With all the talk lately about eclipses and “regular” folks
taking off into space, I thought I’d visit with one of my space operas. It
starts off with Day of the Condor type excitement and ends up with wild
and crazy sex aboard a starship. Fun and mayhem!
Blurb:
DAT
agent Susan McAllister escapes Earth with killers in hot pursuit. She normally
runs toward danger not away, and she likes controlling her own fate, not
relying on three strange men and an irreverent cyberbot. Skilled and
experienced, she doesn’t believe there's any way the three crewmen of the cargo
ship Erik's Pryde can help her.
Captain
John Erik thinks the sexy, headstrong passenger is nothing but trouble, but he
also knows she needs help. And not being men to shrink from adventure, he's
convinced that he and his crew are the ones to provide it. When they're
infected by an illegal drug that releases inhibitions, the crew of the Pryde
shows they are men who not only can fight, but can satisfy a woman’s every
fantasy.
It's
no surprise when Susan discovers that being a member of the Pryde's crew has
unexpected, lasting benefits.
Buy link:
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Bride-Pryde-Siren-Publishing-Menage-ebook/dp/B007NIR4HO/
Barnes and Noble https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bride-of-the-pryde-dee-s-knight/1109689352
Excerpt:
The smell hit Susan McAllister first. The sharp scent of iron,
immediately recognizable, stung her nostrils and made her gag. Then she noticed
the door, normally locked at all times, hung open a crack.
She’d been ready to call out that she’d brought back French
pastries from the restaurant where she enjoyed an early lunch but instead
dropped the white bakery bag on the back steps. Removing her Renthaur X-89
laser pistol from her oversized shoulder bag, she inched forward and released
the safety. She eased open the door and stepped inside and then pushed it
nearly closed. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from sunlight to the dim
interior.
The office fronted as a real estate agency but actually served as
Centre District’s Domestic Anti-Terrorism headquarters. Susan had arrived that
morning from the global headquarters in Mt. Saussat. In fact, if not for the
fact that she never ate while flying and wanted an early lunch upon arrival,
she would have been here for whatever shit had gone down.
Hugging the wall, she edged toward the workroom where her close
friend and office manager, Lisle Hamilton, had set up the hologram generator,
coffeepot, and storage shelving that helped form their cover of handling real
estate. Behind an encrypted-lock vault door and out of sight, secure phones and
code-deciphering, sub-particle computers were used for the real business of the
storefront.
The Centre City office took a lot of ribbing in the Agency because
of their cover. The joke was, what’s more boring than a DAT agent on desk duty?
A realtor. What’s deadly boring? A DAT gent on desk duty posing as a realtor.
Deadly boring? The overwhelming scent of blood seemed
to prove it. Criminy. What in hell
happened?
Susan dropped to a crouch at the corner where the back hall entered
the workroom. Pistol aimed up and grasped with two hands in classic shooter
pose, she slowly leaned forward and peeked into the workroom.
Blood had begun to congeal where it covered the floor. Mark
Nichols, who she’d just met that morning, lay on his back, his right hand
inside his jacket pocket as though reaching for his weapon. Anne Barnewell lay
face down. The size of the hole in the back of her head indicated a Succher
380, the weapon of choice for big-time drug dealers.
Also for cops’ personal
weapons. The thought ran quickly through her mind and left just as fast.
The workroom connected to the main office by a swinging door of
louvered wood, reminiscent of mid-twentieth-century architecture. From under
the door she saw the body of Kyle Angustino, the son of one of Lisle’s friends
and an actual real estate intern who had nothing to do with the DAT. Six people
worked in the office, including Kyle, five of whom were DAT agents. Susan had
no hope any of them were alive unless, like her, they’d been out of the office
when hell struck.
The place appeared to be empty, but Susan didn’t change her
position. Instead, she examined everything in her line of sight and listened
with an intensity that had her shoulders tight with tension. Peering along the
wall to the left she scrunched her brows in worry. The vault door stood ajar.
The only person in the office who had the combination was Lisle. A
woman’s foot extended out the door, her burgundy shoe half-off. Lisle!
Her friend had bragged about the “killer burgundy pumps with little
gold bows” when Susan had called to make arrangements to use one of the office
cubicles for the week she would be in Centre City. They’d gone through Agency
training together, and their paths crossed regularly. Later she would grieve
for Lisle, but right now she needed to keep her wits about her and her emotions
in check.
The bell over the front door tinkled, indicating someone entering
from the street. A woman said, “Here’s a box for—Oh, dear God, what is this?
What’s going on here?” There was no answer. Then, “No, please, no! Oh—”
Susan heard the unmistakable sound of the Succher firing and then a
loud noise as something fell to the floor.
“What the hell?” A man pushed the vault door farther open. All that
showed was a cuff-linked, white-shirted arm and a hand with long fingers.
“What’s going on out there?”
