Any Price, page 1
Riptide Publishing
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.
Any Price
Copyright © 2024 by Hazel Domain
Cover art: Simoné
Editor: Rachel Haimowitz
Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/cover-design
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ISBN: 978-1-62649-999-7
First edition
July, 2024
Also available in paperback:
ISBN: 978-1-963773-00-2
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This deal comes with unspoken clauses.
Dominic Blackburn has a job no sane person wants: he makes things quit going bump in the night. Unfortunately, some monsters bump a little too hard for one man. In desperate need of backup, he buys the (suspiciously cheap) contract of an indentured—and gorgeous—man named Micah.
Micah’s paperwork says he’s a fighter, and he is. Kind of. He’d rather take a beating than dole one out. Good thing plenty of people are willing to pay for that. Micah’s a professional. Whatever his contract holders need—no matter how intimate—he delivers with his head held high. But Micah’s new holder seems content to leave most of his more specialized skills unused.
Micah’s not quite sure what to do, or not do, with Dominic, and the feeling is mutual. The more Dominic learns about Micah’s past, the less he wants to know. It soon becomes clear that Micah’s previous holders were involved in something sinister—and big. It’s up to Dominic and Micah to figure out how deep it goes, but getting eaten by a chupacabra is starting to sound more appealing.
For Matt, who told me I was a writer.
About Any Price
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dear Reader
The Powers That Be
Acknowledgments
Also by Hazel Domain
About the Author
Enjoy More Like This
On television, indent markets were all about red velvet couches and people in masks bidding on supermodels.
In reality, Dominic found himself in a cross between a car dealership and a YMCA. Large windows and white tile gave an impression of space. On the back wall, a large poster showed a woman of indeterminate age, holding a broom and smiling. The indenturement program got me back to work, read the caption along the bottom. Indents move industry forward!
There were several dozen people on the sales floor, most dressed in the black scrubs that served as a de-facto uniform for indentured employees. A young woman noticed Dominic looking and waved, though she didn’t approach. Dom waved back and, for the hundredth time, wondered if he was making a huge mistake.
“See anyone you like?” said a voice at Dom’s shoulder. He turned to find a salesman, grinning broadly.
“Maybe? I’ve actually got kind of a weird request.”
The salesman’s grin widened. “Doesn’t everyone.” He winked. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can find someone to accommodate you.”
“I work in creature control,” Dom said bluntly. This was where he was going to get turned away, sent back to the job posting boards that had been failing him for the last nine months. “I need someone who isn’t going to freeze when it comes to staking a feral vampire.”
The salesman frowned. “That . . . is an odd one, I won’t lie. Off the top of my head, I don’t think we have anyone with creacon certifications, certainly not anyone on-hand; these are more day-labor types . . . but I can check the database?”
He didn’t need to bother. If someone certified was up for hire, Dom would already have found them. “I’m not worried about the certifications. I know what I’m doing, I just need an extra pair of hands. If you’ve got someone with a Gift, that’d be really helpful.”
The salesman’s hum was doubtful. “I can tell you right now it’s extremely rare for the Gifted to need the services of an indenturement facility. It’s not unheard of for an applicant to have average magical ability, but even a little aptitude on that front raises the contract price significantly.”
“I figured.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, do you have a budget in mind?”
Dom did, in fact. The life insurance payout had been two hundred seventy-five thousand dollars exactly, cashed out in hundreds, most of which was still in a paper bag in his trunk. But he wasn’t about to tell the salesman that.
“A good assistant pays for themselves,” he answered instead. “Why, did you have someone in mind?”
“I think I do.” He nodded, turning toward the back, away from the windows, and gestured for Dom to follow. “Caitlyn! Over here, please!”
A tall, solidly built woman turned immediately away from a group of applicants, moving toward Dominic in what he could only describe as a march.
“Sir?”
“Caitlyn, this is . . .” the salesman paused. “Goodness, I forgot to ask your name.”
“Dominic Blackburn.” Dom extended his hand. Caitlyn took it, shaking once before returning her hands to her sides.
“Caitlyn was private security for seven years before joining us,” the salesman said. “She’s proficient in hand-to-hand combat as well as a number of close-range weapons. No magical aptitude, I’m afraid, but no one’s perfect.” He chuckled politely. Caitlyn didn’t react. “Eight years left on her contract, eighty thousand, and you can both be out the door in an hour.”
