The Line Book One: Carrier
Read The Line Book One: Carrier Online
Authors: Anne Tibbets
The Line Book One:
Carrier
By Anne Tibbets
Twenty-two-year-old Naya has spent nearly half her life as a
sex slave in a government institution called The Line. Excommunicated after
getting pregnant with twins, she’s left with no way to earn a living and a
horrifying choice to make: find someone to replace her at the institution by the
time she gives birth, or have her babies taken in her stead.
Ric Bennett wants to help. A doctor with a history of aiding
ex-Line girls, he runs a team of rebels that can delete Naya’s records, prevent
her from having to make an impossible choice, and free her forever. But when his
plan is sniffed out, things get bloody, fast. The Line wants them back. The
organization has discovered information about Naya and her twins that make them
more valuable than just sex slaves. It makes them dangerous—and part of the The
Line’s larger plan.
As they hide from government search parties, Ric comes to
admire Naya’s quiet strength. And Naya realizes Ric might be a man she can
trust. If they make it off the grid, they could build a new life. But first
they’ll have to survive the long, vicious reach of The Line.
Book one of two
77,000 words
Dear Reader,
June seems to be a time of both magical beginnings and wishful thinking, as we combine the wedding season with the last month of school. Here at Carina, our jobs are filled with a combination of both magical beginnings and wishful thinking, as we work in the land of fiction and allow ourselves to drift through fantastic worlds, happily ever afters and action-filled stories. Okay, maybe our jobs are a lot more rooted in reality than that, but the books we publish do allow us a brief escape and I hope they’ll do the same for you this month.
Powerhouse erotic romance author Lynda Aicher is back with
Bonds of Courage
, in which an alpha professional hockey player finds himself the one bound and at her mercy. Joining Lynda in the erotic category is Samantha Ann King with another fantastic ménage,
Tempting Meredith
. One man is risky, but two might teach her to trust and love again.
June brings quite a lineup of male/male romances. Ava March always stands out for me because not only does she write a fantastic male/male erotic romance, but she sets it in historical times, when it was even harder for two men to be in love, lending even more delicious romantic tension. Don’t miss
Sharp Love
, followed by
The Viscount’s Wager
releasing in December 2014.
And speaking of magical beginnings, we have two debut authors in the male/male category. This month we’re pleased to introduce Tyler Flynn and
Chasing the Rebel.
One man is fleeing the French Revolution, the other sympathizes with the Revolution. How can they fall for each other when they can’t even trust each other?
Also debuting with Carina Press this month is G.B. Lindsey, who leads off a three-part anthology,
Secrets of Neverwood
, which includes novellas from returning Carina Press authors Diana Copland and Libby Drew. As three foster brothers renovate a stately mansion to reopen it as a home for troubled gay youth, their love lives are complicated by the whimsical ghost of their foster mother in
One Door Closes
,
The Growing Season
, and
The Lost Year
.
Rounding out our male/male selections for the month is returning author L.B. Gregg with her popular Men of Smithfield series. In
Men of Smithfield:
Sam and Aaron
, Sam’s in a rut and looking to break out of it, so he’s thrilled when a newcomer to town introduces more than an edge of naughty nights and risky days into his life.
There are so many more incredible books coming in June, it’s hard to know which world to lead you to next. How about some angels and demons in
The Fire Within
by Dana Marie Bell? Or why not take a trip on the high seas on a pirate ship—only this one captained by a woman in
Mutiny of the Heart
by Jennifer Bray-Weber. Danube Adele isn’t shy about taking new adult to a whole new level in her paranormal romance
Dark Summer Dreams
, in which Shandria is forced to rescue a sworn enemy of her people, only to find herself kidnapped by that same rugged warrior who promises retribution of his own. And who wouldn’t want to spend time with an outlaw witch, a society ice queen, and illicit magic that lights up the night in the tense futuristic world of the Magic Born in Sonya Clark’s
Witchlight.
