Pleasant Extortion (The Extortionists 1)

Help would soon arrive, but would it arrive in time?

With one biker-wolf on the run, the extortionist most likely understood the value of time. His was now limited. Were Mac’s moments now numbered as well?

Dizzy, Mac somehow managed to think through the pressurized conditions. This was it. They were in a turbulent canal fighting for their lives. The only way they’d make it through this battle alive was to fight, hang on and call upon an inner strength far more powerful than any other force working against them at that particular moment.

“Stay with me, guys!” Mac screamed above the piercing, reverberating racket whistling in the funnel. “If you’re knocked unconscious, you won’t wake up!”

Gut-wrenching laughter resounded. A foggy, distorted figure wrapped around the vessel housing them. Mac pushed aside the fear even though he sensed these passing seconds were his last.

He scoured the enclosure, noting the others as they lost control of their movements, too. Their heads jerked forward and snapped back. Simultaneous actions occurred as if they were large stiff puppets manipulated by a perverse puppeteer. They were controlled, mastered by supernatural mechanisms that inevitably forced them to function and respond, sometimes as one moving body and other times as separate entities.

Carolina’s head rolled to his shoulder. He went into violent spasms. His tongue hung free of his mouth and one final jolt left him listless. His body descended to the earth and fell to the wayside, away from the transparent cylinder. Evil laughter ricocheted inside the translucent tube.

Mac gasped, fully aware of the death attempting to claim them. His gaze shifted to the other biker. The youngest would never make it. He was already struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Come on kid. You can do this. Don’t quit on us. Ya hear me!” Mac grabbed hold of the young biker’s bicep and shook him.

“Aw, there it is,” a creepy voice said. “That compassion, that inner strength, and—oh my goodness, yes, that’s it—you’re a natural-born leader. These are all traits I can take from you!” Another round of laughter commenced before coming to an abrupt halt. An eerie stillness gave the bikers a moment to regroup.

“Get ready for it,” Mac said.

The other fellow nodded. “If I don’t make it—”

“Shut up, dude. We’re stronger than Carolina. Focus on your strength. Whatever it is, cast a negative light on it now. If you’re brilliant, think dumb thoughts.”

“Huh?”

“Scratch that,” Mac said, deciding he could easily conceal his attributes. His mother had always said, “People are bad. You have to find the good in them.” He’d lived his whole life trying to reverse her philosophy but at the moment, he believed his mother had been right all along. Now, he had to channel her beliefs into his own and remember her bitterness, harbor and nurture it.

Mac’s body was thrown across the air, thrust into a quick rotation. He turned one cartwheel and then another and then one more. Bile settled in the back of his throat. He forced his arms in front of him. Mortified, he focused on his flesh, watching as numerous bubbling blisters popped, oozed, and spread. A red liquid comparable to blood dripped from his arms, hands, and fingers.

“You don’t want me to have your qualities? You don’t want me to lead as you’ve led?” A cold ragged breath was at his ear. “Then I’ll take that pretty tan skin, dude. And that’s all I really want from you.”

* * * *

Inside the cottage, Randon dragged her to him. Another round of lovemaking would have to wait until morning. She was tired and he understood her exhaustion.

He had been seconds away from a little after-sex reassurance, some sort of sweet sentiment to let her know he wasn’t one to make a commitment and back away from it. He stood by the people he cared about. He’d stand by her and later their children.

He threw his arm over his head and stared at the ceiling. With his other limb wrapped around her, Randon couldn’t imagine a more fulfilling first experience with one’s mate. The passion had been there. The physical connection had been there. The sex was outstanding. The love was…he stopped. He drew Pageant closer and wondered. Did he already love her?

Sure. It was possible.

Humans without any supernatural abilities believed in love at first sight. Since childhood, h

e’d heard a number of stories about chosen mates. Often gaining his information from the male gender, Randon once believed the physical connection was far more important than any other. The mate chemistry was described as undeniable, electric.

No one had mentioned how is heart would beat a little faster, how his temperature would spike, how his cock would stay erect long after the first release, or how much he’d want to touch, kiss, and hold her. Even now as she drifted off to sleep, he found himself touching the small patch of flesh under her nose and right above her lip just to be sure she was breathing.

Maybe no one brought up these other changes because they hadn’t experienced them. Then again, he’d watched some of the guys with their mates. He smiled to himself and pulled Pageant against his chest. What he felt for Pageant ran deep, far deeper than the pleasures found inside her curvy little body.

He released a carnal growl. Sure enough, he had this mating thing figured out.

The males didn’t share the more intimate details of their relationships because they all knew he’d soon enough suffer the same. He had fallen in love and it wasn’t just a casual or budding kind of connection. He’d jump off bridges or swing from trees. He’d shout it to the world or from the highest mountaintops.

Pageant Keen was his woman. She was his mate. She was his first and last love.

Chapter Eleven