Dominic did some math. Ten thousand a year was a little low, even for a contract that someone else had given up. Even after paying the broker’s fee, her insurance, and living expenses, that was still far less than he’d have to pay an hourly employee. He wondered uneasily why her first contract holder had decided to transfer.
“You ever done paranormal roundups before?” he asked.
Caitlyn’s words were clipped, wasting no time on lingering vowels. “I did mostly household security. We had basic training on how to neutralize the more common threats, but I never dealt with any personally.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dom noticed another woman. She was dressed like a civilian and was watching him with more interest than the situation called for. He turned his attention back to Caitlyn, ignoring it for now.
This was the important question. “Could you take out something humanoid, if the situation called for it? A lot of creatures mimic humans well, or used to be human. Some people have a hard time getting past that.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” the salesman cut in. “We screen our applicants very carefully, Mr. Blackburn, and I assure you that we don’t have indents with performance problems. You’re guaranteed full compliance or your money back within 30 days of the purchase date.”
“It’s not a question of compliance,” Dom said. The woman off to the side was inching closer, and it was putting him on edge. “In a life-or-death situation, most people can behead a zombie. I need someone who isn’t going to struggle with the morality afterward.”
Caitlyn frowned. “The morality of . . . what? Those were the orders, right?”
“Have you ever had an indentured assistant before?” the salesman asked. He didn’t wait for a response. “Think of it like the military: having your judgment respected is what sets them apart from at-will employees. If
Dominic opened his mouth to argue, but then thought better of it. Refusing their duties could get indents in contractual trouble, but that wasn’t what he was worried about.
He’d been training to be a creature controller since he was twelve. He’d had his first successful investigation when he was seventeen, passed his exams at eighteen, and now, at twenty-eight, he’d dealt with more monsters than he could count. He knew which maladies and curses had cures, and he knew which ones didn’t. But that didn’t stop the nightmares, the what-ifs, the split second between the gunshot and the ectoplasm where you’re certain you’re about to see blood.
And if someone did make that mistake, contractual responsibility should be the least of their worries.
“I think maybe I’ve misunderstood what’s for sale here,” he said. “Nice to meet you both, but I’m gonna pass.”
In his car, Dominic resisted the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel.
It wasn’t like he thought he was going to find a perfect indent, but hell, somebody he could at least work with would have been great. He wasn’t desperate—not yet. But the pixie den in Erie had been the third job in a month he’d had to turn down because he couldn’t work it solo. Sometimes he could put feelers out to other controllers, find somebody free and nearby, but he couldn’t keep that up long-term. He needed a teammate he could rely on, short notice and long-term. Somebody like—
A tap to his left startled him out of his thoughts, and he rolled his eyes. Perfect example of why he needed somebody watching his back.
Just outside the window was the woman who had been watching him earlier. His hand crept toward the gun on his hip. In his line of work, it wasn’t promising when people followed you.
Sometimes they weren’t people.
“Can I help you?”
“I think maybe we can help each other,” she answered, giving him a wry smile. “Dominic, right? I’m Megan. I heard you’re after an indent who can work security. I might have something you’d be interested in. Come with me.”
She walked away before he could reply. He almost, almost didn’t go after her. Normal conversations did not begin this way. But then again, he thought, pushing the car door open, what about my life has ever been normal?
Megan stopped behind a van and removed a padlock holding the back doors shut. They swung open, and she gestured inside. Dominic stepped up to the bumper, squinting into the darkness.
There was a man sitting in the corner, his back against the barrier behind the driver’s seat. His head hung down, long dark hair falling across his features. Sparse light glinted off a chain running between his cuffed wrists and ankles.
“The . . . fuck?” Dominic muttered. The man didn’t react. Dominic turned to Megan. “What the hell is this?”
“He’s fit, he’s healthy, he knows how to fight, and he’s sixty grand.” Megan counted off on her fingers. “He’s got a lifetime contract. You won’t find a bargain like this anywhere else.”
“Yeah, right, I bet. Let me guess: I gotta pay in cash, and you’ve lost his paperwork.”
“No, I’ve got his paperwork. Full training and medical records going back to the day he signed. All hard copies, plus a transfer form in duplicate. Double-check the online registry if you don’t believe me. You want him, he’s yours.”
Dominic stared into the shadows, trying to parse what he’d just been told. He kept staring, but nothing made any more sense, so he climbed into the van, pulling out his cell phone and thumbing on the flashlight.
