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  Assassin Master

  C. L. Scholey

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. This material is meant for mature audiences!

  Also By C.L. Scholey

  Love’s Dangerous Territory My Assassin Lover Timeless Witch

  By Constantine De Bohon

  Desirous

  Candy Cain

  Assassin Master

  A Whispers Publishing Publication

  February 4, 2011

  Copyright © 2011 C. L. Scholey

  Cover illustration copyright © Anistasia Rabiyah

  ISBN Not Assigned

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Published by: Whispers Publishing, P.O. Box

  1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

  ASSASSIN MASTER

  By

  C.L. Scholey

  Dedication

  For two of my dearest friends, Lucie who I have known forever and for Sandra, who it feels like I've known forever.

  Prologue

  The soothing sounds of Beethoven reverberated through her mind, courtesy of her pink Mp3 player, as her feet pounded down the gravel and dirt road. Her long blond hair swished back and forth with each step. Carrie cherished the solitude of the long, winding country roads. She loved to jog without the threat of the encroaching public. The smells of early spring were like an intoxicating drink, the sights before her more engulfing and uplifting than an artist's most inspiring painting.

  A deer appeared suddenly not far from her,

  emerging from the brush, and Carrie pulled up, startled. They assessed one another in the harmony of their surroundings, regarding each other without fear. She smiled tenderly at the beautiful, majestic animal. The doe stood completely still, sensing no danger. Dark brown eyes met clear blue eyes.

  “Hello, sweet thing,” Carrie said in a hushed whisper.

  The doe’s ears twitched at her words. Her tawny flanks quivered delicately. Turning, she moved back amidst the foliage, her gait unhurried. Carrie bent forward, resting her hands upon her knees. She

  glanced at her watch. She had been running for an hour.

  She straightened and removed her water bottle

  from a case strapped behind her back. After taking a long, leisurely drink, she once more began to move at a steady pace. Today was her day off. University was hectic. Her classes were intense, yet she knew once finished, her determination would pay off. Her tenacity would then abound as she set off for foreign countries to aid suffering children. At twenty-one she had one year left on her generous scholarship. It afforded her a nice apartment and decent spending money.

  Carrie had grown up in the foster care system. She had been to eight different homes before the age of nine, until an older couple had taken her in. They were unable to have children of their own, and were reluctant at first to take in a child of her age, a decidedly rebellious and angry young child. She had tested them beyond the extreme, waiting for them to hand her back, as all the others had done.

  Carrie had been surprised as their tenacity

  seemed to far outweigh her own. Or perhaps it was not tenacity. It had been their conviction. They had honestly wanted to help her. Carrie had stood smugly one day when she had broken a charming figurine of mother and child she knew her foster mother had loved dearly. Her arms had crossed petulantly over her small chest, glaring, waiting for the command to

  start packing. Yet Sue, her foster mom, had only picked up the small pieces and held them lovingly to her breast.

  “My own foster mother gave me this. I’m sorry it’s broken; it holds great sentimental value for me. I would have liked for you to have it,” Sue had informed her sadly.

  Carrie had not felt quite as smug after that. Sue had not yelled or cried or screamed at her. She had just placed the pieces on the counter, voicing hope that her husband, Will, could glue it.

  Carrie had by no means become the model child afterwards. She was still unruly and obnoxious and angry. She decided she did not hate Sue and Will. She had stayed with them until she turned eighteen.

  Their home had been the only one to have provided a stable, nurturing environment, and she felt a great deal of gratitude towards them. It was with sadness she reflected on Sue’s death. She had died of cancer not long after Carrie’s eighteenth birthday. Thankfully it had not been a long, drawn out illness. A friend of the family, whom Carrie had never met, had seemed to hold Will together through phone calls and a few extra finances.

  Sue’s glued figurine still adorned Carrie’s nightstand in her apartment, where it was visible to her every day, a gentle reminder of her worth. Sue had been one of the reasons for Carrie’s chosen profession; a stranger could make a difference in your

  life, a profound difference.

  Will had moved away to a different country shortly thereafter, wanting to be close to his sister, the only living relative he had left. His wife’s demise had come close to destroying him. Carrie occasionally received cards and letters from him and cherished each one.

  Carrie had been on her own for three years. She loved her independence and felt victorious every time a professor raved over her work. She was at the top of her class, and knew she would stay there.

  Carrie could see a dark blue van in the distance; it seemed so out of place on the lonely country road. For a brief moment she thought to turn around and head back in the opposite direction. At a closer look, she could see a large man off to the side, struggling with his tire. He was alone and it was apparent he might be able to use some assistance. Hesitant, yet wanting to offer aid, she approached slowly, still battling her indecisiveness.

