Soul Bonds is the first in my series Common Powers. I thought it would be interesting to write about men who were like super heroes but didn’t have big, grand powers. They had small, common powers, like getting visions of the future, hearing the thoughts of others, and healing with a touch.
For Soul Bonds, I was inspired by the Houston sex slave trade. Yeah, it’s real, and Houston is a major player, due to the port and its location next to Mexico. Every month I’d watch the news and see where they’d busted a sex slave house. Dozens of women and young boys and girls would be found chained to the floors, sleeping on bare mattresses, in houses that looked just like all the others in the neighborhood.
Some were kidnapped, others were offered a better life, only to find once they arrived here they were at the mercy of the men who put them to work as prostitutes. Most were young, and once they became too used to sell, were often killed and their bodies dumped, burned beyond recognition. All with no form of I.D. or legal papers.
Occasionally, neighbors would report the coming and going of the slavers, or a john with enough guilt would turn them in, and the cops would go in and come out with the victims. I’d see the long line of people, usually with jackets or towels over their heads, paraded past the press and curious neighbors, and it made me wonder, churning plot bunnies in my head.
But there was another level of the sex slave trade, one that operates more like a “custom” or “designer” trade, where the more beautiful, more valuable victims would be sold on the black market, to the wealthy of other nations, or drug cartels.
And that’s where I put Sammi. He’s young, sexy as hell, and street smart. And he’s a valuable commodity. A sex slave with a small power, not like super strength or x-ray vision, or the power to move objects. A power suited perfectly for the sex trade.
Sammi can hear his lovers’ thoughts. He knows what they want. The inner, dark, secret desires of those men who perhaps can’t say out loud or let anyone know what they need from him.
And someone very powerful in another country has purchased Sammi, and he’s to be delivered in only a few days. So, he becomes desperate, and escapes the luxury penthouse he’s kept in. He’s a prisoner – just as chained, just as betrayed by the men who promised a better life to those in the houses. He’s got one chance for freedom, and he’s going to use every skill he’s got, including tricking men to take him home, keeping him off the streets and safe for a night or two. Using his body is nothing new in his short life.
Anything to stay out of his owner Donovan’s hands, before he’s sent away, to never know his past, who he really is, where he’s from, and why his mother abandoned him as a small child to an endless stream of foster parents and group homes and people who became too afraid of him to keep him for long.
He never expected to meet Mitchell in a bar. And he never expected Mitchell to be able to hear his voice either. Because in all the years, no one had ever heard him, or what he needed, before Mitchell.
And for Mitchell, the young man he’d picked up in a bar was a mystery, a fascination, a freaking force of nature. He didn’t understand how, but Sammi could hear his thoughts and desires and he could hear Sammi’s. If the sex wasn’t so mind-blowing, he’d be freaked out.
But the more he and Sammi were together, the more they shared their bodies, the stronger this weird mental bond between them grew, until it was hard to tell where Mitchell started and Sammi ended.
Somehow, they’d forged a soul bond, and the only way to break it was death.
About Soul Bonds
It’s not how big the power, it’s how you use it.
Mitchell’s tired of one night stands and casual encounters.
Sammi is a runaway sex slave who’ll do anything to stay free.
When they meet in a bar, Mitchell can’t believe his luck. Sammi is sex on two legs and seems to know just what Mitchell wants from a lover. But Sammi’s owner Donovan isn’t going to let him go so easily. He’s prepared to destroy anyone who stands in his way to get back his prized slave.
Is the bond between Mitchell and Sammi strong enough to stand up against the damage Donovan inflicts on their lives, or will it shatter?
Reader Advisory: This book deals with the sex slave industry and people who are held against their will.
Publisher’s Note: This book has previously been released elsewhere. It has been revised and re-edited for re-release with Pride Publishing.
General Release Date: 20th December 2016
Soul Bonds Excerpt:
Mitchell lowered his voice so nearby diners couldn’t hear him. “I keep getting a hardon every time I think of you.”
Sammi’s cheeks burned, but he loved the compliment and the wickedness in Mitchell’s eyes. Just like that, his belly unknotted and his shoulders eased down. Maybe Mitchell really was okay at work.