In another twist on the new adult genre, Anne Tibbets joins Carina Press and introduces
The Line Book One:
Carrier
and her dystopian world. In a futuristic society, sex slave Naya is released and given a choice—find someone willing to take her place, or fight against the ruling corporation to save her unborn children.
Amylynn Bright also joins Carina Press, bringing contemporary romance
Cooking Up Love
to our virtual shelves. When anonymous food critic and lousy chef Holly signed up for cooking classes, she didn’t realize that she and her yummy instructor would be whipping up more than dinner in the kitchen—or that he’d blame her bad review for closing his restaurant and killing his career.
We have two additional debut authors to introduce this month, both writing contemporary new adult romance, but in two freshly original and very different stories. In
Hate to Love You
by Elise Alden, hatred and guilt battle love and desire as Paisley and James confront the past, each other, and the unwanted attraction that sparked between them the night she ruined his wedding. This is one book that will have people firmly on either side of a line: hate Paisley, or love her?
And we welcome Sybil Bartel and her new adult romance,
No Apologies.
No heart, questionable morals, one hundred percent attitude, Graham Allen is the perfect rocker; nothing can break him—except her.
Last, this month we introduce a new trilogy, Shore Secrets, from Carina Press author Christi Barth. A hard-nosed businessman with contempt for small-town America is forever changed by the love of a sexy hotel owner and a quirky but tight-knit community famous for its anonymous journal by the lakeshore. Don’t miss
Up to Me
, the first of this trilogy featuring three strong heroes, fighting for the love and trust of three even stronger heroines on the shores of Seneca Lake.
I hope your month of June is as wonderful as ours, spending it among our reader friends at different conventions and getting to gab about the books we love. Maybe we’ll see you at one of them! And if you do, we hope you’ll stop us and tell us your favorite Carina Press book. There just might be some Carina swag in it for you if we have any on us!
Coming in July:
Falling for Max
by Shannon Stacey; a debut author, Caroline Kimberly, brings us a historical romance pitched as “Regency
Romancing the Stone
”; and Jeffe Kennedy offers up a hot new BDSM novel.
Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
Acknowledgments
I’m not normally the mushy type, but I’d like to thank a few (hundred) people for helping make this manuscript into a book. But in the interest of preserving pixels, I’ve whittled it down to just a few key players.
First, to the SCBWI who recognized this manuscript when it was still a Young Adult Work-in-Progress. If I had not gotten Second Place at Writers Day in Los Angeles, 2011, I never would have finished this manuscript. Thank you!
Second, to my husband, Daniel, who upon hearing of the aforementioned win said, “This is the one.” I hate the fact he’s right all the time, but in this case I’ll let it slide, because he was. Thanks, hun.
Third, to my writerly buddies and beta readers, Robin, Lisa and Meredith, who encouraged me to query this manuscript. Lisa’s notes were spectacular, Meredith’s encouragement was sincerely heartfelt—and if Robin hadn’t laughed in my face when I said I gave up querying after only ten agents (who, upon further reflection, had not been right for me at all), I wouldn’t have found the ever-amazing super agent at D4EO Literary, Miss Bree Ogden.
Bree has my back. I cannot tell you how good that feels. In addition to being wickedly awesome, Bree also had the wherewithal to encourage me to take an upper-YA with adult themes and bring it to its proper place as a New Adult work, and for that I will be forever thankful.
Also, to my sounding-board, Henrike. She put up listening to my writerly angst, was available for emergency coffee dates and listened to the ups and downs of this process with extreme patience and kind encouragement. She even kicked me in the ass a few times when I needed it. Love you.
In addition, to my dear Rhonda who saw the vision too, and pushed me to places I needed to go.
And lastly, to the Nayas of this world. I wish I could do more.
Chapter One
I awoke, but my eyes would not open. They were swollen shut and throbbed.
Badly.
At first, I couldn’t remember why. Then the metal compartment door squealed open, and it came to me. The last appointment had been rough.
