I wanted to share with you the first chapter of the sequel to HEALING TOUCH, titled FOREVER HOME. This book is Ledger Atwater's story in the Destination Lost series. It's been a few months since he was separated from Noah and Charlie, the other survivors. Here's where we catch up with him...
Ledger Atwater grunted as he gripped the sides of the square, metal table. “That’s the last one,” he said, though he knew no one understood him. It was obvious anyway, since each little bundle had been tethered together and that one had nothing but string on the end of it.
His first stint as a drug mule in outer space was over.
His ass throbbing, he rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, staying bent over the table. No one seemed to give a damn about him now. He still had his eyes closed, but he could tell they were behind him inspecting their product. He was assuming it was drugs. Since they were aliens it could, technically, be any damn thing, but drugs made the most sense to him. Humans did it on Earth, so why not aliens on alien planets?
The talking got louder, became yelling. Hell. What now? Ledger didn’t move until somebody groped his butt.
“Hey!” He straightened up fast and went to turn, but his pants were still around his ankles. All he really did was flip himself onto his ass on the dirt floor. “Ow. Fucking ow.”
Holding onto the table, he got back on his feet and pulled up his pants. He was woozy. Had to still be under the influence of whatever that little bastard had given him to knock him out so he could shove all those drug bundles up his innocent ass.
Ledger snorted. Well, his ass wasn’t that innocent, but he sure wouldn’t be letting anyone back there for a long damn time now that he’d shit out twenty-five spicy rocks the size of ripe cherries. His hole had a goddamned heartbeat.
It took him some time to steady himself, plant his feet, and then draw his cheap, almost paper-like pants up to his waist. While he did that, he kept an eye on the aliens having the argument. Over what, he didn’t know, but it seemed like maybe it involved him.
There was the spindly, green son of a bitch who smelled like dirty socks in one corner. Stinky kept pointing at Ledger every time he said something. In the other corner was the brackish-colored little bastard who’d turned Ledger into a drug mule. Pukey had the worst halitosis Ledger had ever gaged over and kept slashing at the air in Ledger’s general direction every time Stinky pointed.
Oh, goddamn. They were fighting over who got to keep him.
And then the weapons came out.
Missy Welsh writes gay, bi, and trans erotic m/m romance short stories, novellas, and novels.