Introducing… Ginger Darcy and a new book The Doctor’s Captive, a hot and gritty story in which a young undercover agent pits her will against a shadowy rogue who goes by the moniker ‘The Doctor’ and soon finds herself at the mercy of his dominance and discipline as he takes her captive and proceeds to show her the truth about the organization she works for and her own forgotten past through a series of hot, hard and very erotic medical sessions designed to break the mental conditioning she has been subjected to without her knowledge.
I’ve chosen to write under this new pen name because I want to explore deeper dynamics of dominance and submission and more edgy stories with even more dominant alpha heroes. Ginger Darcy books pull out all the stops. Though there is love and romance and tenderness, these ones push the limits a whole lot harder than most Loki Renard books ever have. So if rough sexual content offends, distresses, or disinterests you, you may want to stick with traditional Loki Renard material.
Here’s an extended sample to give you a taste of what you’re in for with this book:
Katie hunkered down into the leaf litter and started her observation. Through binoculars that detected heat signatures, the cabin appeared to be entirely empty. She watched it for a good hour before deciding to make an entrance through the front door. Other agents might have chosen the window, but Katie knew the window was far more likely to be booby-trapped than the door. Only intruders made their way through windows.
She ran toward the cabin in a crouch, and upon reaching the front door, stayed back behind the wall as she tested the handle. It was not locked. It turned almost silently and the door swung open without a sound to reveal a very simply furnished interior. Stove. Table. Two wooden chairs. One armchair. A fireplace. A bed. No occupants.
She sidled in and shut the front door behind her, sweeping the room carefully as she made her way to the door in the rear. It opened to reveal a bathroom. Shower. Toilet. There was electricity in the place, provided by an exterior generator. All in all, it was fairly cozy.
Knowing her time was limited, Katie got to work. First things first, a camera. Once she had that in place she could sit half a mile away and monitor her target’s movements when he returned. That would let her know when to strike. She decided to put it underneath a chair, facing the bed. It was a good position for observing most of the room, and judging by the dust accumulated around the leg of the chair, it wasn’t often moved.
She crouched down and began the relatively quick process of installing the camera. She did not hear any sounds in the cabin. Certainly didn’t hear the door open, or the soft footsteps of the man approaching her. She did, however, feel the cold press of a blade against the back of her neck, poised with surgical perfection between the C4 and C5 vertebrae.
“Hello, Katie.” The voice was calm and congenial. There was no need for verbal threat when the blade at her neck did all the talking.
If he’d wanted to stab her, he could have done that at the outset. The knife was designed to make her freeze, but freezing was the worst thing she could have done. The second worst thing, actually. The worst thing she could have done, she’d already done—which was be caught by her prey. Katie kicked back hard, aiming for the kneecap. She made contact with thin air as the Doctor moved to avoid her kick, but her motion bought her around to face the most wanted man in the underworld.
There he was—Jason Blake, aka the Doctor—looking at her with a dark smirk on his handsome face. He looked just like his picture, albeit with a bit more rough stubble about his jawline. The eyes were always the best methods of identification, and his were locked on her with emerald intensity. It was him alright, though he was taller than she’d expected him to be. And wider too. Or maybe she was smaller than she thought she was. Either way, she had the uncomfortable sensation of being thoroughly dwarfed by the man.
“You’re late,” he drawled, his voice somehow unsettlingly familiar. She didn’t know how he knew her name, but she guessed he must have weaseled it out of some other agent, or one of his contacts. She had no intention of letting him know she was intimidated by him, or letting herself be distracted by his odd comments.
Deciding to shoot first and ask questions later, Katie drew her pistol. Before she had it out from under her sweater, he threw the knife with a hard flick of his fingers. It struck the hilt of her weapon and the pistol went spinning from her hand, leaving her with a pink graze on her middle finger. The casual, surgical precision with which he wielded his weapon was chilling, but Katie wasn’t done yet.
“Put your hands up,” he said, motioning with his own pistol drawn from the holster on his thigh.
Katie declined. “If you want to kill me, shoot me,” she said. “I’m not going to put my hands up for you.”
“Katie, Katie,” he tutted, sounding disappointed. “If I’d wanted to, I could have killed you six different ways by now. You’re getting sloppy, girl.”
Sloppy was not a word that had ever been used to describe Katie. It was like a barb in her soul, angering her instantly. Anger didn’t have any place in an assassination. Emotion was the enemy, but Katie couldn’t quite contain herself. She was afraid of him in a way she couldn’t explain. He was just another target, and yes, though she’d botched the job thus far, it wasn’t the first time things had gone wrong. She was trained to deal with unexpected resistance and surprises—and she had a few of her own, like the ten-inch retractable blade strapped to the inside of her wrist, hidden by the sleeve of her sweater. Things were about to get messy.
She put her hands behind her back as the Doctor approached, his gun trained on her. All it took was a quick manipulation of the release mechanism and she was in possession of what amounted to an arm-mounted sword. As he came into range, she side-stepped his gun and slashed the blade toward his throat.
