DSPP Author Andrea Speed has a new paranormal mystery/suspense book out:
With his friend lion shifter Roan McKichan no longer in the picture, former sex worker Holden Krause is now working as a detective investigating cases in Seattle. When he receives a request to investigate a rather unusual case for Big Mike, a local drug dealer, he ignores the potential hazards in working for such a client and takes it on.
But Holden hasn’t given up his vigilante ways, occasionally seeking violent retribution for those ignored by the justice system. There’s a man stalking the streets, assaulting anyone he perceives to be trans or gender-nonconforming in any way. When the brutality escalates, the case becomes personal for Holden.
If he cannot juggle being both a detective and a vigilante, his taste for blood and danger might finally catch up with him.
Mean Streets Book One
Andrea is giving away one ebook title from her backlist – just comment on this post with your email for a chance to win!
HIS CELL phone hummed in his pocket, and Holden answered it without looking. It could only be Otter. “It’s him,” he said and hung up. Holden pocketed his phone and pulled the black leather gimp mask over his face. He unzipped the mouth so he could talk to the fuckhole on his way in.
Holden stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it aside, although he kept his jeans and boots on. He had to. He had to preserve the surprise.
There was a knock on the door before it opened, and by that time Holden was lounging on the bed in his best porn-movie-bottom pose, like he was patiently waiting to be pounded by the pizza delivery boy. The man who came in smelled of cigarettes and was wearing basically anonymous blue jeans, white sneakers, and a blue polo shirt. He had thinning brown hair shaved down to a fuzz, perhaps trying to imply his baldness was a choice, and pale blue eyes that seemed to betray nothing but a kind of dull emptiness. He was pudgy, with a bit of a gut, but at least some of it was hard fat. He gazed at Holden, checking him out before bothering to look at his face. “Take that off. I wanna see your face.”
Holden slowly pushed up from the bed, and stood beside it, keeping his posture and body language as casual as possible. “Maybe you should take it off, Master.”
Something sparked briefly in his eyes. He liked being called “Master.” “I told you to do it, slave. So do it.”
Holden played around with the zipper as he slunk closer, giving him his best sexy eyes, and as soon as he was able, he grabbed the waistband of the man’s jeans and ran his thumb over the top button. The man grabbed his wrist, a little too hard as expected, and while he was asserting his dominance, Holden slipped his Taser out of his jeans and jabbed him with it. Right in the dick.
The asshole tried to scream, but he couldn’t manage much more than a squeak. He collapsed to the floor, and as soon as he was down, Holden straddled him and pulled out his butterfly knife. He opened it with a sharp flick of his wrist, exposing the blade, and pressed it against his throat before he stopped spasming. “Shouldn’t have used the same online handle, DomNick101. Did you think just ’cause you rented a boy from Backpage that gave you license to do whatever you wanted with him?”
DomNick couldn’t yet speak, although the way his eyes bulged and mouth twitched, he wanted to say something. “You think you could just beat the shit out of Otter, and there’d be no repercussions at all? ’Cause he’d never go to the cops? Did you ever think that maybe there were worse things than cops, fuckhead?”
DomNick tried to squirm beneath him, but Holden hadn’t put away the Taser, so he jammed it in his armpit. “You wanna pick your next injury? Taser or knife? Or both? Ever wonder what it’d be like to be roasted and slit open like a pig at the same time?”
Finally he managed to speak, spit gathering in the corner of his mouth. “Don’t—”
“Don’t? You presume to tell me what to do, slave? I’m in charge, limp dick, and don’t you forget it.” Holden leered down at him, sure it was quite a sight in a leather gimp mask. “You’re not the first piece of shit like this I’ve had to deal with, and you’re probably not the last, either. Is it so hard to find someone who likes being beaten? Or is the fact that they don’t want it part of its appeal? Does the knowledge that you’re genuinely assaulting someone help you get your rocks off? I suggest therapy. Or, fuck that, go straight for the hard drugs. Couldn’t hurt you. Might help.”
The guy found his voice again, although he was clearly too terrified to move. But with a live Taser very close to his side and a knife at his throat, his predicament was understandable. “What do you want from me?”
“I was considering taking a pound of flesh from you. I’m being literal—a full pound. I’d have to take quite a few things, if not part of a limb, to make that weight.” Holden let that sink in, let Nick chomp on that for a few seconds. He now knew what Roan meant by a fear smell because this guy was starting to stink like an old sweat sock. “I’ve cut things off guys before, so this wouldn’t be new.”
“You’re crazy,” Nick said breathlessly, with absolutely no strength behind it. He was too petrified to work up any enthusiasm.
Holden just smiled and made sure it didn’t reach his eyes. Now that must have been a pants-shitting sight from a guy in a gimp mask. “You’re damn right I am. And you’re crazy if you think I’m going to allow you to do this again anywhere near my territory.”
Andrea Speed was born looking for trouble in some hot month without an R in it. While succeeding in finding Trouble, she has also been found by its twin brother, Clean Up, and is now on the run, wanted for the murder of a mop and a really cute, innocent bucket that was only one day away from retirement. (I was framed, I tell you – framed!)
In her spare time, she arms lemurs in preparation for the upcoming war against the Mole Men.