“Me, too. I can barely keep my hands off you right now.” He let a wicked grin spread over his face and he tossed his head, throwing his bangs back. His appetite returned and he scooped up another forkful of cheesy enchiladas. It really was delicious and he hadn’t had such a good meal in days.
The hungry look in Mitchell’s eyes told him everything. Through the rest of the meal glances passed between them that promised each other their hunger would be satisfied once they got back to Mitchell’s apartment.
They continued to chat. Sammi shared his day with Mitchell, who acted as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard. Sammi had done nothing, really. He’d cleaned up the apartment, fixed some lunch and watched television. The whole day had been his with no one to answer to, no one watching his every move or following him around. In Mitchell’s apartment, he’d felt freer than he had in years.
Although Donovan had never put physical chains on Sammi, he’d kept him prisoner for a long time nonetheless. At first, Sammi had been happy to play the young lover to the older man who’d rescued him from the streets. Donovan had even spoiled Sammi. In the beginning.
They’d met in a gay bar a year ago. Donovan was big, handsome and spent money like he had an endless supply. Sammi had focused in on Donovan and the rest was history. He’d gone home with Donovan that night, leaving the streets behind.
Donovan had given Sammi free run of the penthouse and use of the Town Car, with Moretti driving. Money was no problem either, and for Sammi, who’d never had anything, that had been seductive and intoxicating.
Then a month in, Donovan had changed the rules and Sammi’s freedom had disappeared in a single day. He’d been locked in the penthouse, no more shopping trips to the Galleria, no lunches or dinners out at fancy restaurants with Donovan. Under the watchful eyes of an armed guard who stood at the door day and night, Sammi’s good life had become a living hell.
Donovan had started a portfolio of photographs of Sammi. He’d pose Sammi on what had once been their bed and snap shot after shot, each more graphic than the next. Sammi understood that he was being used, but he didn’t understand why. Donovan had told him they were his private photos of Sammi. At first, Sammi had believed him. But one day, he’d gotten a peek at the photos on the computer. His were mixed in with other young men.
Although Sammi was uneducated, he wasn’t stupid. He had enough street smarts to realize what was going on.
The first time that Donovan had brought several older men to the penthouse, Sammi had thought it was just a party. And Sammi was the party favor. When he’d tried to protest, Donovan had dragged him into the bedroom, thrown him against the wall and explained it to him, with a tight grip around Sammi’s throat.
“Time to earn your keep.” That night, each of the men had taken turns fucking Sammi, and when they hadn’t been fucking him, they’d been watching someone else fuck him. At least Donovan had insisted they wear condoms.
Sammi had never seen it, but he was sure money had changed hands. He’d been a whore before, on the dark streets near the park, but at least he’d made some money then and had been able to come and go as he pleased.
After the men left, Sammi had asked Donovan about his share of the money. That was the first time Donovan had put Sammi in the closet. Whether during some intimate bed talk or in conversation, Donovan had found out about his fear of small places, and used it to punish and control him.
The closet was so small. And there was no light. The bulb had been removed and the doorframe weather-stripped so that no light shone around the edges. Sammi could stand or sit, but not lie down.
The sides of the closet had been too close around him. Walls had brushed his arms as he’d sat with his knees against his chest and his head resting on them. He’d tried shutting his eyes, pretending he was somewhere else, but that had only lasted so long before the walls had closed in on him.
Tears had flowed and his mouth had contorted in a wasted scream as his lungs had struggled to get enough air—his chest had tightened and his heart had pounded as if it would explode. Unable to keep control, he’d beaten his fists on the wooden door until they’d been bruised and aching, but Donovan had never released him.
Not until Donovan had been ready and Sammi had been beaten into a pliant, obedient creature, begging to be good. To let Donovan do whatever he wanted with Sammi. He’d never complain or ask for money again.
Then the next customers would arrive.
About Lynn Lorenz
Lynn Lorenz lives in Texas, where she’s a fan of all things Texan, like Longhorns, big hair, and cowboys in tight jeans. She’s never met a comma she didn’t like, and enjoys editing and brainstorming with other writers. Lynn spends most of her time writing about hot sex with even hotter heroes, plot twists, werewolves, and medieval swashbucklers. She’s currently at work on her latest book, making herself giggle and blush, and avoiding all the housework.