  “Need some help?” she inquired. Her slender hand rose to brush a lock of wispy, windblown hair behind her ear.

  The man stood and Carrie could see he was

  indeed a big man. Standing well over six feet with a burly build, barrel chest and beefy arms, he towered over her petite five foot one frame. His short dark hair was just starting to grey at the temples and she guessed him to be in his early to mid forties.

  “Thanks, that’s real friendly of you, honey. My tire seems to be leaking air,” the man replied.

  He looked Carrie over intently with deep, dark

  brown eyes, and she felt a minute of apprehension at his assessing gaze. For the briefest of moments she felt a compelling urge to turn and run. He smiled brightly at her for a split second, and then suddenly placed a large hand to his broad chest. His face contorted in agony. He groaned softly and slowly lowered himself to the ground, gasping for air. Wariness forgotten, concerned, Carrie raced to him.

  “What is it? Are you all right?” she asked. Carrie squatted before him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

  “My heart,” the man groaned, clutching lightly at

  the hand held to him. “My pills…please…help me.” “Where are they?” she asked fearfully. The hand

  gripping hers seemed so frail for one so large and powerful looking; it was unnerving. She no
ticed he was sweating profusely; the exertion must have proven to be too much for him. She didn’t want to see him die right in front of her. They were in the middle of nowhere. They were completely alone. She would be unable to lift him into his van and drive for help; she couldn’t abandon him out here all by himself. Help would be too far away and she knew nothing of first aid.

  “My van…inside…glove box, hurry…please,” he

  rasped, his face slowly turning red with his gasps of

  obvious pain. His hand dropped from hers to languish limply at his side, his head leaned to rest against the van. His eyes closed tightly. He moaned deeply at the back of his throat.

  Carrie leaped to her feet and raced towards the

  van. She climbed inside the open side door, heading towards the front. She no sooner entered the vehicle when she felt herself grabbed from behind. She tried to scream, but her mouth was securely covered over with a large, sweaty hand smelling of diesel and fumes. She lifted both arms to grasp tightly at the man’s huge forearm and felt her water bottle ripped from her back to clatter off to the side. Her feet were kicked out from under her and she dropped to the hard metal, pinned to the floor of the van beneath the man’s heavy body.

  Her arms were captured at her wrists and jerked

  up behind her back as the man settled his large frame firmly over her. She struggled, to no avail. He was too powerful, too big. She tired quickly. Soon her body lay beneath him, motionless; the unwelcome feel of the coldness beneath her cheek caused a deep shudder. She whimpered, and felt her eyes fill with frightened tears. Her attacker turned her beneath him and, using his legs, pinned her arms to her sides while still keeping a firm grip over her mouth. He smiled down at her.

  “Easy, little one, I’m not going to hurt you,” he

  soothed.

  Carrie whimpered up at him, silently pleading with him in confusion and fear. She had only sought to aid him; why would he do this? She had wanted to save his life. Was he about to take hers?

  The man reached for a syringe he had in waiting.

  He expelled a small amount of the fluid. Carrie again struggled, realizing his intent. He sat motionless, and her struggles subsided. They were on a deserted road; it was obvious he was in no hurry. He could afford to wait for her to wear herself out. She once more whimpered up at him, her tears flowing freely.

  “All right, just relax. This will only make you sleep. I promise you will wake up again in a little while, unharmed,” the man said. With an easy, practiced move, he gently inserted the needle into her vein, expelling the liquid.

  Carrie felt an odd taste in her mouth and it took

  great effort to keep her eyes open. She blinked rapidly, her entire body relaxed; she could no longer struggle, her arms and legs felt like dead weights, and she couldn’t wiggle her fingers or toes. She battled between an induced sense of complete calm and the terror that overwhelmed her. The man removed his hand from her mouth; she was unable to scream.

  “Please,” Carrie wept. She felt cold, her chin quivered. She glanced around frantically, seeking an escape as the darkness began its claim on her.

  “Don’t fight it, you’ll be fine.” The man reached

  up a large hand and gently stroked her forehead with

  the back of his fingers.

  “Who are you?” Carrie whispered. Her voice was almost inaudible.

  “Roll.”

  “What do you want?” she begged. Her tongue felt thick. Her frantic breathing slowed and she could no longer keep her eyes open. She felt as though an ocean wave were flowing through her mind, rolling in with the wind. The smiling man before her blurred, his image shimmering, until he no longer existed. Her head rolled to the side as oblivion claimed her.

