cell vibrates. I look at the screen. One word. The only response that matters. Yes. I put my cell against my chest and hang my head. For once, my tears are happy ones. I needed something good so bad.

* Me: Can you come over? I have become the pursuer. Mick: I'm with my legal team. When I finish here, I'll be over. If you're okay for now, we can make a day of it tomorrow. I'll break away if you need me now. I'm more sorry than I can say. For the strip club revelation, I assume. My fingers hover over the keys. Me: No apologies. But

disappointment slays me. Then a thought pierces my self-pity. Laps. Another single word. Unfortunately, it doesn't illicit happy tears. One more time. I can't expect him to come running. I bet his publicity people are ripping their hair out. I'll have to settle for tomorrow even though I ache for him now. I gaze around my refurbished apartment and believe I owe him the truth. I just don't know if I'm brave enough to tell him. *

All my outfits for laps are at Mick's in that duffle. I have nothing. I turn, looking into my closet stuffed with new things. My shoulders hunch when I realize I have to cannibalize something beautiful he got for me to get through my last night of laps. I stare into the closet’s depths. I'm way past introspection but sick over my choices. I know Mick won't want me if he knows. I'm a dead girl walking who takes her clothes off for men. I like to imagine he would see my desperate battle to pay

for my mom's care, to make the last moments of my life count for something. However, I don't know if anyone is altruistic enough for the transgressions I continue to accumulate. I don't beg for Mick's help because I'm a coward. I fear his answer, I fear that I'll lose my chance at the one thing I want for myself. It's selfish. It's real. I take deep, even breaths. I refocus my thoughts on my mom, her welfare. I straighten my spine and stride over to the closet, tossing my cell on the bed. I tear through everything and see something that makes my heart stutter. It's a beautiful gold and silver slip of fabric that shimmers in a draping

sweep from the hanger. The beads at the hem catch my eye, and I think of when Mick's fingertips breached the hem of my dress in the limo. I swallow the memory—it seems like forever ago. It feels like yesterday. I run my fingers over the silky material, threaded in a cross-hatching pattern with tiny strings of gold and silver. It's really too classy for what I’m about to do, but if I wear something Mick chose, maybe I can keep him with me tonight like a seed of goodness in the awful garden of my choices. It's a lie I cling to without complaint. I need it to survive. The dress doesn't resist when I slide it off the wooden hanger. I grab a pair of

hump-me pumps from the new selection. I locate the size on the sole. I look at everything inside the closet. It's all my size. This is why Mick is so amazing. He's got control of the big things, and never misses any of the small. I strip off the outfit I borrowed from Kiki and pad into my bathroom. I open the door, and a new mirror greets me. My shattered reflection is a fragmented memory. I don't waste tears in the shower. Instead I focus on what it'll be like to never do another lap. Grin and bear it takes on an entirely new meaning.

* I slip on my mask as I ride the elevator up for my last lap gig. I take stabilizing breaths as it climbs and comes to a smooth stop at the fourteenth. My eyes shift to the elevator buttons, and I notice there's no thirteenth floor. I don't think about luck. I'm thinking about choice. I step out of the elevator into a ballroom-type setting. The first man's eyes that claim me are Jay's. Relief rushes through me, though I don't embrace it. I know what happens to hope. Thorn strolls up, looking like a

finely coiled snake. I'm not here to poke him though; he's given me two breaks. His eyes meet mine. “Jay owns you, Faren.” I blink at Jay, and the warmth I've seen in his eyes in the past has been replaced by something else. Jay grins. “Ownership is nine-tenths the law, Faren.” I look from Thorn, who doesn't look thrilled, to Jay—and realize what they're talking about. Possession. * I can't stop the shaking. I feel as if I'm going to break apart and float away.

