His name was Joshua Carter. Now it's whatever she wants it to be.
She is a Deliverer.
She lures young men and delivers them to be sold. She delivers the strikes that enforce their obedience. She delivers the sexual training that determines their purchase price.
As long as she delivers, the arrangement that protects her family will hold.
Delivering is all she knows.
The one thing she can't deliver is a captive from slavery.
Until him.
And her stubborn slave thinks he can deliver her...from herself.
Romantic Thriller
Stand Alone (no cliff-hanger). The sequel is coming Summer 2014.
Content warning: Graphic sex, violence, and psychological abuse. Age 18+ only.
He slammed a fist into the nearest tree trunk. Again. Again. Pain ricocheted through his hand, down his arm, and fed his breaking heart.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her silhouette standing a few yards away. A slender shadow, shrouded by darkness. And in her raised arms, she held a gun, trained on him.
He threw another fist. Absorbed the burn. Expelled the rancor. He knew she was holding a gun on him to prevent him from running and putting her family at further risk. Regardless, she wouldn’t shoot him. Not because she needed a slave, but because she loved what was hers with a self-destructing passion. He faced her and held out his arms. “I’m yours.”
The girl and the gun didn’t move.
“Lose the damned mask and stop hiding from me.” He raked his throbbing hands through his hair. “Scream, cry, hit something. Hit me. But for God’s sake, let it out.”
The shadowy lines of her body wavered. The gun lowered, returned to her boot.
He stretched out his arms, savoring the cool breeze brushing over his unrestrained skin. “I stand here without rope or chains, Liv, tethered to you by my own will.” His blood beat with the ferocity of his words. “I won’t be free until you are.”
Her head jerked back, her body rigid. Then she walked straight to him and unleashed her fists on his chest. She clobbered him over and over, her gasps accelerating with each fall of her hand.
The lashing didn’t hurt. Not like the whimpers rising from her chest. She was hurting, lashing out for the wrongs that had been done to her. A sharp pain swelled in his throat. The only thing he could do was take it in, try to bear some of it for her.
He held his arms out and his body open. When her hits ebbed into weak slaps, she stumbled back, hugging herself and clutching her elbows.
His heartbeat slogged through the ache in his chest. He kept his arms outstretched and whispered, “I’m here.”
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5 winners will win a signed copy of Deliver by Pam Godwin (Open International)
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