  * * * *

  Roll eased himself off her. He lifted her tiny form, hefting her slight weight in his arms, guessing her to weigh no more than ninety to ninety-five pounds. He placed her into a thickly padded box that looked like an ordinary red tool bench fitted to the wall of the van. He positioned her slumbering body onto her side in case she vomited. He didn’t want her to choke to death; she was too valuable. Roll studied her features critically. Her hair was thick and full, falling to mid- back.

  He tested the luxurious length between his meaty fingers, admiring the silky softness, the random natural curls. Her complexion was unblemished. With a careful thumb he lifted her eyelids, checking her pupils. He noted her eyes were a crystal blue, gorgeous. Deftly, with practiced ease, he undid her shirt and gazed at her high, full, beautiful breasts for

  a moment; she wore no bra.

  His hand lifted to squeeze first one, then the other, testing their ripe firmness. The padding of his calloused thumb slid across one dusty rose-colored nipple, smiling as it hardened. He resisted the urge to taste. He placed his hand over her left breast, feeling to see if her heart was still pounding or was slowing, before once more doing up her buttons.

  He pulled her tiny blue shorts down and looked

  for any imperfections. There were none. Her mound was colored only slightly darker than the hair on her head; she was a natural blond. A very cautious, gently probing finger determined she was still a virgin; this was an added extra bonus. His hand remained for a moment, fondling her, exposing every inch of her to him. He groaned while trying to control his growing erection.

  Roll re-clothed her. He preferred to assess his victims while they were unconscious. It caused them the least distress this way. Also he could gain a better opinion on how much he should charge for them. This girl would definitely bring a high price.

  Smiling happily, Roll fit the lid of the bench closed. Checking first to make sure nothing interfered with ventilation, he snapped the three locks into place. Whistling, he started his van and drove off down the road. It would not take him long to reach the airstrip, where he had his plane waiting. He needed to get the girl out of the country immediately.

  He also wanted to be able to time her next dose of medication. He didn’t want her coming to while he was flying. He would be unable to soothe her fears if she woke bound and gagged. If she vomited, he would be unable to assist her.

  She certainly was a pretty little thing. Feeling very pleased with himself, Roll turned on the radio and sang along with a heavy metal song. Today was definitely a good day.

  Chapter One

  Carrie woke slowly. Her heavy eyes fluttered, closed to rest from the extreme effort, and then fluttered once more, dragging herself from her induced sleep. I’m late for school, I better get up, she thought lazily. She exhaled and tried to raise herself into a sitting position. For a moment she fumbled about. Confusion set in as she became aware she was unable to move her arms and legs.

  She turned awkwardly from her side and gazed up

  at the ten foot ceiling, a slow panic growing within her belly. This isn’t my room! Where am I? The off- white, dull paint was chipped and cracked above her head. The one small window on the opposite side of the room was barely large enough to let light in. The bed she lay on was metal; the mattress was small but soft, and it squeaked as she flailed. A ratty but clean- smelling, scratchy blanket had been thrown over her. There was no pillow.

  “Well, there she is,” came a gruff voice. Carrie

  cowered back as the man she remembered as Roll entered the room and moved to sit his bulk beside her. Her memory of what had transpired hit her like a locomotive. She had been kidnapped, stolen, and the

  man before her was her captor and enemy.

  * * * *

  Roll raised a large hand and felt her forehead. He gently gripped her chin and gazed into her frightened eyes. She whimpered; her mouth opened to expel a substantial amount of air as he settled his hand over her chest between her rapidly rising and falling breasts, feeling her heartbeat. His fingers lingered to trail over her left breast, then down her tiny waist to settle onto her hip. Roll chuckled down into her terrified expression.

  “Don’t be afraid, little one. If I planned on raping you
I would have already. Though I admit the idea was tempting, very tempting, you’re worth a great deal more to me intact.”

  Her eyes widened in understanding and a slow blush crept over her face as she realized the insinuation. Instinctively her legs clamped together.

  “Are you thirsty?” Roll asked her. Carrie looked at the water bottle he held in his other hand; condensation dripped down the bottle's sides and he saw her dry throat constricting as she comprehended its icy coldness. She nodded stiffly.

  Roll pulled her into his arms, cradling her head,

  and held the bottle to her eager lips. Once the cool, inviting water reached her mouth she gulped at it greedily, thirstily. She coughed, then choked, gasping for air, and Roll removed the bottle, waiting until she caught her breath. He tilted her head back, forcing

  her to look up into his deep dark eyes.