Early Praise for Prototype
Prototype
Acknowledgments & Shout outs
Foreword: December, 2013
Prologue: Saturday: 11/23/2013
1. Saturday: 11/30/2013 8:45am
2. Saturday: 11/30/2013 10:00am
3. Saturday: 11/30/2013 2:29pm
4. Saturday: 11/30/2013 5:13pm
5. Saturday: 11/30/2013 11:35pm
6. Sunday: 12/01/2013 9:30am
7. Sunday: 12/01/2013 2:45pm
8. Monday: 12/02/2013 7:30am
9. Monday: 12/02/2013 1:30pm
10. Monday: 12/02/2013 5:46pm
11. Monday: 12/02/2013 8:51pm
12. Tuesday: 12/03/2013 5:30am
13. Tuesday: 12/03/2013 9:05am
14. Tuesday: 12/03/2013 11:45am
15. Tuesday: 12/03/2013 4:15pm
16. Tuesday: 12/03/2013 6:00pm
17. Tuesday: 12/03/2013 9:30pm
18. Tuesday: 12/03/2013 11:00pm
19. Wednesday: 12/04/2013 7:00am
20. Wednesday: 12/04/2013 10:45am
21. Wednesday: 12/04/2013 5:59pm
22. Thursday: 12/05/2013 6:00am
23. Thursday: 12/05/2013 7:45am
24. Thursday: 12/05/2013 10:59
25. Thursday: 12/05/2013 1:30pm
26. Thursday: 12/05/2013 4:00pm
27. Thursday: 12/05/2013 5:35pm
28. Thursday: 12/05/2013 6:21pm
29. Saturday: 12/07/2013 5:00pm
Hindsight
About the Author
“Sexy and suspenseful, Prototype is one surprising romance you do not want to miss. I was captivated by the unique storyline and incredible characters told in a way that only Gretchen de la O can ... with potent, powerful words that will leave you falling in love with these characters and a little terrified by the believability created in this edge of your seat, futuristic romantic thriller.”
― A.L. Jackson, New York Times Bestselling Author
“A genre-warping and deeply original suspense.”
― Renée Carlino, USA Today Bestselling Author
"Prototype is the perfect combination of suspense and sizzle as Gretchen de la O heats up the pages with a world of lust, lies, love, and corruption. Prototype is sure to be the start of an amazing new series that will have you on the edge of your seat one moment and fanning yourself in the next."
― Julie Prestsater, Author of The Fire Me Up Series
"Original, suspenseful, sexy and compelling from beginning to end."
― Mia Sheridan, New York Times Bestselling Author
PROTOTYPE
Copyright © 2014 Gretchen de la O
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events,
real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product
of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored on a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.
ISBN: 0983665869
ISBN: 978-0-9836658-6-1
Printed in the U.S.A.
First Edition, Oct. 2014
Edited by Nichole Strauss
Perfectly Publishable
Original Art and cover designed by Sommer Stein
Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Interior Design and Formatting by Christine Borgford
Perfectly Publishable
There are no words that exist which could possibly embody the gratitude I have for the people who have supported me and gave of themselves so unconditionally in the birth of Prototype. From the moment I pushed my pen to paper way back in 2009 to the moment I typed out these acknowledgements in 2014 there has been many hands which have contributed to The Possession Series. First I want to thank my family, Ed, Jared, Kyle, Nathan, and my mom, Gramma K. They have lived with my crazies for quite a long time. Their patience and understanding has been beyond priceless. Thank you for believing in me! I want to thank my editor, Nichole Strauss and formatter, Christine Borgford from Perfectly Publishable. I can only hope someday you both will truly know the deep authentic love I feel for both of you. Thank you to Sommer Stein from Perfect Pear Creative Covers for the best cover ever! She is the swirl in my gut, the creator of my brilliant BIG O brand and truly etched into my heart. Thank you to my original beta readers Debbie Shess, Karley Bohner, and April Sembrat. These women have been with me since I first scraped of the pen across the paper. I have such gratitude and deep love for them. Thank you to Nicole Westmoreland Radlow for your help back in 2009 and telling me the story had good bones! Thank you to my loves A.L. Jackson, Renée Carlino, Gail McHugh, Julie Prestsater, and Mia Sheridan, my sisters in the creative process, and the women who had my back when I needed them. Your time and input was so valuable, (I have such a girly crush on them). I want to thank my girls over at Authors Off the Shelf: Amy, Julie, Renée, Hadley, Toni, Emmy, and Becca your support has been amazing. A BIG O shout out and thanks to my street team, The Big O Babes (BOBs) for pimping my work, your support and love! Lastly, Becky Codere, there are no words sis, you survived another creative birthing process! Thank you, for keeping me breathing, being there as I pushed, and cutting the cord before we gave Prototype to the world. I love you more than my luggage!
