Marie Harte - [PowerUp! 08] by Killer Thoughts

in Vancouver off the ground. We’re moving too slow.”
    “Yes, sir.” Fielder nodded his head in a little bow. Koffman did the same.
    Carl left them to find his slut sprawled on the bed, his ass still full of Carl’s leavings. Perfect. He locked the door, then turned back to the bed and unzipped his trousers.
    “Hey, handsome,” his boy said in a thick voice. “How about another hit?” The slut turned over and waved his delectable ass in the air.
    Carl snorted and reached into his pocket. He tossed a blue pill on the bed, then watched his boy swallow it dry. His boy then presented himself on his hands and knees, willingly strapping a collar and chain around his neck. Carl smiled and approached his new slave. If Carl fucked him hard enough, he might just reach his own high. Thoughts of making Owen pay dearly only added to his pleasure. And later, when his boy moaned in delighted pain, begging for more, Carl found his own perfection in the rush of violent desire.
    * * * *
    Owen clasped hands with Caleb Dalton, a man he hadn’t seen in way too long. Just as he remembered, Caleb had a hard face and hard hands to match. Not attractive by any stretch, Caleb had that powerful aura that often alarmed those not used to being around such strength. And no two ways about it, Caleb was mesmerizing in his own way. Short hair that had turned silver when the guy reached his twenty-fourth birthday surrounded blunt features—a square jaw, crooked nose, and lean face. The man’s dark brown eyes glowed with humor as he shook Owen’s hand.
    “Getting bigger, eh, Owen?” he said with a glance at Owen’s arms.
    Caleb himself was no slouch. Once a trainer for the PWP, he had also been given the drugs that finessed and empowered his psychic abilities. Off the drugs since the program had closed, he apparently exercised like a demon.
    “Either you’re eating steroids for breakfast, or you’ve been working out like a dog,” Owen drawled.
    “Woof woof.”
    Owen laughed.
    Ian cleared his throat. “Ahem.”
    Owen turned back to the group. He’d gathered everyone together in one of the two conference rooms he used when conducting business at home, wanting them all to meet Caleb, who would be staying on for the next few weeks, or at least until Owen sealed Kerr in his coffin. “I’m sorry. This is Caleb Dalton, an old friend of mine and current troubleshooter for the government.”
    “That’s one way to pretty it up,” Caleb muttered with a grin. “I’m a small-arms expert, demo man, and hand-to-hand trainer working for DoD.” The Department of Defense. “We can talk vitals later.”
    “Sounds good,” Reuben answered.
    “Reuben Knox and his brother, Joe.” Owen pointed them out. “Tim Mallory, my right-hand man, assistant—you name it, he does it.”
    “Tim.” Caleb nodded.
    “Sir.”
    Owen rolled his eyes. Tim and his love affair with formal authority. “This is Bev Dorset, our cook and resident wonder woman. She makes the best sticky buns you’ve ever had.”
    Fifty-six years young, the woman had only recently gone gray. He respected and loved Bev. She’d been a great comfort to him and Heather throughout the years, especially during their rough period of loss. He treasured her.
    Bev blushed. “Oh, now. Don’t forget my chocolate chip cookies.”
    Caleb laughed.
    Ian, Owen noted, didn’t look pleased. Because others had attention, or because Caleb stood so close? Owen hoped for the latter. In some ways, Ian was easy to read, yet in others, he remained an enigma. Owen skipped Ian, saving the best for last, and pointed to the petite blonde next to Bev. “Meet Dolly Hampton, our housekeeper with a capital H . Without her, this place would—”
    “Go to hell in a handbasket.” Dolly winked. “My mother used to say that all the time, but working here, now I know what she meant. Nice to meet you, Caleb.” A pretty woman in her early forties, Dolly had been working as a live-in housekeeper for the past six