The Forever One

THE FOREVER ONE THE ESCORT: VOLUME 6 N. O. ONE CONTENTS Warning Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 An hour earlier… Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Epilogue Acknowledgments Also by N. O. One WARNING BEFORE YOU CONTINUE The Forever One is the sixth volume of a series of six. It is graphic and morally on the fence, containing extremely sensitive material that may not be adapted to your needs. If you need specific details of things involved, please visit our website for a list of warnings. www.author-no-one.com If you’re okay with all of this, just remember… we warned you. On the plus side, the lead female is strong and proud and these men come with a fire extinguisher. If you’re still reading after all of that then, by all means, sit down, relax, and enjoy the filthy, bumpy road ahead. To reiterate: ***!! If you have triggers, please do not continue. This is not the series for you. !!*** Seriously, if you don’t want all the angst and smut with some suspenseful darkness thrown in for good measure, stop reading. To all of you who began with The Rich One, strapped in, and trusted us on this rollercoaster of a ride. We see you. We appreciate you. Thank you. CHAPTER ONE ENZO The first sign that shit went wrong is the taste in my mouth as consciousness begins to tap at my frontal lobe. My mouth is pasty with an aftertaste of copper, which tells me I’ve got blood in or around my mouth. The salty, almost soapy taste at the back of my throat tells me even more. I was drugged, probably with some kind of Benzo. If I had to guess, I’d say liquid ecstasy fits the bill. I’m lying on my side—the pressure along my ribs impossible to ignore—on cool, uneven flooring like CHAPTER TWO RIVER Everything is numb. My surroundings are inconsequential. But I know I can’t allow myself the time to wallow in my own pity. It might be the sensible thing to do, giving myself the space to think logically and work through some of my emotions, but I can’t. My emotions are my fuel. I’m working on pure instinct. Which is why I’m trusting this J woman who was at the warehouse… with all the bodies… the blood… Bruce… A shudder runs down my spine at the thought of the warehouse. No one should