Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) Read online

  Just Ink Press, LLC

  A Just Ink Press novel

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or were used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Just Ink Press, LLC

  1016 S Roosevelt Street

  Tempe, AZ 85281

  Enslaved

  Copyright 2013 by R.C. Murphy

  Edited by N.L. Gervasio

  Photo Copyright Yuri Arcurs

  Photoshop Cover Art by Lori Lasswell

  Cover design and interior images by N.L. Gervasio

  All rights are reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First electronic publication: February 2013

  For information, address:

  Just Ink Press, LLC

  [email protected]

  www.justinkpress.com

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Books by R.C. Murphy

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Special Preview

  Incubus: a creature that creeps into the dreams of women and fulfills their every sexual fantasy. When the sun rises, he vanishes without a trace. Sounds like an ideal situation for both parties, right? She enjoys the best sex of her life. He is able to fuck and run without an ounce of guilt about the endless stream of women he’s bedded.

  If only that were the truth.

  The reality of an incubus’s existence isn’t nearly as steamy. Men need not covet the lives of those poor few indentured to a life of meaningless intercourse. Love is a foreign concept in the stark barracks housing the incubi when they aren’t being summoned and ridden like prized stallions. Their flesh is marred with tattooed cuffs, brands for all to see and know what they are. Not even the gods will sully their eyes by looking on an incubus for too long. Demons get a better reception.

  Deryck—named after the male he replaced in the ranks of incubi—was one such unfortunate soul. Stolen from the womb of his mother moments before his birth, he’s known only the life of a slave. The world be damned if he could figure out how to fix a car, or even drive the damn thing, but he knew every single way to pleasure a woman.

  “Time for me to go, mistress.” He pulled his shaft free of the brunette gasping for air beneath him and used the sheet pinned by their bodies to clean off the two of them.

  “Will I see you again?” Her drugged voice barely carried from the pillow her head rested on. Sweat-drenched hair clung to her breasts in strands like chocolate rivers over milky flesh. The woman arched her back and played a finger over her erect nipple in a flagrant attempt to seduce him.

  “Sure you will.” A blatant lie. He never answered the summons of the same woman twice. No exceptions.

  “Mmm . . . good.”

  Deryck traced a finger down the side of her neck. “Sleep.”

  The command sucked her into a deep slumber. She’d wake in her reality with pleasant memories of their time together with none of the unfortunate side effects of a one-night-stand. Incubi were infertile, much to his relief.

  Deryck dressed in the jeans and form-fitting t-shirt he’d arrived in. He raked a hand through his hair to right it. With a thought, he transported himself from the Inbetween to the compound on the Other Side where the incubi lived. He hoped everyone was out. Silence and solitude were his best friends, especially after being summoned.

  “Holy shit, were you mauled by a tiger?”

  Garik propped his shoulder against the archway leading to the communal showers. His jaw worked at a piece of gum. He nodded at the row of scratches on Deryck’s throat; eyebrows bobbed suggestively.

  “Don’t play coy. Tell me about her.”

  “When have I ever shared the details of my business?” Deryck turned his back on the other male and stripped out of his shirt. He’d shower, even if it meant having company.

  “Humor me, man.” Garik’s voice held an edge of excitement. He’d yet to grow out of the phase where their life excited him. Give him a couple more years and he’d be as jaded as the rest of them. But for now, they all must deal with his exuberance.

  Deryck finished undressing and edged past the male. The shower room held twenty showerheads and not much else. A rack of towels sat near the door. Hanging on the walls between the showerheads were containers of antibacterial body wash, shampoo, and conditioner, displayed in neat little rows.

  He snatched a washcloth off the towel rack and walked over to the showerhead he’d deemed his since the first night he’d been summoned to ravish that first young woman, Deirdre—the only one of his lovers that he’d ever remember the name of. A man remembers his first, no matter how many come after.

  A low whistle cut over the sound of falling water. He ignored it and pumped blue gel body wash onto the wet washcloth. Deryck set to scrubbing the recent female’s scent and sweat off his body. Not that he considered it his own anymore. Other people used it, fed it, and clothed it. He just lived in that sack of muscle and bone, praying for the day he’d be allowed to pass on to oblivion.

  “She must have been a wildcat.” Garik plopped lanky frame down on the cold tile across the room. The hem of his jogging pants soaked up the water running his way. “Maybe she’ll summon one of us again. I’d love to take that ride.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “Why don’t you take repeats, man? The rest of us do.” Gods, would he drop it already?

  Deryck shot the other man a look and rinsed the soap from his back. “I don’t care for it. That’s all.”

  A wide grin cut across Garik’s dark face. “You’re missing out, when they learn what you like it—”

  “Not interested in teaching humans.” Turning his back on Garik, he hoped like hell the male would take a hint and get lost.

  Deryck washed and conditioned his jaw-length hair. After any summons, that remained the best part; washing away the evidence of how he’d been touched by others. With his hair taken care of, he could face a mirror and know if a strand was out of place; he’d styled it that way.