Thorn hauls me inside his office by the wrist as Jay waits for us to … reconcile our arrangement. “Faren,” Thorn starts, and I turn on him. He holds up his hands to ward off the tirade he knows is coming. I realize I've become foolishly brave with Thorn, our secrets making us uneasy allies. “You told me no on Ron, and I get it —I do. This lap is willing to go the distance. He'll pay your debt to Ron and extra—so long as he gets every extra.” Every extra... like seeing my face. “And my identity, Thorn!” The ultimate extra. Thorn walks over, and I remember

how frightening he is. I retreat a step. He stops before reaching me and rests his large hands on his hips. “What is it?” His eyes search mine. “I know I shouldn't give a ripe hairy shit about your problems, but you’re messing with my boy.” “He's not your boy,” I cut in. Thorn nods, scrubbing his face with his hand. “Yeah, he is.” His eyes stay on mine. “If Jay wasn’t waiting out there, I'd play confessor.” I fold my arms and stare at him. Jay can wait. “Give me something before I cheat on Mick with this lap.” Thorn's eyes snap to mine. “You

feel like you're cheating on Mick?” My sigh sounds like a sob. “Hell yes, I do.” None of my justifications work anymore. They're like needles of doubt, emotional acupuncture gone wrong. “Then why are you doing the laps?” “My mom,” I whisper. “Why are you cheating him?” “I owe him,” Thorn admits. “Wait a second.” I step toward him, and now Thorn looks cornered. I point at him. “You're playing revolving lap dances behind his back because you owe him?” A disbelieving laugh erupts from my lips. Thorn gives a stiff nod, as miserable as an emotionless bastard like

him can be. “How?” I ask. “What's the story on your mom?” His face is neutral, but he clearly means to exchange information. I look at my feet. “You know about my mom.” I jerk my head up and see him nod. “Well, her care... it's—I owed fifty thousand.” Thorn whistles and I move on. “Now it's ten.” He clears his throat, doing mental math. “So one more lap auction, and she's set.” He shrugs. “Why can't you just make payments? You didn't have to do the laps.” I shake my head. “It doesn't work like that. If the debt gets over a certain

magic number- they shuttle her to a state home.” Thorn's face tightens. “I know about state run shit.” More silence. “So you bail mom out, then you're done with laps.” I nod. “I might have to keep up with some pole work.” For as long as I can. Thorn looks at my hand. “What about your fucked-up hand?” I hiccup back a sob. Thorn looks down, struggling to maintain his emotions but looking conflicted as hell. “Sorry, it's just...” I don't even have the emotional latitude to be happy about his discomfort; I'm wound too tight. “I use

my wrist and twirl with the dominant.” I wait while he considers my words. Finally he opens his mouth. “Mick saved me.” My wealth of reading hits me between the eyes, and suddenly I know his part in the whole miserable scenario. Tyson Marius Simon. “You're the one,” I say in a whisper, putting the pieces together. Thorn nods. “I couldn't save her, but I tried.” He scrapes a palm over his skull cap of hair. “After I got out of prison for manslaughter, Mick gave me Black Rose. It's been an honor.” His dark eyes hold mine, and I don't look away.

“And you've been running it ever since,” I guess. Thorn nods again. “I have, but I have my pride. Mick paid for everything I own. He threw expensive shit at me: the car, my pent, my clothes, the business degree.” He sees my surprise and chuckles a little. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I talk rough... hell, I am rough.” Yeah. I don't agree out loud. I never doubted he was smart. Not once. It's one of the most dangerous parts about him. “I figure I owe Mick about five hundred grand, give or take. The girls get their cut of the laps, and I get mine.” He makes the money fingers together, his thumb brushing the inside of his fingers

back and forth. “So we're both cheating on Mick but for different reasons,” I say. “I'm not cool with it, but once it's done, I'll pay him back. Even though he feels like he owes me.” I look at Thorn and see someone different than the man who made me audition on his lap. He's got a weird code of honor. If it's not mine, is it still honorable? I'm not in a position to judge. “He does owe you,” I say. Thorns brows rise. “You killed his sister's murderer.” Thorn’s face wrestles through many emotions and finally settles on

resignation. “I can't bring her back.” Despair edges in where indifference was moments before. “No.” I shake my head, and my hair slithers over my shoulders. “But it's a kind of justice.” I think only of Ronnie. Thorn shakes his head. “Vengeance.” That too.

