Passionate Vengeance

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Passionate Vengeance

ISBN # 978-1-78184-239-3

©Copyright Elizabeth Lapthorne 2013

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright February 2013

Edited by Sue Meadows

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Total-e-burning
and a
sexometer
of
1.

This story contains 85 pages, additionally there is also a
free excerpt
at the end of the book containing 11 pages.

The Agency

PASSIONATE VENGEANCE

Elizabeth Lapthorne

Book four in The Agency series

After being rescued by new Agent Lucas Sloan, Abby seeks answers—and vengeance—for the unsanctioned medical tests performed upon her illegally.

Abigail Turner woke up from a nightmare only to find herself living in one. Discovering she had been unknowingly injected with an untested vaccine, then exposed to various diseases, she was the only surviving subject of a horrid trial. Rescued by a handsome hero, she struggles to come to terms with the depth of depravity she’s been exposed to.

Lucas Sloane had felt the sensual pull of Abby since he’d first seen her photo. The woman and her situation had crawled deeply under his skin and he craved providing the strength that would help her get through her nightmares. Fiercely proud when she insists she help him with his mission to catch a multiple murderer, he swears to assist her every step of the way.

Burning desire explodes between them and soon they are intimately connected. Racing against time to save even more people from the same disaster Abby had faced alone, they work together to hunt down the man responsible. Lucas knows that a part of Abigail just wants passionate vengeance, but how can he say no to her when she holds not only his heart but also his soul?

Dedication

With love and thanks to the Lovely Lily.

Prologue

Abigail Turner wondered how long she had been in this fiery hellhole. Caught up in the ceaseless torment, reality and her dreams had mingled long ago. Time had lost all meaning. Her world—or what she managed to understand of it—had narrowed to the here and now, to every appalling second.

She shifted uncomfortably, the simple motion sending screaming agony across her tortured body.

The room was so bloody hot!

Her body ached in every muscle, nerve and sinew. It felt like she had tried to find a restful position for hours, but no matter what contortions she attempted, nothing assuaged the pain.

Groaning, she moved again, Abby twitched. Flames shot across the back of her shoulders, licking their way over her skin and deeper still. Stiffly she tried to ease the pain by moving her joints in a circular fashion. She hoped to relieve some of the pressure. But the motion sent more jolts down her back and up her neck. The dull throb whipped up to her skull and started to form a painful headache.

The temperature was unbearable, sweltering in its intensity. Ironically, she usually enjoyed the heat, but this far outstripped anything she had ever experienced. This was not the heartening warmth of a hot summer’s day, but the endless, ceaselessly sweating heat of being too close to an out-of-control fire.

Sweat pooled at her collar, and her clothes stuck to her skin. Each breath was agonising. Abby felt the flames cover her skin. When a cramp squeezed her with particular intensity she couldn’t stop the screams from ripping through her lungs and falling from her raw, parched throat.

‘Stop it!’
the voices whispered to her. ‘
They’ll hear you and come back.’

Abigail couldn’t remember precisely who ‘they’ were and where she was that would allow them to come ‘back’, but nevertheless fear took hold of her. The voice had been insistent this time and she was certain nothing good could come from ignoring the inner warning.

And so she endured the pain, stoically continued to withstand the heat of the fire raging inside and around her. Tears leaked from her eyes, the cramps becoming unbearable. Never before had she wanted to be a heroine—she’d not wished for fame or glory, for martyrdom or to be anything other than her normal self. She’d never wanted to push her limits or achieve the unbelievable.

Weeping, Abigail reached out with her heart and soul, desperate for relief. Taking in one shuddering breath after another, she closed her eyes and mind against the unendurable pain and wished for death to come and claim her.

* * * *

Each breath continued to be painful. Fire consumed her, burning her lungs, decaying her muscles one cell at a time. She could no longer help it.

Abigail screamed. Over and over.

Just as the voices had warned her, ‘they’ came. Lost in her own world of misery she barely registered it. They hurt her more, but it was pinpricks compared to what already overwhelmed her.

And still the fire raged, consuming her body and soul, desperate to overtake her.

Sheer stubbornness had her holding on now, nothing else.

