Page 9 of Delta (Alpha #12)

W ell, shit.

My not-so-wee little prick is rather intrigued by Bryn. Usually these girls who manage to get away are scared shitless, helpless little bambis.

This girl…is not.

She was impressed by my drop of the four fat fuckos. She didn't scream, didn't cower or cover her ears or act all squicked out by the buckets of blood currently sluicing down the kerb.

Also, she's fucking breathtaking.

Only a few inches shorter than my six-four, she's slender and willowy, but she's got some killer curves for all that.

Her skirt barely covers her ass, leaving her mile-long legs bare, and fuck me, those legs.

Strong, thick, smooth. The kind of legs you'd tear apart the earth to have wrapped around your waist all fucking night. If she’s the extra, I wonder what the original merchandise is like.

According to the overblown twat I'm forced to work for, the unexpected did indeed occur, in that both of the girls vanished and both of the mules are dead. But I can't just come out and ask this girl if she's the original.

I mean, I could. But it would bodge up my plan.

See, I hate this job. I mean, I really, really fucking hate it.

I'm a shit human, okay? I drink too much, I use and objectify women, I murder people, and hand out beatings on the regular.

But I do have a few little morals. Number one, I only kill people who either deserve it or are trying to murder me.

Number two, sex is consensual. If you have to force it, you're no kind of man and I'll personally rip your fucking pathetic little knob off your pathetic little body with my bare fucking hands and shove it all the way down your gob.

Number three, people are not objects to be bought and sold.

Just about everything else is up for debate, and I'm damn good at debating.

But I'm up against an immovable force. I've no real choice. There's always a choice, people say. But people who say that are usually not the ones making the choice, are they? Nah, they're not. Sometimes, there really isn't a choice.

Case in point—this shit situation. Or, shit-uation, as it were. I've got to get this girl to Lyon, ASAP. If I don't, my world is over. I don't want to hand her over to him. I know what he's like. I know what happens to girls who end up in his clutches.

But there’s just no fucking choice.

I could crack her across the noggin, but you're likely as not to scramble someone's brains doing that.

It ain't as easy as they make it seem on the telly to give someone a whack just hard enough to knock 'em out but not so hard they end up a drooling cucumber.

I don't have any sleepy drugs, and while I could get them and put her to sleep, I ain't a fucking chemist. Give her too much…drooling cucumber, or dead. Too little and she wakes up confused and panicky, and then I’ve got to subdue her or calm her somehow, and knowing my luck, she'd wake up while I’m doing 130 km/h on the motorway.

And all in all, while I'm aware of the gruesome, horrible fate that awaits her after I turn her over to Satan's favorite minion, I'm not eager to traumatize her any more than I have to along the way.

Especially this girl.

Have I mentioned how fucking gorgeous she is?

The fucking hair, Jesus. A massive explosion of perfectly spiraled black curls, the kind I'm itching to dig my fingers into while she wraps those pretty, plump pink lips around my cock.

I can almost feel it. And her eyes? To say they're brown is to lack imagination.

They're not just brown, they're…dark chocolate, the 85% cacao kind that's got a hint of bitter to balance out the sweet.

They're the color of rich dark soil in the summer sun.

They're infinite pools, mesmerizing and hypnotic. Dangerous.

Right now, those not-just-brown eyes are searching me as if hoping to unearth my secrets.

Which is when I realize I’m still holding her hand.

And what a hand it is—tiny, soft, clever, quick.

Her skin is magnificent. The exact shade of the kind of hot cocoa that comes out of those cheapo tins at the corner Tesco.

I suppose that’s not a sexy description, but it's accurate, and I happen to love that shit with an unhealthy zeal. Put this girl in a mug and I’ll drink her all up.

I may just anyway.

I tuck my trusty old Browning Hi-Power back in my waistband and keep hold of her hand. Pull her into a walk. "Come on, then, love. Best get scarce, unless you feel like explaining them dead fucks to the Berlin police.”

“Oh, no, nope. I'm good." She trots to catch up and then manages to match my stride without effort. "So your name is Rush?"

I wink at her. “That's me, yeah."

"Well, Rush, thank you for…" she waves at the bodies now well behind us. "That."

"Didn't seem like they wanted to have a pillow fight, and I don't think much of that sorta business."

She glowers. "No, they didn't want to have a pillow fight."

