ASSASSINS

  BOOK 3:

  ASSASSIN MASTER

  by

  C.L. Scholey

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  Published by

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

  Copyright © 2015 by C.L. Scholey

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-63355-658-4

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Nancy Donahue

  Editor: Melanie Billings

  Printed in the United States of America

  WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT

  GAME ON!

  This is one married couple whose appetites for each other grow ever stronger with each passing year. They thoroughly enjoy discovering new ways to keep the spark alive and thriving. Allowing another couple to share in their fun only seems to increase the possibilities. Keeping the love alive is certainly not a problem for Mac and Jenney, which makes their escapades deliciously fun to read.

  ~ Coffee Time Romance

  ENGULF – NEW WORLD BK 5

  Abri is a strong female heroine. She didn't let deafness define who she is. Raiden is a likeable guy. Why? Even though Abri is deaf, Raiden picked her for his female.

  C.L. Scholey has done a terrific job of creating this futuristic romance series. We have action, romance, adventure & mystery all in 102 pages.

  ~ Romance Bookaholic Traveler

  THE BRETHREN OF TAVISH – VAMPIRE COVEN BK 1

  The Brethren of Tavish is a wonderfully written book. The characters are well rounded and bring you into the story as if you were really there. The story flows smoothly tying one part to the next. The plot is well thought out, giving you plenty of action...

  ~ Night Owl Reviews

  Other Books by Author Available at Whiskey Creek Press:

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Game on!

  Enslaved

  Timeless Witch

  Viking Warriors Mega Book

  New World Series Package Set – Books 1 to 5

  NEW WORLD SERIES

  Shield

  Armor

  Impenetrable

  Apparition

  Engulf

  Guardian

  Defender

  VAMPIRE COVEN SERIES

  The Brethren of Tavish

  A Vampire to Watch Over Me

  A Vampire’s Embrace

  UNEARTHLY WORLD SERIES

  Bay’s Mercenary

  Zuri’s Zargonnii Warrior

  Bethany’s Heart

  Cautious Surrender

  To Catch a Warrior

  ELEMENTS SERIES

  Fire’s Flame

  VIKING WARRIOR SERIES

  w/a Constantine De Bohon

  Valhalla Hott

  Valhalla Wolf

  Valkyrie Heat

  Norse Valor

  DARK WORLD SERIES

  Cage

  ASSASSIN SERIES

  Assassins Book 1: Assassin Territory

  Assasins Book 2: My Assassin Lover

  AVAILABLE AT WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  Back to Our Beginning

  I’d like to thank my readers who boldly go with me, so to speak, in my adventures in writing. And Julie, my sister, my rock.

  Prologue

  The soothing sounds of Beethoven reverberated through her mind, courtesy of her pink iPod, as her feet pounded down the gravel and dirt road. Her long hair swished back and forth with each step, tickling her shoulders. Carrie cherished the solitude of the long, winding country roads. She loved to jog without the threat of the encroaching public. The smells of early spring were like an intoxicating drink, the sights before her more engulfing and uplifting than an artist’s most inspiring painting.

  A deer broke through the lush foliage not far from her and Carrie pulled up, startled. They assessed one another in the harmony of their surroundings, regarding each other without fear. She smiled at the beautiful, majestic animal. The doe stood completely still. Dark brown eyes, picture perfect, gazed at her.

  “Hello, sweet thing,” Carrie said in a hushed whisper.

  The doe’s ears twitched at her words. Her tawny flanks quivered. Turning, she moved back amidst the foliage, her gait unhurried. Carrie bent forward, resting her hands on her knees. She glanced at her watch. She had been running for an hour. Feeling invigorated, she straightened and removed her water bottle from a case strapped behind her back. After taking a long, leisurely drink, she once more began to move at a steady pace.

  Today was her day off. University was hectic. Her classes were intense, yet she knew once finished, her determination would pay off. Her tenacity would then abound as she set off for foreign countries to aid suffering children. At twenty-one she had one year left on her generous scholarship. It afforded her a nice apartment and decent spending money.

  Carrie had grown up in the foster care system. She had been to eight different homes before the age of nine, until an older couple had taken her in. They were unable to have children of their own, and were reluctant at first to take in a child of her age, a decidedly rebellious and angry young child. She had tested them beyond the extreme, waiting for them to hand her back, as all the others had done.

  Their tenacity seemed to far outweigh her own. Or perhaps it wasn’t tenacity. It had been conviction; they honestly wanted to help her. Carrie had stood smugly one day when she broke a charming figurine of mother and child she knew her foster mother loved dearly. Her arms crossed petulantly over her small chest, glaring, waiting for the command to start packing. Sue, her foster mom, picked up the small pieces and held them in a loving fashion to her breast.

  “My own foster mother gave me this. I’m sorry it’s broken; it holds great sentimental value for me. I would have liked for you to have it.”