A hot pink line flashed across his neck, followed by a trickle of hot red blood. He lurched backwards and for a brief moment, Katie was sure she’d gotten him. A split-second later, he bought his knee up, driving his foot into her solar plexus and sending her sprawling backwards onto her ass, breaking the blade as she landed. It clattered away from her and landed harmlessly underneath the old stove. He wiped his neck on his hand, revealing nothing more than a deep scratch.
“Turn over, put your hands behind your back, and surrender like a good girl,” he ordered, standing over her, his gun still drawn. “I don’t want to hurt you, Katie.”
“Sure you don’t,” she spat, kipping back up to her feet. “You’ve killed nine other agents.”
“You’re special,” he said, deadpan. “I’ve got other plans for you.”
She could well imagine what those plans would be. He was not called the Doctor just because he was a good shot. He was called the Doctor because he was capable of surgical precision in a number of ways, none of which she wanted to be on the receiving end.
“You’re a sick, sadistic son of a bitch, and I’ll die before I let you take me.”
He tilted his head to the side and nodded briefly. “That can probably be arranged.”
Katie didn’t give him a chance to make good on the threat. She was going to end him with her bare hands if she had to. She dashed forward, planning to use her speed to strike him at his throat, collapse his airway, and end his miserable life.
Her fist shot forward and her fingers extended sharply, but Jason blocked the blow and instead of making contact with his throat, her hand slid harmlessly over his shoulder. He took advantage of the moment to grab her arm and spin her around, facing away from him.
It took her less than a second to realize that she’d made a huge mistake. A grappling match was never going to go her way. Jason outweighed her, was much stronger and more skillful too. He had her in a submission hold before she could so much as touch him, arm wrapped around her neck, his fingers hard against a pressure point, which made her body slump to the floor as if she had suddenly become a ragdoll.
“Very sloppy,” he chastised her, pulling her arms behind her back before she could recover. A zip-tie was quickly applied, the narrow plastic band a devastatingly effective shackle. Katie focused on keeping her breathing regular and not panicking. Yes, he had her. But she wasn’t dead yet, and where there was life, there was hope.
Cold steel against her lower back made her freeze in place as Jason ran a surgically sharp knife, blade side up, down her back and between the crevice of her cheeks, slicing through her panties and pants as if they were wisps of silk. In seconds she was completely naked from the waist down, her clothing lying on the floor as he hauled her up to her feet and pushed her over the back of an armchair.
His hands were all over her, running up her back, under her belly, around her arms and everywhere else. “Quite a few tricks you’ve got up your sleeve,” he noted, pulling the throwing knives out of their holsters and pulling hidden guns out of the crevices of her clothing. In seconds she was stripped of every weapon she had and left feeling much more naked for their loss.
The Doctor smoothed his hand over her bare bottom and patted her skin. “I’m going to enjoy this next part,” he growled menacingly.
Katie knew what was coming next and steeled herself for it. She heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled and the leather being slipped out of the loops. The sick son of a bitch was going to force himself on her before he put her out of her misery. Cold fury consumed Katie as she once again found the will to fight. She pulled her legs as close to the couch as she could and tried to stand up. He grabbed her by the back of the neck and forced her back down none too gently.
“You coward!” She spat the words back at him. “You disgusting freak!”
He said nothing; he was too busy securing her in place by wrapping rope around her upper thighs and the chair back. She was unable to do more than squirm, she certainly couldn’t stand up or take her feet. Instead she was forced to dangle there, her bare bottom and pussy exposed to one of the most dangerous men in the world.
She looked over her shoulder, determined to show him how much she hated him, and realized that although his belt had been taken off, his pants were undisturbed. He had looped the belt in two and was holding it in one hand. She saw his lips twist in a wry smile as his arm rose, and suddenly she realized that she’d been completely wrong about his intentions. He wasn’t about to have sex with her. He was about to beat her.
“Consider this thrashing punishment for your poor performance,” he drawled. “I expected better from you.”
“This is exactly the sick shit I expected from you,” she spat back. “You fu… umph!”
She did not finish her sentence. Instead she swallowed it as coiled leather was unleashed against her bottom. He did not speak a word as he thrashed her and she did not allow him the satisfaction of hearing her pain, but there was no denying it as it burst across her bottom stroke after stroke, her flesh welting and burning under the lash of the leather.
“You always were a mouthy one,” he said casually, pausing between strokes to examine and admire his handiwork. “And you always did have a bottom made for discipline.”
“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” Katie said through gritted teeth. “We’ve never met. I don’t mingle with traitors.”
He snorted and began thrashing her bottom again, plying the belt hard against her skin with methodical stroke after stroke, each one landing precisely overlapping the last so both burned much more intensely than either would have done on their own.
She had never in her life been punished this way. Her bottom was a red hot mass of welts and still he was landing fresh strokes, which made her want to scream with anger and frustration. All she allowed herself were growls and grunts as some of the harder lashes landed on particularly sensitive spots of her anatomy.
She was certain that the belt must be about to break skin when he stopped and let out a triumphant chuckle. “You’re wet.”
“Liar,” she shot back over her shoulder.
Without any further discussion, he thrust two fingers inside her pussy. It should have been a painful intrusion, but he was right. She was wet. Not just wet, but completely soaked. Her pussy clasped his fingers tightly, but welcomed the rough invasion.