~ 12 ~ The other dancers are in their rooms, and I've narrowly escaped Ronnie again through a lesser evil. But not this dance. Jay's as handsome as they come, and it should be no chore for me to ride him. But it is. His good looks and willingness to pay don't make it easier. I admit he’s better than the other laps—old, tired men leading grim lives and seeking youth through the thighs of a woman less than half their age. I smoothly straddle him. The twinge of pain high and inside my thigh summarily ignored, I insert myself

between his legs and the arms of the chair. His eyes look at mine through the mask. My flesh is hot, and the sharp outline cuts into my skin, making for an angry silhouette when I remove it after my night of grinds. I put my hands on his bare shoulders. I unconsciously command my bad hand to cup where his muscular shoulder curves into his arm, but my other hand grips with perfect dexterity. I bob up and down like a cork in a sea without a current. Jay gets hard as I arc against his cock, and he moans. His hand travels to the V in my dress and moves it aside. My naked

breast pours cooperatively into his palm. I tip my head back as his thumb works my nipple into a pebble of hardened flesh. I think of Mick. I can do this if I pretend it’s him. I can do anything for him. That realization swims through my mind like a pulled thread, unraveling my brain. I stop thinking about what Mick's doing in memory of his dead sister. I quit all thoughts of how much more I want from him than just taking the last shred of my innocence. My mind hurries past my faceless death, my mother's existence that is worst than the true absence of death. I concentrate on Jay's hands on my

body, pretending they're Mick's. * My dress rides at my waist like a slim inner tube of glittering material. It itches me as I rock deeply against Jay's erection, both his hands hold my breasts. “Sit up,” Jay commands, eyes at half-mast. I rise, no longer rocking. “Lean forward.” He kicks my legs apart, and my lip trembles. Do it, just do it. My g-string offers nothing more than a suggestion of material as air grabs along my folds, whispering its freedom. I hang open and exposed above him.

Jay wraps my wrists with his big hands and jerks me forward. I cry out in surprise. I fall forward, and he has his prick sprung that fast. He centers it below my entrance, and I can think of nothing except that he'll be in me before I can react, before I can do anything to stop him. “Don't,” I whisper through instant tears of violation. The word sounds like the plea it is. I never anticipated him taking advantage of me. My wrists strain against his hold, but he's so much bigger, stronger. I don't want my virginity taken this way. I had a plan, and it isn't Jay. It's Mick. It's always been him.

He presses one hand to the small of my back, his bare flesh against mine, and presses down. His penis splits my butt cheeks, and he slides against my back entrance without penetrating me. I panic, my free wrist pressing against the back of the chair, and he clamps down harder, holding me captive. He moves against my most intimate parts, and my fantasy about Mick from earlier aids him. My slickness allows Jay's unbidden movement. He does not enter me. He uses the tight recess of my ass to glide between my cheeks, a grueling friction ensuing. I groan in disgust, clenching my

eyes shut and struggling against him as he fucks me outside my body. Jay releases my other wrist, and I lie against him like a corpse. His hands cup my ass, and the rhythm of his penis speeds up. I feel as though I'm watching this happen to someone else. I’m on the outside looking in. “Just a little more,” Jay grunts. His hand's brutal hold tightens further, and I bite my lip in pain. His dick feels like a snake between the globes of my ass. My gorge rises, but I hang onto the precipice of my will, my fingers white knuckling this final sin. He gives a last vicious pump

between my cheeks, and I cry instead of screaming as he releases against my back. Hot jets coat the beautiful dress, drying into a revolting gel as I lie in a listless pile against him. “Fuck yeah,” Jay says, pressing into my body as his hips slow their rhythm. We lie together for a few seconds as his breathing slows. He pushes me away gently and studies my face. I sway, fighting throwing up. “Now the mask, Faren.” Somehow, this is the worst extra of all. I can pretend when I wear the mask. I can't anymore. I tear it off and fling it aside. With unusual accuracy, it rims

the trash can and drops inside. Jay looks at my face, his eyes pouring over every detail as though he's memorizing it. He raises his hand to caress my jaw. “So beautiful.” I flinch away, my eyes going anywhere but to him. An exhale shudders out of me, expelling my disgust, guilt, and disgrace. Noise disturbs the silence of the room where only our breaths had been. Voices crash against the door. Jay's eyebrows tick up, pulling together and he gives me a sharp look. There’s the sound of someone being struck. Jay sits up. “Don't fucking go in there, Mick!”

