His name was Joshua Carter. Now it's whatever she wants it to be.
She is a Deliverer.
She lures young men and delivers them to be sold. She delivers the strikes that enforce their obedience. She delivers the sexual training that determines their purchase price.
As long as she delivers, the arrangement that protects her family will hold.
Delivering is all she knows.
The one thing she can't deliver is a captive from slavery.
And her stubborn slave thinks he can deliver her...from herself.
I had no doubt that Pam Godwin would once again deliver with Deliver and deliver she did.
Her unique story lines and clever writing will without doubt keep me a loyal fan of hers for many, many books to come.
Liv trains abducted young men to be sold as sex slaves. It's a decision she has no choice in, she has to do it to keep her family safe.
Josh is her latest trainee. A college football star who is not only just a wonderful person but also a virgin. Liv has always kept herself completely closed off to any feelings while training future slaves UNTIL Josh.
A suspenseful, mystery filled, beautiful story of finding love in the utmost of horrible circumstances.
I don't ever write particularly long reviews but even if I did I could never find enough words to do Deliver justice. All I can say is buy this book!
You'll be SO glad you did!
5 Books Knocked Off
On his back, muscles bared, bound, and stretched the full length of the box, he was an erotic picture. She was a criminal, and as ashamed as she was by that, the disgusting, fucked-up part of her anticipated spending the next ten weeks touching every inch of this man.
She dragged her gaze from his body to his face, and guilt slammed into her.
He stared up at her with so much pain in his eyes. “Don’t hurt my parents.”
Her gut twisted. She knew that pain, lived it every day. She leaned in, lips hovering a breath away, and repeated what Mr. E had said to her. “That’s up to you.”
Resolve hardened his face. She knew that emotion, too. Her time in the box was permanently carved in memory, which had made Van’s threats of returning her there an effective form of control in her training.
Tendrils of resentment coiled around her throat. To dwell on her or the boy’s predicament would only bring irresponsible hesitation. So she did what she always did to distract her thoughts.
She reached into the cold place inside her, searching for something yearning she could sing with dispassion. The beginning verses of “What It Is” by Kodaline fell past her lips and shivered through the room. She sang with an icy pitch as she removed a blindfold from the trunk by the box and tied it over his wide, glaring eyes.
To deprive smell, a swimmer’s nose plug went on next. He could breathe through his mouth, and the cracks in the box allowed airflow, but it wouldn’t feel that way to him once she shut the lid.
The skin on his face was hot and damp, the muscles beneath jerking against her fingers. She continued to sing as she cuffed headphones over his ears, plugged them into the tablet outside of the box, and activated the timer. Twenty minutes of heart-hammering silence.
The music in her voice strangled, stopped. Twenty minutes alone with his thoughts. Then the misery would begin.
“It’s just the way it is,” she murmured with an ache in her throat.
His body was motionless, but she didn’t miss the goosebumps creeping across his skin or the slight tremor in his cheeks. The sudden desire to comfort him drew her closer, bending her at the waist, until her mouth brushed his, softly, unjustly. His lips pulled away in a quiver that she felt throughout her body.
She straightened and rubbed her breastbone, unable to soothe the ache beneath it. “I’m so sorry.” A whisper, too low to pass through the earphones.
Then she closed the lid.
He slammed a fist into the nearest tree trunk. Again. Again. Pain ricocheted through his hand, down his arm, and fed his breaking heart.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her silhouette standing a few yards away. A slender shadow, shrouded by darkness. And in her raised arms, she held a gun, trained on him.
He threw another fist. Absorbed the burn. Expelled the rancor. He knew she was holding a gun on him to prevent him from running and putting her family at further risk. Regardless, she wouldn’t shoot him. Not because she needed a slave, but because she loved what was hers with a self-destructing passion. He faced her and held out his arms. “I’m yours.”
The girl and the gun didn’t move.
“Lose the damned mask and stop hiding from me.” He raked his throbbing hands through his hair. “Scream, cry, hit something. Hit me. But for God’s sake, let it out.”
The shadowy lines of her body wavered. The gun lowered, returned to her boot.
He stretched out his arms, savoring the cool breeze brushing over his unrestrained skin. “I stand here without rope or chains, Liv, tethered to you by my own will.” His blood beat with the ferocity of his words. “I won’t be free until you are.”
Her head jerked back, her body rigid. Then she walked straight to him and unleashed her fists on his chest. She clobbered him over and over, her gasps accelerating with each fall of her hand.
The lashing didn’t hurt. Not like the whimpers rising from her chest. She was hurting, lashing out for the wrongs that had been done to her. A sharp pain swelled in his throat. The only thing he could do was take it in, try to bear some of it for her.
He held his arms out and his body open. When her hits ebbed into weak slaps, she stumbled back, hugging herself and clutching her elbows.
His heartbeat slogged through the ache in his chest. He kept his arms outstretched and whispered, “I’m here.”
“Gods and Monsters”
by Lana Del Rey
“What It Is”
“Bring Me To Life”
by Sarah Jaffe
by Sarah McLachlan
“Glory and Gore”
by Papa Roach
by Katy Perry
Pam Godwin lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.
Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.
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