Page 5 of Dozer

I finished my meal, dressed, and roared out of our subdivision on my favorite bike.

Brain was in the control room, so I only took a few minutes to say hello to everyone in the front room before I made my way to our VP.

“Marco alerted us to a problem,” Brain told me as soon as the door closed behind me. “Says they’ve kept an eye on this location for a few weeks, deciding the best way to handle it. In a nutshell, the OKM has set up a whorehouse, and they’re using junkies. Keeping them there twenty-four-seven, feeding them and supplying them, keeping them strung out and needy, so they’ll fuck anyone for another hit. They aren’t in competition with any of our girls because it’s a completely different clientele, but Marco says since they’re operating in the buffer between our territory and his, he felt he should bring it to us.”

The OKM had been totally wiped out at one time, but during the unrest around the big battle, relatives of those who’d been in it before had decided to form it again. They were claiming a tiny territory that didn’t infringe on ours, so we’d been letting them exist. Was this enough for us to start shit with them?

I sat without speaking, and Brain said, “Any chance this has something to do with your night with him?”

I gave a slow nod. “We talked a little about…” I blew out a breath. “I told him it wasn’t something I’d ever thought might be a possibility under Abbott’s rule, but that if Marco found an opportunity for me to purchase or lease a female sex slave who deserved the classification, I’d be interested.”

Brain lifted an eyebrow. “You think you might need to clarify that point with him before we go in? My plan was to beat the fuck out of the men running the place, run the johns off, and either deposit the girls with a relative or clean them up enough they can handle a bus ride to the coast. He told me he’d take the girls on and either transition them so they were addicted to a vampire’s bite rather than drugs, and then see about educating them or finding a suitable vocation for them — or if they weren’t salvageable, put them on a bus to the coast as we’d originally planned.”

I shook my head. “Let’s go with his plan and see what happens.”

“Cindy would’ve been your personal sex slave.”

Cinderella. God, the bitch annoyed the fuck out of me and we’d sent her away. I shook my head without saying anything.

He tilted his head. “Cherry was desperate to please anyone who’d have her. Pretty sure Hot Pocket would be a willing submissive to anyone who wants to claim her as theirs, too.”

“Don’t want a submissive. Want someone I have to keep chained in my basement. Someone I have to break, to turn into who I want her to be.”

“Drug addicts are usually already broken. Especially ones who’re reduced to whoring themselves for their next fix.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I assumed Marco would fix some of that while he detoxed them.

We were in and out of the house in twelve minutes. They had five girls in a two-bedroom house, with pallets in the dining room for the girls to hang out between fucks. The place was nasty and made my skin crawl, but we beat the hell out of the men and handed the girls off to three of Marco’s vampires, who put them into a van and drove off.

I didn’t hear anything from Marco for a week. Did that mean this had nothing to do with me, or would it take him longer todetox the girls and figure out which, if any, might work for my needs?

I spent a little more time with Hot Pocket over the weekend, but I wasn’t interested in a woman whowantedsex. No. I wanted to train a normal woman with a normal sex drive to crave sex from me, mold her to be who I wanted, how I wanted. I wanted an anal virgin who choked on cock, so I could teach her and train her from the start.

But for the first time since my night with Abbott, it turned me on to make Hot Pocket lean over and spread her cheeks for me.

Chapter 4

Daisy

My life was as far in the crapper as it could possibly go. I’d been sostupid, running away from home and trusting Dray could take care of me. He’d been so nice when he’d come to pick me up for dates, and he’d taken me to the nicest places. Oh, and he’d been such a gentleman!

It wasn’t until we were three states away that I found out he’s a scam artist, and he needed me because it’s easier to scam people as a couple than a single guy. By then, I’d burned all my bridges with my parents, and I had nowhere to go.

So I helped him scam people, because if I didn’t there’d be no money for hotels and food. He was nice to me as long as I did what he wanted, so it wasn’t terrible. Sometimes it was kind of fun, but I felt bad about some of the people we scammed. Not all of them, because it wasn’t so bad, scamming the assholes of the world. Unfortunately, Dray was right about nice people being easier marks.

We were into a regular schedule and doing okay until a few months later, when Dray found another girl and thought I’d be okaysharinghim with her. She knew how to boost late-model cars using her phone, and she already knew how to pickpocket like it was second nature. Dray had to teach me how to pickpocket, and even after months of practice, I had to find someone with an open purse, or a loose jacket with a pocket Icould see into. She could pull a cellphone out of someone’s back pocket and they never fucking knew.

I’d learned how to boost older cars, and I was good at keeping store employees busy while Dray lifted what we needed. I was also good at asking for directions and starting random conversations with people so Dray could rob them blind, but she was better. I was white and blonde though, so I was better at looking innocent, but when I’d told Dray he had to choose, he’d told me he hadn’t fucked my ass because he figured he’d eventually auction me off as an anal virgin, and if I wasn’t going to make myself useful as a team player, he could make money off me another way.

So I’d boosted a piece of shit nineteen-eighty-something Celica and driven north from Columbus, Georgia. I have a great-aunt who lives in Nashville, and maybe she’d help me, or maybe she wouldn’t, but if I didn’t ask, she certainly wouldn’t.

But now I was in the middle of nowhere, and the Celica had decided to give up the ghost after I’d bought thirty dollars’ worth of groceries. So I boosted this really nice late-seventies Dodge Ramcharger — and bonus, once I got the truck started, it had nearly a full tank of gas. Nice! I moved my groceries into it, adjusted the seat because whoever normally drove it must be fucking huge, and I was off.

Google maps had taken me off the interstate through the little podunk town of Fort Oglethorpe because there was apparently road construction happening at the 24-75 split, and this would get me onto I-24 headed towards Nashville and let me miss a major traffic jam. I still had about five miles on back roads before I made it back to the interstate, but I was going to have to stop and sleep soon. I’d hoped to make it to Nashville before I had to crash, and my original plan had been to find a cheap motel as soon as I got close to the interstate again, but with a freshly boosted car, I should probably get farther away.

I waited until I was sitting at a red light a few miles from the grocery store to open a bag of no-name chips and a bottled water, and I ate while I drove.

But I was soooo sleepy, and after only a few miles on the interstate, I saw a Cracker Barrel that practically shared a parking lot with a hotel, so I swung off the interstate, parked in a place that wasn’t clearly for either business and crawled into the back with my huge duffel bag and my bag of groceries. I pulled my blanket from the duffel bag, wadded a shirt up to use as a pillow, made half a peanut butter and banana sandwich, ate it, and crashed.

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