Cover & Excerpt Reveal
The Slayers Book One
The Special Ops genetic experiments were designed to create super soldiers, not sex-addicted doms.
When Delano Briggs, BDSM club owner and volunteer firefighter, is called to aid in the evacuation of a burning New York hotel, he thinks it’s just another job.
But after rescuing the irresistibly sexy Chanze, he learns that behind the velvet curtains of the five-star hotel is one of the most exclusive, and immoral, prostitution rings in the country. For the men at the Cloister aren’t merely lovers for hire, but genetically enhanced sex slaves, created to provide the brothel’s rich clientele with the most insatiable doms and delicious subs.
Kept against his will by the doomsday chip implanted in his brain, Chanze sees no chance of escape. Until Delano and his three fellow super-enhanced operatives infiltrate the club for a walk on the wild side.
Genre: Erotic Sci FiPurchase links: MB Amazon AmazonUK iTunes Kobo B&N
Content/Theme(s): M/M, BDSM, D/s, Special Forces, Military, Firefighters, Romance (HEA), Suspense, Action Adventure, Horror, Multiple Main Couples, Dubious Consent, Multiple Partners, GLBT
Release Date: October 24, 2014
Publisher: Pan Macmillan Australia/Momentum
Excerpt & More
The fragrance of expensive French soap diluted the distinctive scent of male musk from long hours of sex. Exhausted, with every inch of his flesh screaming in protest, Chanze dropped his head and relaxed. Hot water poured over him. He bit off a moan. Pain sizzled from open wounds. Oh yeah, his clients had done a number on him. Deep welts ran along the length of his back and thighs. He pushed a finger inside his hole to increase the delicious throb from the pounding—shit, he was some sick fuck. He smiled at the memory of submitting to the vicious bastards and begging for more. Fucking A. He’d loved every second. He’d worn the collar of an edge-playing Dom long before he’d become a rent boy, not that he’d let that bit of information slip to the boss man.
He allowed his mind to drift back over his last conversation with Doc. His boss hated his attitude with a passion and Chanze had given the asshole the ammunition to get even. So he’d complained—fuck, he wasn’t the only rent-an-ass to voice an opinion. Everyone deserved time off didn’t they? His punishment had been metered out with a thin smile and an appointment with a group of senior sadists. Oh yeah, Doc understood his reluctance to submit to old men and the asshole had served up four of them in a two hour session. Old and wickedly inventive, the group of Doms, all in a constant state of arousal due to the blue pills they popped with abandon, had delivered a beating with a precision that would have killed most subs. Chanze had dissolved inside the pleasure-pain and flown to his usual place of compliance. In fact, the moment the lash had cut deep into his skin the age of his Doms hadn’t mattered. His body hummed from the incredible disembodied sensation of being alive. After the initial scene, the Doms had found their own pleasure and he had come so many times his balls had screamed with pain.
Chanze sighed and rubbed the clients’ rancid flavor off his mouth. In a short time, the nanos in his bloodstream would repair the damage but his boss needed the toe of one of his shit kickers aimed straight at the balls. He hated the smell of old guys, they always wore the same stale cologne and had so much body hair it got stuck in his teeth. Soapsuds tinged with blood swirled around his feet. He grimaced. Why the fuck had he agreed to sign on with a pimp in the first place? Well, Doc wasn’t exactly a pimp. Initiation into the Fury had changed more than his body; it had taken away his freedom.
It was the twenty-first century for Christ’s sake, how the hell had he ended up a sex slave in Manhattan? Anger welled and he pushed down the urge to punch the tiles. He chewed on his bottom lip and considered his position. I’m a prisoner here so I’d better behave like a good little boy. He rolled his shoulders and pushed back a wad of soaked hair. Setting his face in an impassive mask, he stepped from the shower to join the line of dripping sculpted bodies entering the hot air dryer. The men before him remained silent. Doc ruled the joint, and there was a “no conversation or sex” rule between members of the Fury.
He joined Adryck in the dryer. His friend’s lips turned up at the corners in a small gesture of recognition. Man, how the skinny kid had changed. Adryck was a blond Adonis, six-five of come-fuck-me sexy. He’d met Adryck three years ago hustling in an alley behind a bar—his alley—and had beaten the crap out of him. Someone had called the cops and they’d both ended up at the free clinic. The deal Doc had proposed looked sweet: cash, a place to live, all the food a man could eat, and a new body that never got old or sick.
At the time, Chanze had the wild idea Doc was a vampire—now he wished he had been. All Doc had asked for in return was an agreement to service a few of his clients—and his signature on a ten-year contract. The man owned a gay prostitution establishment hidden below Cloisters, an exclusive men’s club. Doc’s promise of a new life with no more back alleys or the risk of some asshole getting nasty with a knife was too good to refuse. Any rent boy would have jumped at the chance. As a hungry twenty-one-year-old, he had ignored the voice of doom in his head, and signed his life away. That night he and Adryck had become members of the Fury.
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Be on the lookout for H.C. Brown's upcoming November 2014 releases: My Purr-fect Alphas, Twink, Highlander in the Mist and Rock ‘n’ Leather
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