Contents
Some promises can’t be kept…
Also by the Author
Author's Note
Introduction
Part I
Eddie
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Part II
Jace
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Part III
War
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part IV
Peace
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
The World of the Governor Trilogy
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Other Titles
About the Author
Pet
(Governor Trilogy 5)
Lesli Richardson
©2020, Lesli Richardson
Some promises can’t be kept…
From birth, my life has been a series of wrong turns and dead ends. Only one person truly loved me, and I walked away from them. Now, they’re unavailable.
I have a dark soul. That’s what I’ve always been told. Makes me good at my work, though. It’s kept me alive, even when I haven’t cared if I lived or died. Even when I welcomed death, and it still eluded me. Makes it easy not to get attached. I guess I’m lucky.
Until an unexpected reversal of fortune thrusts me into an unwinnable situation. Now, I’m not so sure I want to die.
But a brother’s unkept promise might be the only thing that keeps me alive.
Pet
Governor Trilogy Book 5
Copyright © 2020 by Lesli Richardson
First E-book Publication: December, 2020
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This work may not be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form or by any means currently available or available in the future, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, for free or for sale, without express written permission from the publisher and author.
Distributing copies of this e-book to others is a violation of international copyright law and infringes the rights of the legal copyright holder. This e-book may not be shared, copied, sold, given away, offered as a contest prize, or otherwise distributed to anyone other than the original purchaser. Distributing this e-book as part of any collection, or with any type of resale permission, is also strictly forbidden and a violation of copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This is my livelihood. PLEASE do NOT share, upload, or otherwise distribute this book. When people buy my books, it pays my bills. Please don’t steal from me. If you want me to keep bringing you more stories, I need to be able to pay my bills, so I ask that you please legally purchase my books. If you want to give this file to someone else, please purchase them a copy from a legal retailer. The links are on my website. Thank you.
www.LesliRichardson.com
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Also by the Author
Sign up for my author newsletter, where I post info about both my Lesli Richardson and Tymber Dalton pen names, and never miss a new release or update:
https://tymberdalton.com/newsletter/
* * *
Writing as Lesli Richardson:
* * *
The Bleacke Shifter Series:
1) Bleacke’s Geek
2) Geek Chic
3) A Bleacke Wind
4) Bleacke Spirit
5) A Bleacke Christmas
6) Geek-Speak
7) Bleacke Expectations
8) Bleacke Moments
* * *
The Great Turning Series:
1) The Great Turning
2) The Great Turning: Into the Turn
3) The Great Turning: Future Ages
* * *
Governor Trilogy:
1) Governor
2) Lieutenant
3) Chief
4) Yes, Governor
5) Pet
* * *
Determination Trilogy:
(A stand-alone trilogy set in the same world as the Governor Trilogy.)
1) Dignity
2) Diligence
3) Desire
* * *
Devastation Trilogy:
(A stand-alone trilogy set in the same world as the Governor Trilogy.)
1) Dirge
2) Solace
3) Release
* * *
Inequitable Trilogy:
(A stand-alone trilogy set in the same world as the Governor Trilogy.)
1) Indiscretion
2) Innocent
3) Incisive
* * *
Devout Trilogy:
(A stand-alone trilogy set in the same world as the Governor Trilogy.)
1) Sacred
2) Profane
3) Penance
* * *
Maxim Colonies:
1) Jailmates
2) Farborn
3) Saudade
* * *
Of Boardwalks and Bison
Cross Country Chaos
Poly
Her Vampire Obsession (Midnight Doms Series)
“His Vampire Morsel” (All Souls’ Night: A Midnight Doms Anthology)
How Many Times Do I Have to Say I’m Sorry? (Maudlin Falls 1)
Fierce Radiance (Space Confederation 1)
Acquainted With the Night
Whip Me, Beat Me, Make Me Write Hot Sex (non-fiction)
* * *
Click Here to Check Out My Coming Soon Page!
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Click Here For All My Tymber Dalton Titles!
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Lesli Richardson is better known by her more prolific Tymber Dalton pen name. Please visit her website for more info on all her titles under both her pen names, including full book and series listings, trivia, character information, and more.
http://www.tymberdalton.com
Author's Note
Florida politics are messy, nasty, sexy, brutal, funny, insane, impossibly complex, and a lot of fun to write about. (Mostly because they’re messy, nasty, sexy, brutal, funny, insane, and impossibly complex.)