Falling in love is as dangerous as murder. That is the true dichotomy of life. Murder will always be seen as wicked and immoral, while love, the thieving of someone’s heart, will always be seen as heroic and gallant. The emotions read with the same vehemence; love and hate, life and death, good and bad.
To most people I am Lauren Matthews, nothing more than an average woman who lives in the small town of McLean, Virginia. To others, I am a sales pitch that went unsold, a test that went astray, a lesson learned; and to the errant few who know what I am capable of … I am a weapon designed to control populations, build governments, and make profits into the hundreds of billions of dollars. But, to one man, I am the woman he must possess, an existence he will consume, and the only conquest he is equipped to endure.
Pick your poison; that’s what people say when faced with impossible choices. The problem with that is when you waver in your decisions, choices will be made for you. Ignorance has no credence when it comes to the wicked; it only makes their job that much easier. As a result, decisions were made without full-disclosure that has left me with an ambiguous future. Trusting the immoral has shaped my life and buried my soul. A blessing in wolves’ clothing, designed to steal my freewill and cast my existence into a slavery that will inevitably rule over the human race. Still, I seek hope, a slice of righteousness that cracks free and floats to the surface away from the discontent.
Even though my life is not my own and it belongs to the technology ravaging my mind and ransacking my body, I still hold out for the day I will exist again outside of its evolution. I dream of the moment my lips welcome the venom without the fear of dying. For me, the only way I will ever know the truth is to pick my poison, and his name is Alejandro Fernandez.
One week ago…
This time I would be strong. Time to take your life back! I kept chanting in my head as I drove to the office of Grayson Industries. Marshall Grayson requested that I meet him there. Convincing in his words, he found a way to entrench himself into my thoughts again. He was the only man who I had betrayed the agency for and the one who kept me yearning for more than an occasional rapturous kiss. Marshall kept me believing he would fill the loneliest places that haunted my soul. He dangled me o
ver the flames of desire for his own profits and gain. He’s a man who stole my breath with just a look or a touch, and found a way to rule over my deepest desires while torturing me with the unwavering control he had over me.
Reasons he chose me swirled feverishly around in my head. Marshall was a dynamic force to be reckoned with and he had a way of controlling every urge that swelled in my body. But I decided that I wanted more out of my life than settling on false hopes and temporary attention from him. So what if it took years to figure it out, I felt strong enough to walk away for good.
I parked in the underground garage of Marshall’s building and took the elevator up to the thirteenth floor. It was the top floor, non-existent to most people, and was highly restricted. When the elevator doors rolled open, I was greeted by Marshall’s assistant, an older woman with her gray hair pulled into a tight bun. “Lauren Matthews here to see Marshall Grayson.”
“And the reason you are here?”
“Marshall asked me to meet with him,” I huffed. She whipped her face up from her tablet, narrowing her eyes she responded.
“Well, Miss Matthews, Mr. Grayson will see you now.”