  Sue merely informed her, her gaze and tone so sad Carrie hadn’t felt as smug after that. Sue hadn’t yelled or cried or screamed at her. She placed the pieces on the counter, voicing hope that her husband, Will, could glue it.

  Carrie had by no means become the model child afterward. She remained unruly and obnoxious and angry, but decided she didn’t hate Sue and Will. Over time her foster parents helped her learn to trust. It was a long grueling process, but in the end they were part of the reason Carrie decided on her profession. She stayed with them until she turned eighteen.

  Their home had been the only one to provide a stable, nurturing environment, and she felt a great deal of gratitude toward them. It was with sadness she reflected on Sue’s death. She died of cancer not long after Carrie’s eighteenth birthday. Thankfully it hadn’t been a long, drawn out illness. A friend of the family, whom Carrie never met, held Will together through phone calls and a little help with finances.

  Sue’s glued figurine still adorned Carrie’s nightstand in her apartment, where it was a visible reminder of not only her worth, but others’. A stranger could make a difference in your life, a profound difference. Will moved away to a different country, wanting to be close to his sister, the only living relative he had left. His wife’s demise came close to destroying him. Occasionally, he did send Carrie cards and letters. She cherished each one.

  Carrie had been on her own for three years. She loved her independence and felt victorious every time a professor raved over her work. She was at the top of her class and knew she would stay there.

  A dark blue van in the distance stuck out like a sore thumb on the lonely country road. For a brief moment, Carrie thought to turn around and head back in the opposite direction. At a closer look, she could see a large man off to the side, struggling with his tire. He was alone and it was apparent he might be able to use some assistance. Hesitant, yet wanting to offer aid, she approached with caution.

  “Need some help?” she inquired. Her hand rose to brush a lock of wispy, windblown hair behind her ear.

  The man stood and Carrie could see he was indeed a big man. Standing at least six foot three with a burly build, barrel chest and beefy arms, he towered over her petite five-foot-one frame. His short dark hair was just starting to grey at the temples, and she guessed him to be in his early to mid-forties.

  “Thanks, that’s real friendly of you, honey. My tire seems to be leaking air, and I need to change it,” the man replied, standing upright and resting the tire against his legs.

  His tone was deep though tempered and suited their surroundings. He looked Carrie over intently with deep, dark brown eyes. For the briefest of moments she felt a compelling urge to turn and run. He smiled brightly at her.

  “Would you like some help?”

  “Really appreciate your offer, honey. But the other tire is useless. I’m not old by any means

but have been feeling a bit off. I seem to be struggling with this one. No matter, I’ll get it. Enjoy your day.”

  Carrie was about to leave, but when the man went back to struggling with his tire he gasped; for a split second his mouth opened wide, and then suddenly he placed a large hand to his broad chest, his fingers squeezing into the material of his shirt. His face contorted in agony. He groaned and slowly lowered himself to the ground, the tire resting on his legs. Wariness forgotten, concerned, Carrie raced to him. She shoved the tire off him.

  “What is it? Are you all right?” she asked. Carrie squatted before him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

  “My heart,” the man groaned, clutching lightly at the hand held to him. “Haven’t been well. My pills. Please...help me.”

  “Where are they?” she asked fearfully; she recalled he mentioned he’d been feeling off. It was apparent he was more than simply off, he needed medical aid. The hand gripping hers seemed so frail for one so large and powerful looking; it was unnerving. She noticed he was sweating profusely, the front of his shirt saturated. The exertion must have proven too much for him. She didn’t want to see him die right in front of her. They were in the middle of nowhere. They were completely alone. She would be unable to lift him into his van and drive for help; she couldn’t abandon him out here all by himself. Help would be too far away, and she knew nothing of first aid.

  “My van...inside...glove box, hurry...please,” he rasped, his face slowly turning red with his gasps of obvious pain.

  His hand dropped from hers to languish limply at his side, his head leaned to rest against the van. His eyes closed tightly. He moaned deeply in the back of his throat.

  Carrie leaped to her feet and raced to the van. She climbed inside the open back doors, heading toward the front. The interior was empty. Only two seats up front. She spotted the glove compartment, it was open and she immediately saw the small bottle of pills.

  Poor man he must have anticipated needing these.

  An empty bottle of water rested in a cup holder. She clutched the bottle of pills and frowned. For a man who was sweating as badly as he was he didn’t reek; in fact, his aftershave was pleasant. His shirt was saturated in sweat, but not his underarms. The hair on Carrie’s nape came to life and she shivered with a thought. He had doused his shirt with the water and laid his pills out. She was in his van.

  What if I was set up?

  Not one to trust by nature, she meant to flee when she felt herself grabbed from behind. Carrie tried to scream, but her mouth was securely covered over with a large, hand smelling of diesel and fumes. The pill bottle dropped to the van floor. She lifted both arms to grasp tightly at the man’s huge forearm and felt her water bottle ripped from her back to clatter off to the side. Her feet were kicked out from under her and she dropped to the hard metal, pinned to the floor of the van beneath the man’s heavy body.