Since the focus of this series isn’t the politics so much as it is the people, I’ve taken certain liberties and simplified a few things here and there.
The kinky shit, however, is absolutely realistic.
Also, this trilogy was written before Covid was a thing, and I’ve decided not to incorporate those events into the world this series, and its related spin-off series, are set in.
Note: The books in this series should be read in order. At the very least, you must first read Chief (Governor Trilogy 3) and Yes, Governor (Governor Trilogy 4) to better understand the events in this book and not miss any backstory.
Governor
Lieutenant
Chief
Yes, Governor
Pet
For all my readers who first fell in love with Carter and his pets, and thus helped me birth a whole new “world” of stories to write.
* * *
For Hubby, for tolerating a political nerd for a wife.
* * *
Also, for My Viking. He knows why.
“All men can see these tactics whereby I conquer, but what none can see is the strategy out of which victory is evolved.”
— Sun Tzu
“The two most powerful
warriors are patience and time.”
— Leo Tolstoy
“Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.”
— Helen Keller
Part I
Eddie
“Do not engage an enemy more powerful than you. And if it is unavoidable and you do have to engage, then make sure you engage it on your terms, not on your enemy’s terms.”
– Sun Tzu
Chapter One
Now
“We know who you are.”
Based on the sound of his voice and where it’s coming from, I assume the man is standing on the other side of the table from me. He’s probably around my size, maybe an inch or so in either direction of my own six-foot frame.
Although, from the feel of the table, the way it gives and wobbles under me when I lean on it with enough weight to test it, it’s probably some old Soviet-era military surplus metal folding table and not something more substantive, like an interview table in a police station, or in a military base holding cell.
Or a metal butcher’s worktable.
Hey, you’d be surprised how many human bodies get disposed of with a batch of ground beef or sausage. The forensics alone would be a nightmare to untangle, if you even could.
But I digress. He was talking to me. And the acoustics in this room make it sound like it’s too small to be the back of a butcher’s shop in some tiny Hungarian town. That, and while chilly, it’s still a little too warm to be located in a working butcher’s shop.
I lick my split lips. “Do you, now?” I can’t see him. Even if it wasn’t for the hood I’m wearing, both my eyes are nearly swollen shut underneath it from the face punches I received during the struggle when I was first captured and the subsequent initial interrogation session. My left shoulder’s also fucked up, likely dislocated by the fuckers when they grabbed me.
He chuckles. I hear the sound of something flat and plastic being set on the table and I assume it’s a tablet. Top Secret folders dripping with paper dossiers are passé, I suppose. But you could slam those fuckers down on a table for a little emphasis.
You do that to a tablet, you’ll break it.
“The world has moved on and no one gives a shit about you being here,” he says. “Why are you fighting so hard?”
“Maybe I have a death wish.”
“I believe that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”
He’s right. “Bored with me yet?”
“Nah.” I hear a chair slide out across from me, its metal legs scraping along what sounds like a bare concrete floor.
I can’t move because I’m securely manacled to my sturdy metal chair. Not a folding chair I could possibly break free from. Plus, whoever chained me up knew what they were doing, weaving my restraints through the frame and criss-crossing them to allow me minimal movement. I don’t know who did that, because I’d already been knocked out at that point with what I think was chloroform, or maybe isoflurane, or something like that. I awakened slumped over the table before me, with no idea how long I’d been out, or what other drugs they might have dosed me with after I lost consciousness.
This was after I’d been snatched, dumped in the back of a van, beaten, transported…
You get the idea. I’ve had better days.
I’m not even sure how long it’s been since they grabbed me. I’m still alive, so likely less than a day. It’s been at least twelve hours, I think, but it’s difficult to say with the hood completely shrouding me in muffled darkness. I have a hell of a headache. I don’t know if that’s because of the inhalant they used, or subsequent drugs they dosed me with, or the beating I took. Or, maybe a combination.
I could really use a cheeseburger, though. Fuck my life for skipping breakfast.
At least I haven’t pissed myself yet, and no breakfast means I’m not close to shitting myself, so yay, winning.