  He shut off the water and grabbed a towel. Garik was blessedly absent.

  Deryck made quick work of drying off. He checked on the scratches in the mirror on the wall. The scabs over them had come off in the shower. Glossy pink scars ran over his throat and shoulders. Those too would vanish in the next hour. Rapid healing was one of the few benefits of his enslavement.

  Back in the sleeping quarters, a change of clothes sat on the foot of his bed. None of them knew who placed them there or how that being knew what clothes each man preferred. Nevertheless, he appreciated the fact that he could wear what he wanted, even if he didn’t provide it for himself. He pulled on the loose t-shirt and sweatpants and sent a silent thanks to their invisible butler.

  “I’m gonna go grab some food. You coming?” Garik waited at the only door in and out of the barracks. A concerned look creased his brow.

  “In a moment. I’ll meet you over there.”

  “All right. I’ll save you a spot.” Garik left, taking all of the unwanted noise with him.

  Alone at last, Deryck lay back on his bed. His arms pillowed his head as he contemplated the bare white ceiling.

  How much longer could he keep going like this? An existence where one possessed no control over his life wasn�
�t a life at all. The potential he’d possessed at the moment of his birth changed to a living hell, and all because his mortal mother had been tricked into bed by an Egyptian fertility god. Deryck sneered at the thought of the father he’d never met. Before he died, he swore he’d sink a dagger into the male’s gut.

  With that pleasant thought, sleep dragged him down into a fitful rest full of other people’s fantasies starring his body, but never his mind.

  * * * * *

  Springtime in Missouri didn’t receive the memo—summer wasn’t due for at least another four weeks. Shayla McIntire shrugged out of her wool jacket and laid it over the back of her seat. The patio outside her favorite teashop, Tea Haven, overflowed with people. All of who seemed overly concerned with global warming. Couldn’t they enjoy a nice day without focusing on the negative for once? Apparently not.

  Across the table, her best friend did the same. Faye Colt shook out her gorgeous head of long, dark hair and stretched over the back of her chair. The guys at the next table openly ogled.

  Shayla leaned toward the nearest bug-eyed man. “She charges.”

  He shot her a look. His buddies laughed. They grabbed their drinks and left, debating how much it’d cost for an hour with the Native goddess.

  “Thanks, Mom. You just scared off my future ex-husband.”

  “Don’t ‘Mom’ me. You’re five years older than I am.” She tossed a bunched-up straw wrapper across the table.

  “And you dress like you’re sixty. Would it kill you to buy something made for this season?” Faye picked up the wrapper and flung it back. It bounced off Shayla’s forehead.

  “Why bother? I only go out in public with you and no one’s looking at me then.”

  “You need to get back on the horse already. It’s been five years. Not even a good vibrator can keep a woman satisfied for that long.”

  A blush crept up Shayla’s cheeks. “The only way I’m hooking up again is if the world’s most gorgeous man crawls out of my dreams and proposes.”

  Faye took a bite of her croissant and wagged the rest to punctuate her words. “Make sure he passes a psyche evaluation and a driving test. You don’t want a repeat of the last guy.”

  “Leave ancient history in the text books. I made a mistake.”

  “That mistake cost you dearly.”

  Shayla held up a hand. “It’s not up for discussion.”

  “Fine. But I’m serious; you need someone, Shay.”

  Shayla sighed before she could check it. They’d hit this topic over and over. Cyrus, the scumbag ex who made the last seven years of her live a living hell, ruined her for relationships. It wasn’t in her nature to have one-night stands. Her only option for companionship ran on batteries and never left the toilet seat up in the middle of the night. Did she miss having someone to curl up with on the couch and watch movies? Totally. It didn’t mean she was ready to find someone to settle down with. Mr. Dreamboat wouldn’t be popping up any time soon. She’d accepted that.

  “There’s a sale at Isabel’s Boutique. Come on. You can help me find clothes that aren’t from last year.” When in doubt, distract Faye with shopping. It generally worked for Shayla.

  Honey brown eyes narrowed at her. “You’re changing topics. And it’s working.”

  They left a tip for their waitress and made it out of Tea Haven without any men tripping over themselves. Some strange law of the universe made them regress to toddlers when Faye walked past. It amused Shayla to no end. Her friend talked a big game, but rarely gave in to everyone’s insistence that she’s super model hot.

  Arm in arm, they walked the three blocks down to the boutique. The owner, an old friend from high school, smiled at them from behind the cash register. An elderly woman plopped down an armload of clothes on the counter. Around the store, other shoppers searched through racks of gorgeous clothing. Trepidation snaked into Shayla’s mind. Maybe shopping wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Oh no, don’t you dare,” Faye warned.

  “What?”

  Her friend dragged her to a rack of blouses in the back corner of the store. “You’ve got that frightened bunny look. They don’t care what you try on.”

  Before she could respond, Faye shoved clothes in her arms. Shayla followed in her wake, taking everything the other woman thought she should try on. She hated shopping with a passion. It was something only done when one’s last pair of good jeans developed a hole in the ass. Good lord, she thought, looking at the armload of clothes, silk and linen sure weighs a lot.