  Oh God, he’s going to rape me.

  Her arms were captured at her wrists and jerked up behind her back as the man settled his large frame firmly over her. She struggled, to no avail. He was too powerful, too big, at least two fifty to her one hundred pounds. She tired quickly. Soon her body lay beneath him, motionless; the unwelcome feel of the coldness beneath her cheek caused a deep shudder. She whimpered, and felt her eyes fill with frightened tears. Carrie had never been with a man before. This man was too big, he’d kill her. Her attacker turned her beneath him and, using his legs, pinned her arms to her sides while still keeping a firm grip over her mouth. He smiled down at her.

  “Easy, little one, I’m not going to hurt you,” he soothed. The man she thought at death’s door was now the picture of health and looking very pleased.

  Carrie whimpered up at him, silently pleading with him in confusion and fear. She had only wanted to help. Why would he do this? She wanted to save his life. Was he about to take hers?

  The man reached for a syringe he had in waiting. He expelled a small amount of the fluid, gazing at the contents critically. Carrie again struggled, realizing his intent. He sat motionless, and her struggles subsided. They were on a deserted road; it was obvious he was in no hurry. He could afford to wait for her to wear herself out. She once more whimpered up at him, her tears flowing freely. Her words were muffled against his hand, and she tried to shake her head.

  “It’s all right; I’m not going to rape you. Just relax. This will only make you sleep. I promise you will wake up again in a little while, unharmed,” the man said. With an easy, practiced move, he inserted the needle into her vein, expelling the liquid.

  An odd taste filled her mouth and it took effort to keep her eyes open. She blinked rapidly, her entire body relaxed; she could no longer struggle, her arms and legs felt like dead weights, she couldn’t wiggle her fingers or toes. She battled between an induced sense of complete calm and the terror that overwhelmed her. The man removed his hand from her mouth; she was unable to scream.

  “Please.” Carrie wept. She felt cold, her chin quivered. She glanced around frantically, seeking an escape as the darkness began its claim on her.

  “Don’t fight it, you’ll be fine.” The man reached up a large hand and gently stroked her forehead with the back of his fingers. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Who are you?” Carrie whispered. Her voice was almost inaudible.

  “Roll.”

  “What do you want?”

  Her tongue felt thick. Her frantic breathing slowed and she could no longer keep her eyes open. An ocean wave was flowing through her mind, rolling in with the wind. The smiling man before her blurred, his image shimmering, until he no longer existed. Her head rolled to the side as oblivion claimed her.

  * * * *

  Roll eased off her. He lifted her tiny form, hefting her slight weight in his arms, guessing her to weigh no more than ninety-five to one hundred pounds. He placed her into a thickly padded box that looked like ordinary spare tire holders fitted to the wall of the van where the wheels would indent from outside. Undetectable to the naked eye or an innocent. He positioned her slumbering body onto her side in case she vomited. He didn’t want her to choke to death; she was too valuable. Roll studied her features critically. Her hair was thick and full, falling to mid-back.

  He lifted the luxurious length of her locks between his meaty fingers, admiring the silky softness, the random natural curls. Her complexion was unblemished. With a careful thumb he lifted her eyelids, checking her pupils. He noted her eyes were a crystal blue, gorgeous. Deftly, with practiced ease, he undid her shirt and gazed at her high, full, beautiful breasts for a moment; she wore no bra.

  His hand lifted to squeeze first one, then the other, testing their ripe firmness. The padding of his calloused thumb slid across one dusty rose-colored nipple, smiling as it hardened. He resisted the urge to taste. He placed his hand over her left breast, feeling to see if her heart was still pounding or was slowing, before doing up her buttons.

  He pulled her tiny blue shorts down and looked for any imperfections. There were none. Her mound was colored only slightly darker than the hair on her head; she was a natural blond. A very cautious, gently probing finger determined she was still a virgin; this was an added bonus. His hand remained for a moment, fondling her, exposing every inch of her to him. He groaned while trying to control his growing erection.

  Roll re-clothed her. He preferred to assess his victims while they were unconscious. It caused them the least distress. Also he could gain a better idea on how much he should charge for them. This girl would definitely bring a high price.

  Smiling happily, Roll fit the lid of the bench closed. Checking first to make sure nothing interfered with ventilation, he snapped the three locks into place. He climbed from the van and tossed the old tire back inside then closed the back doors. Whistling, he jumped into his seat, started the van and drove off down the road. It wouldn’t take him long to reach the airstrip, where the plane waited. He needed to get the girl out of the country immediately.

  The timing for the next dose of medication had to be precise. He didn’t want her coming to while he was flying. He wouldn’t be able to soothe her fears if she woke bound and gagged. If she vomited, he would be unable to assist her.

  She certainly was a pretty little thing. Feeling very pleased with himself, Roll turned on the radio and sang along with a heavy metal song. Today was definitely a good day.

 

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