I look her over—skimpy little silver skirt clinging to her tight little ass, bare midriff, and swishy little rainbowy top cupping what seem to be a magnificent pair of tits. Over that, a man's suit jacket. On her feet, those furry boots girls like to wear, but they seem a bit too small.

"Interesting fashion choices,” I note.

If looks were blades, I'd be carved up into pieces about now, the way she's glaring at me. "Yeah, well, when you get kidnapped out of a fucking nightclub, drugged, and hauled halfway across goddamned Europe, you do what you gotta fuckin do, okay?"

Fuck, I hate this.

"So, I feel like maybe you skipped a detail or two in that telling,” I say.

"What, you want the graphic audio version?"

"The what now?"

"Graphic audio? Audiobooks, but instead of an actor narrating the text, it's actors and sound effects and everything. Like a movie, but audio only."

I give her a puzzled look. “That's a thing, is it?"

"Uh, yeah."

I narrow my eyes at her sarcastic tone. "Hey now, no reason to be sarcastic about it. For one, sarcasm is my thing. And for two, I ain't exactly had a lot of opportunity in my life to go around listening to books on tape."

"Books on tape," she echoes. “Don’t you have a smartphone?"

"Yeah?"

"Let me see."

Ha, right. So you can call your parents or whatever? Not bloody likely.

She reads my hesitation. "Ohmygod, just open up your phone. I'm not gonna swipe through all your dick picks."

I open it and hand it to her, watching her over her shoulder. "I've never once taken a picture of my knob, thanks very much. Doesn’t do it justice. Art is meant to be appreciated live and in person."

Her jaw drops open, but it's also part grin, part shock. "You…wow. You think pretty highly of yourself, don't you?"

"I think accurately of myself." Sirens howl not far away. "Whatever you're gonna do, best do it quick. If you want to vanish, we can't stay on the street."

She hands me my phone. "Press play."

She's downloaded an app and, I assume, signed in using her login. I press the play button, and a woman's voice emits from the speakers.

"…His finger penetrated her slowly, filling her tight channel until her eyes crossed and her wails of ecstasy ricocheted off the cavern walls. Growling hungrily, Kraden wrapped his long, prehensile tail around her thigh, teasing upward—"

I stab the pause button when an awkwardly realistic female moan of sexual pleasure overlaps the narration. "Wait, wait, wait. His fuckin' tail ? What in the actual fuck are you listenin' to? Monkey porn or some shit like that?"

She glares at me. "No, you fuck-bag, it's not monkey porn . And just because it has sex in it that doesn’t mean it's porn .

It's spicy romantasy, thank you very much.

This is a series about a girl who gets magically transported to an alien realm where the males have prehensile tails and erogenous horns. "

"Erogeh-what-now?”

"Erogenous. It means sensitive to sexual stimulation. Your upper thigh could be erogenous, but your nostrils, not so much."

I laugh. "Never had your nose twiddled? Missin' out on some fun, you are.” I pause.

“So, lemme get this straight." I wiggle my phone in her direction as I guide her down to the U-Bahn.

"You could be sitting on a train with your headphones on, and you're listenin' to some girl get railed by a bloke with a tail and horns? "

She grins. "Hell yes. I do it all the time. Lay out on the beach next to my brother and my mom, listening to that. It's hot."

"Wouldn't it be…I dunno. Weird? Like, I'd think you'd get all bothered."

"Oh, I do. But I'm a girl, Rush. No boner to give away the fact that I'm turned on."

"Right, right, I guess there's that." I look at the app. "Are there other books on there? Ones that haven't got spicy tail-boys in it?”

She cackles. "Yes, Rush, there are. There's millions. Not all of them have the sound effects. Most audiobooks are just someone…well, I was gonna say reading, but it’s more of a performance. They're actors. The good ones, at least."

"So, like…" I find the book on Roman history I’ve been slogging through on my Kindle app and show it to her. "I could find this, but someone reading it to me?"

She frowns thoughtfully, taking my phone again and tapping and swiping. "Yep. Here it is. It's got Whispersync, too, so it'll pick up where you left off, if you're reading and listening to the same book at different times."

"No fuckin' way. Are you for real?" I boggle at the price. "Thirty-four fucking pounds?"

"If you get a membership, it's a lot cheaper, assuming you actually use the subscription, though.

But yeah, audiobooks can be expensive. Think about it, though: you have to pay the actors, and then you have to pay someone to do the actual recording, like the machines and such, and then a producer to cut and edit and mix… a lot goes into them."