  Faye pushed her into the nearest changing stall and followed.

  “I can dress myself.”

  “Of course you can, but this way I can make sure you try everything on.” She snatched something off the top of the pile. “Start with this.”

  Dangling from Faye’s slender fingers was a screaming red and black lace bra. The matching panties sat on top of the clothes they’d grabbed. Mortified, Shayla batted the thing away when her friend tried to hand it to her.

  “I’m not trying that on!”

  “You’re putting it on, even if I have to wrestle you into it. Every woman needs a sexy bra. Your off-brand Target bra is a shame to womankind.” She shook the offensive garment. “Put. It. On.”

  “Why did I suggest we go shopping?”

  Faye rolled her eyes and shoved the bra in her hand. “Your subconscious is ready to move on and I don’t want Mr. Dreamguy to come into existence and see you in that beige thing you’re wearing.”

  She didn’t even bother to ask how the other woman knew what bra she wore. They knew each other far too well. Turning around, Shayla stripped out of her t-shirt and slid out of her comfy bra. With a few curses, she wrangled her size Ds into the new bra. Eyes closed, she turned back around.

  “I must look like a porn star,” she complained and reached to unhook it.

  An electronic click made her open her eyes. Faye grinned. Her phone disappeared down the top of her blouse. The sneaky bitch took a picture.

  “Delete it, Faye!”

  “Nope.” She pushed Shayla in front of the mirror. “You look gorgeous. We’re getting the bra and the panties. Don’t argue that you don’t have anyone to wear them for. Wear them for yourself, okay? Come on, try on something else while your tits look awesome.”

  Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that her breasts looked good in the flashy bra. No way she’d say it out loud and prove Faye right. Pride kept her mouth shut while her friend played Barbie with her. How she managed to pick the right sizes in everything confounded Shayla.

  After what felt like an eternity of wedging herself into designer clothes, they decided on two outfits she could mix and match to make her wardrobe not one of a woman so long on the rebound her backside felt like it was made of rubber. At the register, their friend Klara chuckled softly as she scanned the matching bra and panties. Shayla’s cheeks heated. She wanted to kill Faye for embarrassing her. Only a little, though. Without Faye, she’d have no one to drag her out of the house on bad days.

  Klara passed the bulging reusable cloth bag over. “Where are you two off to next?”

  Faye tapped her nails on the glass counter. Suddenly her eyes lit up. Nothing good came from that look. “The bakery on Fifth.”

  “We just ate, woman. How can you look so good when all you do is eat?” Shayla shook her head.

  “Hey, you burned calories trying on clothes. Besides, we’ll walk over and earn some cheesecake.” Hope glittered in her eyes.

  “You’re paying for my size fourteen pants afterwards.”

  “Bring me back something. I haven’t been able to get free at all today.” Klara opened the register and handed Shayla a twenty. “Strawberry cheesecake and some of those cream puffs dipped in dark chocolate.”

  “You want a side of insulin with that?” Shayla pocketed the money.

  Klara opened her mouth to respond, but got cut off by a customer across the room waving a hand to get her attention. She hopped around the counter, hugged them, and
vanished into the sea of bargain hunters. May God help her. They looked ravenous.

  They walked out to the sound of an angry customer reaming Klara about not having anything above a size sixteen. Shayla made a mental note to double Klara’s order of cream puffs. The customer’s voice went up an octave. Okay, maybe a triple order would help smooth ruffled feathers after her rough day.

  A fork tapped against the blue glass plate in front of Deryck. He shot a look to the male across the table.

  “You planning to eat that?” Herryk’s eyes lit up with hope. He’d eat them out of house and home, if possible. The male spent every waking moment screwing or eating. The incubus needed no hobbies.

  “Have at it. I’m not hungry.” Deryck shoved the plate away. The dish—eggplant parmesan, perfectly cooked with a side of spaghetti—smelled appealing, but his stomach protested the idea of food so soon after returning to this realm.

  The other male snatched up the food and dug in. “She must have been a good one if you’re too distracted to eat.”

  Grinding his teeth, Deryck pushed back from the table. None of them, not even the old ones who’d been forced into the life centuries ago, understood what it took out of him to be used as they were. “It is our nature,” they claimed. He called bullshit. Turning, he made for the door. Maybe some sleep would screw his head on straight.

  Garik stopped him in the doorway. A small bowl passed from his hands to Deryck’s. He frowned at it.

  “Trail mix. You need to eat, even if it’s rat food.” Garik patted the male on the shoulder and left to take his seat at the table.

  Well, maybe one person in the barracks understood, even if he still enjoyed the lifestyle.

  Bowl in hand, Deryck left the others to their meal. Conversations about their latest conquests followed him around the walkway, running the entire inner perimeter of the Grecian-style building toward his sleeping quarters. Part of him wished he could turn around and trade play-by-play with his brothers. The other half of his mind rebelled, wishing there were a way to stop his endless nightmare.