At one stage she could hear bells tolling in the distance. Her death knell, she wondered? Too tired to care, too wrung dry to do anything except breathe in and out over and over, she waited for the end to come.

It refused.

The pain continued, the flames fanned higher.

The voices whispered continuously to her now. She had learnt hours—days?—ago to block them out. In her weaker moments, when she feared she’d been abandoned by all those around her, she would listen once again to them. Just to assure herself she wasn’t ever truly alone.

‘…Abigail never applies herself as she should…’

‘…such a delightful girl—if only she’d pay attention when we…’

‘…and then she said…’

‘…she never…what is wrong with her…?’

‘…follow your heart, Abby, trust in what you know is true…’

The last voice she recognised. It was her grandmother’s. She struggled to follow her—it felt like forever since she’d been held in a hug or snuggled close to the warm familiarity of her gran.

Her body refused to obey her, and no matter how hard Abby looked she couldn’t see clearly. Then those bloody bells interrupted once again, deafening her and making her cower down, hands pressed over her ears to drown out the sound.

As always, the pain returned. Her muscles seized up once again and the jolts thundered through her body. Flames that must surely be from the fires of hell licked along the line of her back, her skin feeling as if it were being ripped from her flesh.

Abigail desperately wished for a moment’s clarity, just a few seconds to think and make a plan for herself. But the pain encompassed everything and she floundered.

* * * *

She had no idea how much time had passed—minutes, hours or days. Time had ceased to have meaning to her.

A knight came towards her. He wore spaulders, a knight’s chest armour that also covered his shoulders and upper arms. The silver shone in places as if it had been recently polished, though paradoxically it also remained tarnished in other sections, showing its age and copious wear.

He stalked through the fires, neither flinching nor protecting himself from the flames as they raced over his body.

“Help me!” Abigail cried out. Her arms refused to move, though she wished she could wave and capture his attention.

Her voice croaked with disuse—or perhaps it was the strain of speaking after her screams and tears. Pain racked every muscle, the heat overwhelming her as sweat pooled around her body. Exhaustion battered her, the effort to breathe and stay conscious taking every ounce of energy she possessed.

Abigail tried to focus on the knight as he continued towards her. Caucasian, blond, tall, everything else was a blur. Her eyes were failing. The harder she struggled to look, the less he fell into focus. Drained of all energy now, Abby feared that this would be it. Surely the knight wasn’t there for her? He’d pass her, not even realising she lay there in a heap, collapsed within the endless flames.

She came to understand this would be the end. She would have to embrace death, give up her monumental struggle at last.

She saw the knight reach her in the seconds before her eyes fluttered shut. He bent down. His blond hair shielded his face and softly caressed the skin of her forehead. He collected her up in his strong arms. She moaned when he wrapped her body firmly in his arms, clasping her to his chest—he didn’t seem to mind lifting her weight at all. The motion was smooth, as if she were as light as a child.

Abigail collapsed against his warm solidness, her head cradled in the hollow of his neck. She couldn’t believe he’d found her, saved her at her most critical moment.

“Are you real?” she murmured, her voice hoarse from crying, screaming, and hour upon hour of tears.

“Not yet,” he whispered to her. “But soon I will be.”

In her deluded exhaustion Abby didn’t even understand the meaning behind his words. She simply understood the comfort of not bearing this impossible load alone anymore. His presence soothed her beyond belief. He battled the flames with her, and inexorably he helped her force them back, even just a little way.

Abigail Turner fell into a fitful but genuine sleep at last.

Chapter One

“Impress me, George.” Lucas Sloan pushed one hand down on the wiry tech’s shoulder and leaned in close.

George ran a hand through his messy brown hair and pushed it out of his eyes.

Lucas smirked and tried to read the man’s laptop screen over his shoulder.

“You really need a haircut,” Lucas teased.

“I thought Jones ordered you and Walters to take four hours down time before you showed your faces back here?” George complained, though there had been no real sting to his tone.

Lucas shrugged and pushed aside the oppressive feeling of worry and doom that had haunted him the last day or so.

“Keep your voice down, mate,” Lucas snapped as he cast a quick look around to make sure no one had overheard him. “Preston did order Tristan and I to take a few hours’ rest before we hit this again. You announcing to the world I’m here will just get me in deep shit. So shut it, all right?”