The indent didn’t react, even when Dom knelt to get closer.
It was hot inside, and sweat beaded on the man’s bare shoulders. Aside from the shackles, he was wearing nothing except plain cotton pants—dusty, like he’d been kneeling in the dirt. He looked more like a kidnapping victim than someone headed for a job interview.
He was tall. Maybe taller than Dom, but it was hard to tell with the way he was curled in on himself. Dominic would guess he was in his midtwenties, but he could have been anywhere from eighteen to thirty.
“What’s your deal?” Dominic asked, and the indent raised his head, blinking slowly. Despite the light shining on his face, his pupils were huge, almost blocking out the hazel of his irises. His brow furrowed, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.
“He can’t talk.” Megan’s voice was defensive. “That’s the catch. Take it or leave it. He’s still useful, trust me.”
Dominic scowled, moving the light back and forth. “I’m pretty sure he’s got a concussion. Why’s he in cuffs?”
“I got him that way.” Megan climbed into the van, summoning a spark of witchlight with a flick of her fingers. “He was tranquilized for transport—”
“What?”
“Chill. It’ll wear off in a couple of hours, and he’ll be back to his regular self. I’ve known him for four years, and trust me when I tell you, he’s smart and capable and all kinds of talented.”
Dominic glanced at her. “He’s got a Gift?”
“He’s got gifts all right,” Megan said, and Dominic could nearly hear her eyebrow rising.
Oh. So the indent had . . . one of those contracts. That explained the chains, at least. Sort of. And maybe the drugs? Maybe he’d allowed for them in his terms as some kind of . . . kink thing, or whatever.
Least they could have done is get the guy a fucking shirt.
“So why sell him?” Dom asked, changing the subject before she could elaborate.
Megan hesitated. “His contract’s owned by the company I work for. I’m supposed to get it transferred, and I don’t have time to go through consignment.”
“Why do I feel like there’s more to that story?”
“Because there is. But it’s not your business and it has nothing to do with him. So do you want him or not?”
The man’s face swung back and forth between them like he was trying to figure out who was speaking.
Dominic rubbed his face.
This was a terrible idea. An absolutely terrible idea. Paperwork or no, this was some kind of scam, and he was going to end up dead in a ditch. And what the hell was he going to do with someone who couldn’t talk? But . . .
The indent was still staring, his eyes wide and unfocused. He looked like he hadn’t taken a shower in a week, and the stifling air of the van couldn’t be doing him any favors. There were lines of mud splattered across his back, and his chest had a row of markings that might have been letters. A little voice in the back of Dom’s head asked where these two would go from here, if he were to simply walk away.
“Unlock him.”
Megan tossed Dominic a key, and he leaned in, examining the wrist cuffs. The indent stared for a second, then turned his palms upward, exposing the keyholes. There was a barcode tattooed on the inside of his arm, so he really did have a lifetime contract. Dom made short work of the wrist shackles, wincing at the unusually loud sound of the chain on the metal floor. He held the key out, but the man made no effort to take it.
“You’re sure he’s not concussed? What did you give him?”
“I didn’t give him anything.”
Dom scowled. Her insistence on being cryptic wasn’t doing anything to boost his confidence.
The man tilted his head toward Megan, frowning slightly, and Megan didn’t meet his eye.
“It’s lorazepam,” she muttered. “He didn’t need it, but our boss . . . It’ll be out of his system in a couple hours. He’ll be fine.”
“I feel like he should see a doctor.”
“Buy him, then,” Megan said, her voice hard again. “You can play doctor whenever you want.”
Her joyless grin was rife with implications. Dominic, from his place on the floor, did his best to ignore it. He unlocked the ankle cuffs and dropped the key. “All right, up you go.” He stood and stepped back.
The man rose unsteadily to his feet, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the roof of the van. Megan hopped nimbly to the ground, not turning around to see how Dom fared. Dominic jumped and was a little surprised when the indent followed, leaping without hesitation and landing on his feet. He raised a hand to the sun, blinking in the sudden light.
The chains had been doing him a disservice in more ways than one. Without them, the lines of his body were straight and lithe, his stance centered and sure despite the blank expression on his face. He was closer to thirty than twenty, and standing straight, he was at least a couple inches taller than Dom. The cotton pants hung low on his hips, letting the edge of a tattoo peek out.