“Nothing,” came a male voice from the front. “I didn’t have the
keys to lock the door. I thought pulling the blinds would be enough to make
people think we were closed. Forgot about delivery people.”
“Goddamn it. Go through Hamilton’s purse, for Christ’s sake, and
find the keys.”
“Okay,” the guy in the front grumbled.
“Jesus, I have to do everything,” Vault Man said.
Susan pulled back. The lead guy knew Lisle’s name. Because he knew her or because of information
gleaned while there? And how did he know about the vault room? Had he come to
the office because of it, or had he and his buddy happened into the office and
thought the heavy door hid more than it did? She dismissed that idea right away
because really, who in the world robbed a realtor’s office? So, assuming they
already knew about the vault and Lisle, the conclusion was ominous—the
murderers were associated with DAT.
Quiet footsteps alerted Susan to the emergence of the man from the
vault. He carried her suitcase to the table, holding the hologram generator.
Lisle had suggested she leave the suitcase in the vault and out of traffic
areas when she arrived earlier. She hadn’t given a second thought to the
security of her things when she dashed out to eat. Now, unceremoniously, Vault
Man pulled out the contents and dumped them on the floor.
“Any hints on where McAllister is staying?” the second man asked.
They’re looking for me? How could that be? Only a few people knew she was there.
“Nothing yet. Lisle wouldn’t say. Or maybe she didn’t know. I
thought I might find a hint in here.”
Susan edged forward, trying to identify either man. She could see
Vault Man from the back. He’d put on a dark suit jacket, wore black shoes and a
fedora over short brown hair. He looked to be about five feet ten or eleven.
The second man leaned just inside the doorway separating the two rooms, but
Vault Man hid him from view. His shoes were shiny and his pants were light
gray. That was all she could see—which was as good as nothing.
She pulled back from the wall’s edge. At most, the men stood ten
feet away. If either of them looked her way at the wrong time or decided to
check the back parking area, she’d be caught like a virgin between two punks on
Pheron.
Pheron, the newest designer street drug—and the latest form of
domestic terrorism just hitting Earth cities—had brought her to Centre City,
where the crime rate soared right along with the supply of the drug that
released a person’s deepest desires and washed away their inhibitions. The
effects of the drug sickened her. So did her prospects, if the two murderers in
the other room found her.
Rising to her feet, she continued straining to hear everything the
men said. Vault Man asked if Succher Guy had checked the hotel where she
usually stayed in Centre City. The answer was affirmative but that she hadn’t
arrived yet. And she hadn’t because that morning Lisle had invited Susan to
stay with her instead. The two had a lot to catch up on, and not all of it
business. Lisle had finally met Mr. Right, and they were talking marriage.
Susan simply hadn’t called to cancel her hotel reservation yet.
Vault Man ordered Succher Guy to stake out the hotel and to call
when he had Susan in sight. Succher Guy grumbled a reply, sounding not too
happy to be relegated to the hotel lobby. The bell chimed again with the
opening and closing of the street door, and then silence descended on the
office.
Susan slowly sidestepped along the wall toward the back door. So
intense was her focus that she jumped when her suitcase flew through the air
and crashed into the flavored-water dispenser before hitting the floor.
“Goddamn it, McAllister, where the fuck are you?” Vault Man
grumbled.
From her right, the back door opened. “Hey, Susan,” Buddy Knowlton
called out with a smile. He held out the white bag from the steps. “Did you
drop something?”
Two things happened at once. Footsteps pounded from the workroom
toward the short hallway where Susan froze momentarily in shock, and she then
leapt toward Buddy. Knocking him back out the door, she yelled, “Get out,
Buddy! Move, move, move!”
They tripped down the steps. Buddy, looking confused and shocked at
first, gathered his wits and withdrew his weapon from his suit jacket. She ran,
hell-bent, for the street, assuming he was hot on her heels. The back door to
the office slammed open. A laser bullet whizzed past her ear, missing her by an
ando-width.
Ffttt! Another laser shot
just missed her head. A grunt came from behind. She slowed enough to turn.
Continuing with back steps, she saw Buddy on the ground. Had he tripped? Was he
hit? Hesitating could kill her, but could she leave a fellow DAT agent behind?
He waved his arms, signaling her to go on. “Go!” he yelled. She
didn’t like it, but she spun toward the street and kept on, not looking, not
thinking, running on instinct alone. Around the corner of the building, she
sprinted for the intersection and the hotel across the street. Cabs lined up in
front, particularly at lunchtime.
“She’s headed for The Centre!” Vault Man shouted. “Converge there.”
Reviews:
"…desires are fulfilled and emotions are awakened. BRIDE OF THE PRYDEis an
imaginative futuristic adventure overflowing with limitless fiery heat."
A little about me:
A
few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning
fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk
with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her
personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and
Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are
found on the Nomad Authors website. And all three offer some of the best romance
you can find! Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts,
where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for my newsletter
and have access to free reads.
Author
links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog:
http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter:
http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter:
https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy
Divas: http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K