I think there’s at least three of them, total. I heard Russian spoken at one point. This man is doing most of the talking, and the only one I’ve heard speak English. He does so with an American accent. Definitely not a Northeastern accent, and too soft of a drawl to be deeply Southern. He’s from Virginia or that region, if I had to guess. His accent sounds very familiar.
Quickly, I shove away the reason I would think that, because that’s not helpful.
I’m assuming he doesn’t know I speak fluent Russian.
“How’s your face?” he asks.
I run my tongue over my split lip again and relish the pain even as I taste hints of my own blood. “How’s your knuckles?”
Another chuckle from the unseen man. “I didn’t hit you. But you were fighting pretty damned hard.” I hate that his voice makes my cock harden as much from what happened to me as from the rich sound of his tone, the familiar inflections to his words. So…familiar.
It’s a conditioned response. Especially since this guy sounds so damned much like a man, another Virginian, who’s forever in my past even as he’s forever imprinted on my heart and soul.
Guess I do have a death wish.
“Why do you insist on doing this the hard way?” he asks.
“You’re going to kill me whether I make it easy or hard on you. I know how this works. Life’s finally caught up with me. The only question remaining is how hard am I going to make you work for it?”
“Are you now?” He sounds amused, like maybe he’s smiling.
Fuck. Even his voice sounds like—
No.
I know it’s not Him.
It can’t be. This man’s voice is similar, that’s all. For starters, He would never do something like this to me. He would do everything in His power to protect me. It’s just stress and fear warping this man’s voice into one from my past.
I really need to stop thinking about Him with a capital H, but old habits die damned hard.
Besides, He has a life, a wife, children, a job. All safely in Florida.
He has everything He ever wanted.
And that, unfortunately, doesn’t include me.
Not anymore. Although, at one point in the past, it could have.
Maybe if I hadn’t let Him walk away way all those years ago, if I’d chased Him, forced myself to open up and admit how much I needed Him, I could have been part of that equation.
Why shouldn’t I have a death wish? Is my life really worth anything?
I’m beginning to think it’s not.
Add to that, with the last nagging, open chapter in my past firmly closed by Him during His recent trip to Berlin only a few weeks earlier…do I really have anything left worth living for with my revenge now vicariously completed?
Apparently, I must not think I do, because I fucked up my peaceful retirement by being an utter dumbass, which got me into…this.
A noise as the tablet scrapes against the table, followed by the soft, dull, rapid thud of blunt, hard fingers moving over a tablet screen.
I wait.
“Tsk. Edward James Fowler. Or do you prefer Ed?”
That’s the first time he’s addressed me by name, or even asked to verify my name. He damned well knew exactly who I was and what I was up to when he snatched me, based on the questions he’s already asked. The guy’s now toying with me, maybe even trying to build rapport. A one-man good-cop/bad-cop routine.
I know the drills. I learned them. Even taught them, once upon a long damn time ago.
If he is trying to build rapport now, that means he still wants intel from me, or thinks I’m moderately valuable. The longer I stay alive, the more of a chance I have to escape. I’ve been in tight spots before but this is the worse by far.
And at fifty-one, I’m no spring chicken. If I manage to get out of this, it’ll be through my wits and sheer, dumb luck breaking my way, not because of my busted-up body suddenly pulling a Rambo moment out of my ass.
“Might as well call me Eddie.”
“Is that what your friends call you?”
My bitter laugh fills my ears und
er my hood. “What friends? Guy like me doesn’t have friends.”
Not anymore.
“Business associates, then?”
I can’t help how my mind weighs every inflection of his tone, especially since I can’t see him. It’s automatic. I assess and process every incoming bit of information I have to formulate my reply.
“What kind of business do you think I’m in?” Let’s see how much he really knows about me. Knowing my name doesn’t mean he’s got my full jacket.
His chair softly creaks, like he sat back. I imagine I’m right that he’s not a huge man, or it’d be making a lot more noise. When he speaks, his voice hits my ears at a slightly different angle than before, so I’m certain I’m correct about his change of position.
“I think it’s awfully suspicious a man such as yourself has been implicated in helping a dangerous splinter group from Magzykstan get their hands on some pretty serious hardware. Surface-to-air missiles. Nuclear material, even.”
Pet Page 1