Thorn says. Mick. My breath stalls. I’ve never felt adrenaline like I do in this moment. I try to scramble off Jay's lap, but our clothes and limbs are too fused for a rapid untangle. The door crashes open and hits the wall with a thundering crack. I twist at the torso and take in a wild Mick, my bare ass facing the door. His eyes widen. My half-naked body wears a dress he undoubtedly chose with himself in mind and is now defiled with another man's release. Gone is his expensive suit and smooth demeanor. In its place is a rage that borders on

insanity. He launches himself at us. “Faren!” I don't move, the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. Jay is the one who thinks, dumping me on the floor as the bull that is Mick rushes him. I fall on my naked, sticky ass, limbs flung in an ungraceful mess. Mick plows into Jay and the chair goes ass over tea kettle onto the floor. Mick hammers Jay's face and I meet Thorn's eyes. His black eye is blacker than his skin, and he shrugs helplessly. “Help him!” Thorn shakes his head as if Jay deserves it.

Jay disgusts me, but Mick will kill him. I see that now. I jerk up like an awoken sleepwalker and lurch to Mick. My dress bunches in all the wrong places, and I grab his arm. “Stop! Please, Mick,” I scream as Jay's bleeding face turns into tenderized meat. Mick flings off my arm, shoves away from Jay, and comes at me. I back up, pinwheeling my arms as he stalks toward me. His knuckles are bloody, the skin torn from pounding the flesh off Jay's face. My ass hits the wall, and he slams against me, his hands caging me.

“Why?” he roars in my face. His hot breath bathes me in his anger, and I feel stark terror. I pushed this man so badly that he doesn't sound like him anymore. “I was going to tell you,” I whisper against his heaving chest. His hand slams against the wall, and my head leaps from the force of it. “No, you weren't,” he says in a quiet voice, so full of menace I taste it on my tongue. My eyes unclench and look into his. “Mick,” Thorn says. “Shut the fuck up, Ty.” Mick spares him a venomous glance then swivels that poisonous gaze back to me. “Why?” He sounds much softer now

but no less livid. I clam up. I can't speak to the anguish in his gaze. Caused by me. He takes an escaped lock of my hair between his fingers. Then his fingers plow through my hair, fisting it tightly. His mouth finds mine and punishes me with his kiss. His tongue spears me like it had in my core. Deep and unyielding. Final. He tears away, untangling from me, and I follow each movement, burning it into my memory. Mick looks at Thorn in disgust, and I watch Thorn swallow. Mick’s dark eyes come back to me. Outraged accusation swims where

tender passion had last night. I hear Jay groan. Mick and I ignore it as if we're the only two people in the world. “I think I loved you, Faren.” Oh god. I swear my heart stops beating. I take a shaky step toward him, reaching out with my good hand. He puts a palm up, his gaze going to the beaten Jay just paces away. No, Mick, no, no, no. You're so wrong. He turns to me with hard eyes. “But I think you love other things more.” His eyes sweep the room of sex paraphernalia, touch on Thorn briefly, and settle on me. “Good-bye.”

Mick wipes his mouth, as though erasing our last kiss, and walks out. I sink to the ground, wishing it would swallow me. I don't love other things, I realize too late. Only him.

THE END Read More Volume #4

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MARATA EROS NEWS If you enjoyed THE TOKEN SERIES, 1-3, please consider posting your thoughts HERE and help another reader find a new series. Thank you!

Acknowledgments I published The Druid and Death Series in 2011 with the encouragement of my husband, and continued because of you, my Reader. Your faithfulness through comments, suggestions, spreading the word and ultimately purchasing my work with your hard-earned money gave me the incentive, means and inspiration to continue. There are no words that are sufficiently adequate to express my thankfulness for your support. But know this: TDS novellas continued past HARVEST only because of you. I truly feel connected to my readers. It is obvious to me, but I'll say the words anyway for clarity: a written work is just words on pages if they are not read by my readers. As I write this I get a lump in my throat; your enjoyment of my work affects me that deeply.

You guys are the greatest, each and every one of ya~ Marata (Tamara) xo

Special Thanks: You, my reader. My husband, who is my biggest fan. Cameren, without whom, there would be no books.

About the Author

Marata Eros (the pen name for Tamara Rose Blodgett) is the author of over seventy titles, including her New York Times bestselling novel, A Terrible Love and the #1 international bestselling erotic Interracial, and AfricanAmerican TOKEN serial. Marata writes a variety of dark fiction in the genres of erotica,

fantasy, horror, romance, sci-fi and suspense. She lives in South Dakota with her family, and enjoys interacting with her readers.

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