I nodded and pushed through the doors to her left. I guess she didn’t like that I called him by his first name.
“Lauren, thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.” Marshall, catching me off-guard as his six-foot stature stood behind his desk chair. I heard the door click shut at the same time he tapped the heel of his hand against the top of his soft, black leather chair. He intentionally trailed his thick fingers down across the stitched edge and pushed the chair to spin as he sauntered from behind his desk. His potent blue eyes, darker than usual, were licked with impatience as he lingeringly sized me up. He leaned in and pressed his lips to my temple. I couldn’t keep from curving into his contact. My insides twisted.
“Well, you said it was urgent.” Stay strong, Lauren … don’t let your desires control your mind.
“I did say it was urgent, didn’t I … sit?” he asked as his hand caught my elbow.
“I’d rather stand,” I answered, pulling out of his grasp. He was playing me; I could feel it. His fingers withdrew from my skin and every cell in my body took notice.
“Lauren, you know why I’ve asked you to come see me today.” His tone was sharp enough to be thought of as playful if you didn’t know him. But I knew him, he wasn’t playing.
“My answer is still the same, Marshall. I need … I need to move on.” My breath caught on my words. He pulled off his suit jacket and loosened his dark purple tie.
“What do I need to do to change your mind? I want you to reconsider leaving me.” His short, dusky brown hair brushed across his collar as he unfastened the top button on his white dress shirt and sat back against the front of his desk.
“You meant to say, leaving Grayson Industries, right?”
“Lauren,” he growled as he pulled an overconfident smile across his face and locked his arms against his chest, a mannerism that has become a sign that he was going to work his angle.
Marshall knew how to play me and make me cave on my decisions. An undeniable look, chased by a slight cock of his head; a wink and I was lost … twisted with a smirk or a flash of his charm and I was done. He knew how to take every decision I confidently made and tangle them into moments where I’d second guess my reasons. I wasn’t stupid, and was trained by the best to avoid people like him … but that’s exactly what drew me to him … the way he could make me feel.
“You can’t do this to me. Not anymore. This time I really am done,” I groused.
“Lauren,” he mused as he uncrossed his ankles and pulled me into his embrace. His clean musky scent twisted my resolve into knots and the heat from his arms made every reason I was saying no dissolve with his touch. He brought his face next to mine; his breath warmed the edge of my ear as he exhaled. “I need you more than ever. I promise this will be the last time.”
His lips scraped my skin as he mentioned how he couldn’t do this without me. I fell into the same look he gave me when I first told him yes so many years ago. Gradually, almost unnoticeably, Marshall methodically interlaced himself into my life, controlling more of me than just my heart rate.
“There will never be a last time with you, Marshall,” I whispered breathily.
He leaned back, making sure I looked at him; his steely eyes begged for me to falter in his expression.
“Haven’t I been here for you? Taken care of you, given you what all the other men have failed to give?” His eyes were vacillating between mine; his jaw tightened as he lifted his fingers to catch some loose strands of my hair and delicately tucked them back. “Do you even know what you’ve done to me?” Marshall whispered. And that’s where he got me. His words took every ounce of pain I had buried and churned it into the desire I’d ached to have with him. “I’ve kept you safe, Lauren, protected your heart from being hurt again. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”
“I don’t know if I can take this.”
“Take what, Lauren?” Marshall said against my flesh.
I inhaled the aroma of his hair as it ticked across my jaw. Maybe this time he would take me further than my fantasies. Clinging to the hope I could be anything to him. He dragged his hands up around my waist. Never more between us than kissing, his intentions screamed for something much more intimate. Was the assignment so important that he was willing to take me further than ever before?
“I can’t take this ... what you are doing to me.” My breathing sped.
“Is it so wrong? Me taking … you? Your body is telling me otherwise. If you don’t like what I am doing, tell me and I’ll stop,” he whispered between the moments his lips encountered the swell of my breasts.
