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.