DELIVER(5)

Or she would lose the only two reasons she buckled on a parachute when she jumped. She nodded.

He wiggled his toothpick. “Though it definitely would’ve been easier if the contract had allowed us to nab a homo.”

Jesus, the world was already a predatory *, and here they were discriminating who it should feed on next. The client wanted a twenty-something, straight, virgin male with all the usual attractive, athletic qualities. The fishing pool for such a demand was spectacularly small. Boys who grew up without families didn’t retain their virginity. “I don’t like taking this boy from his parents.” It f*cked up her delicately woven strategy, the only secret she managed to keep from Van.

“So,” he said, smirking, “because your previous captures didn’t have families who missed them, that makes them less human?”

Absence of loved ones was her own personal requirement when she went through the selection process, but that did not make them less at all.

His laugh greased the air. “The irony of your ethics is perverse.”

The irony of her life was perverse.

He relaxed into a sigh, his head dropping back against the seat. “We make an invincible team, Liv. Just do your thing until the mere presence of your * makes him vomit.”

With the previous captives, Van held the reins, driving the level and direction of the training. But the first requirement in this contract was sticky. To condition the slave to hate women, they’d agreed that she would be the brute force.

Her stomach wobbled. “Think you can stay out of the way while I handle this one?”

“Yep. Just call me in when your devout jock-bag is ready to suck my cock.”

Requirement Two. Slave will service Master sexually with exceptional skill, and his body will be prepared to make it easy for Master.

She and Van would play a depraved game designed to turn a straight, virgin boy into the embodiment of the client’s twelve requirements. Virgin boys were beyond her expertise. Joshua Carter—with his pious upbringing and family support—was a tangle in their operation, one that could endanger her arrangement. The unmistakable shiver of panic lurched through her.

He eased off the gas. “I think we’re here.”

Up ahead, a smudge of trees breached the flat horizon of rural Texas. She checked the signal on her phone. “We’re in the dead zone. This is it.”

He parked on the shoulder where the trees crept closest to the road and turned on the hazard lights. She stepped onto the gravel, the stir of dust settling around her sneakers. When she raised the hood of their car, he removed a fuse from the engine compartment and tucked it in his pocket. Then they waited.

Wheat fields reached around the woodland and stretched beyond the mantle of night. The lonely cry of a mockingbird pierced the dark hush.

The nearest resident lived two miles down. She knew them through the lens of her binoculars. Daniel and Emily Carter couldn’t leave their nightly chores to attend their son’s football game. She knew they expected him home soon.

A distant rumble drew her attention down the desolate road. Given the ease at which sound traveled over the vacant fields, she should see his headlights in about two or three minutes.

Van’s big body blocked her view, pressing in, violating her comfort zone. She raised her chin and searched the depths of his hood. Shadowed and vacant, his expression mirrored her presence of mind.

The back of his hand made a slow trace of her scar, brushing her hair from its path. When he reached her lips, he coiled several strands around his finger.

She grabbed his wrist, and the tendons in her grip turned to steel, immovable. She closed her eyes and braced.

He yanked, sparking a burn where the follicles gave way.

At the sound of his retreating footsteps, she opened her eyes and watched his broad back move toward the trees. “Someday, we’re going to talk about those fetishes of yours.”

Without acknowledgment, he continued in a slow, dispassionate stride until the shadows between the trees swallowed his silhouette.

The purr of the approaching vehicle grew louder, followed by the spit of gravel and bobbing headlights. She leaned against the fender and hummed to the tune of her bludgeoning heart.





Chapter 3




The truck slowed and stopped. Liv held up a hand, greeting the darkened interior and the boy who lingered within. Her mark.

When the door remained closed, she worried her lip. Were her assumptions about him wrong?

With each unanswered second, her nerves mounted. What if he had a passenger? She’d been so sure about this part of the plan.

Relief came with the creak of his door. It had been just her anxiety making it feel longer.

He hopped out, the interior light illuminating the empty cab. “Hey there. You need help?”

His voice reverberated through her chest for the first time. It exceeded all her imaginings, a deep underlying elixir, the perfect embodiment of his powerful, masculine frame.

“Hi.” She wiped imaginary grease on her jeans and gestured at the engine. “Started clanking on I-35. I pulled off, got turned around.” She spread out her arms to indicate the expanse of nothingness around them and quickened her rambling with a display of panic. “I’m lost, dang car crapped out, and I can’t get a signal on my phone.”

A chuckle vibrated in his chest, and there was something unnervingly soothing about it. “You definitely got turned around. You’re miles from the interstate. Want me to take a look?” He pointed at the engine and cocked his head, his luminescent eyes dancing in the headlights.