I couldn’t hear anything over the thundering of my heart in my ears. No, I couldn’t find my voice to answer him … nothing rolled across my tongue except the heated moans he had created.
I can’t do this … it is just going to rip me apart … He will never love me more than what he can use me for. He tickled one hand down my spine before his other seized the back of my neck. Catching the curve of my backside, he tucked me against his body. This kiss went beyond our tempestuous peck on the mouth. Rapacious and potent, his tongue swiped the sharp edge of my teeth before hungrily tangling with mine.
“I need to go,” I breathed as I pulled away, rubbing my fingertips across my bottom lip. Hoping, praying that I could somehow stay strong enough to keep walking.
Worked up beyond the occasional flirtatious moments we’ve had, suddenly … it had become real, too real, at least to me. I had wanted it for too long, but now that it was happening, I couldn’t seem to allow myself to make love to someone who fed my physical desires before my emotional needs.
I reached the door handle when Marshall’s voice pervaded the room.
“Lauren, wait!” He caught me around my bicep and pulled me back into his chest. His nose pushed against the curve of my head; I felt him inhale every ounce of me and for that solitary moment I believed he wanted me. “Don’t leave. I need your help … more than ever before.”
His words broke me. If he only saw that he meant more to me than any job. God, for just once I had wished it wasn’t about what I could do for him or what he could gain from using me … But he will never see it … he’ll never see me as more than a means to an end. I pushed out of his arms and let the cold vacant moment wrap its poisonous verdict around my heart.
“Don’t worry, Marshall, I’ll do it,” I deadpanned before my brain realized the commitment I had made. As I pulled open his door, I felt … defeated. Please, stop me, Marshall … tell me it is more than the job.
“Lauren?”
“Yes?” My breath caught on the way he said my name and a spark of hope returned in my gut.
“I’ll call you tomorrow … with details … and you did the right thing; you’ll see,” he answered.
And just like that, all the conviction I worked so hard to embody … beca
me the dust that vanished in a gust of wind.
My eyes snapped open and I gasped for any air I could steal. My knuckles ached, gleaming pasty white as the freezing air ravaged my drenched skin. My sodden hair clung to my neck, drowning me in a cold sweat; I knew deep in my body something wasn’t right.
Today was going to be different; besides being born from the nightmares brought on by my inability to say no to Marshall, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. It was as if some power in the universe was trying to tell me to stay home and for once, maybe I should have listened.
Fortunately, today was the first day of my two week long vacation. I had fourteen whole days away from the agency; it was just enough time to miss my job and yet short enough to ache for more. I guess if I had a social life I would look forward to the time off, like other CIA agents. But, I’m the type that would be bored by day three and unfortunately, Marshall knew that. That’s why he manipulated me into helping him this one last time. Lately, I’d become disenchanted with Marshall and his company. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the money or the attention he paid me when the project was a success; it had become more personal than that. I was tired of the constant ache to be with him. I wanted to be more than the girl he would call when he wanted to test out some new state-of-the-art device. So, I told him that I was done testing nanotechnology and configuring ocular gear for him. I decided to make my life more about what I needed and less about the unanswered chills he created when he’d touch me. Marshall could look at me and I’d be putty in his hands. He knew how to get to me, more than any other person alive.
I reluctantly backed my car out of the garage and joined the rat-race heading for D.C. I hated dealing with assholes that couldn’t drive and tourists that never took the time to learn about the Metro system. Why I ever agreed to help Marshall this one last time was beyond me.
In no time I was turning into a tiny parking lot across from a strip mall loaded with suburbanites shopping the Black Friday super sales. I pushed open the heavy glass door labeled Optometry Office and met Doctor Finway as he stepped out from an exam room. “Good morning, Lauren, thanks for coming down,” he said as he combed his fingers through his salt and pepper colored hair. He was all business this morning. Usually I’d get a peck on the cheek, a slight hug, even a wink, but today … he was different.
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