The door of the sleeping chamber chugged, then groaned to a halt. I rolled onto my side and pushed up so I was half sitting. The coffinlike compartment was only three feet high and cramped, barely long enough for a girl to stretch out, let alone sleep.
I considered lying there for another minute, perhaps even pretending to have lost consciousness to gain some time away from the appointments, but something forced me to move, some strength I didn’t know I had.
The vinyl cover of my two-inch-thick mattress squeaked as I slid my legs over the edge. My bare feet landed on the metal grates just outside my door, sending shock waves of pain up my body. My head felt ready to explode.
I should have stayed down.
“Roll call!” a thick male voice boomed from the loudspeaker. A rusted metallic bullhorn bolted into the cinderblock wall shrieked with feedback, and I flinched.
Was it always that loud?
“Another day in paradise,” the girl next to me said. “Wow, Naya. What happened to you?”
I put my fingertips to my eyes and attempted to open them. I saw a blob that resembled a short girl with blond pigtails. Peni.
“Lover Boy,” I said. It hurt to talk. My jaw was stiff and my teeth felt like they swayed when I spoke.
“Thought they banned him,” Peni said.
“Guess he’s back.” It took effort to remain vertical. I shook my head, trying to stay awake, and immediately regretted it.
“They’re bound to pull you. No way they’d keep you in circulation with that face.” I could tell from her tone she was concerned.
“They kept Isaboe in after she hemorrhaged on that guy,” I said. I sniffed once and tasted blood. The room smelled damp with sweat. Concrete paths on the other side of the grates were slick from a fresh hose-down, causing the fluorescent lights above to reflect off the floor. My eyes burned at the brightness. I blinked rapidly but the pain in my face flared from the effort.
Just how bad a shape was I in if even blinking hurt? And what would they do to me if I was damaged beyond repair?
I shoved the worries from my head. It was best not to think like that.
Numb.
I could just make out Peni’s frown. She twirled one of her pigtails in her fingers, then rested her other hand on a round hip. “You’re right. I forgot about Isaboe.”
“Lucky you.”
“Number one!” the loudspeaker squealed.
I winced.
“In position,” a girl said from down the Line.
“Stand by for scan!” the loudspeaker squawked. A cube infrared scanner attached to a mechanical arm descended from the ceiling. With a grind it shot bright green laser grids, scanning the girl’s palms.
“Confirmed!” the loudspeaker barked. “Number two!”
“In position,” the next girl said.
The laser slid across the track on the ceiling and then scanned her open palms.
“Confirmed! Number three!”
Peni opened her palms and placed them over the yellow spray-painted square on the wet concrete in front of the grate. As the cube slid, then descended, Peni crushed her eyes closed. “In position.”
“Confirmed! Number four!”
I held out my palms. “In position.”
The laser did its thing. “Confirmed! Stand by, number four, for visual inspection.”
“See?” Peni said. “What’d I tell ya?” She sounded relieved, but I wasn’t.
I let my hands drop as my stomach turned over. The infirmary was almost worse than working the appointments.
Almost.
The remainder of the girls farther down the Line from me groaned in complaint. Their meal would now be late. I heard a few whispers about Lover Boy. Nobody blamed me. It could just as easily have been one of them.
I leaned against my clammy compartment platform to keep from falling over. The metal felt sticky against my skin and the bruising pulsed on my shoulders from where he’d held me down. I sighed, and a stabbing pain rose from my ribs.
I’d bet a few were broken.
A tall man wearing a grey uniform and heavy boots stomped down the walkway with a touch screen tablet about the size of his palm. He took one look at me and grimaced.
“Infirmary!” he hollered to the loudspeaker behind him, a slight panic in his voice.
The dull throb in my head ebbed and I pressed my pulsing temple.
“It was Lover Boy,” Peni said. “He should’ve stayed banned.”
The man hurriedly pressed a few buttons on his tablet and asked me to turn around.
I did.
“Damn, Naya,” Peni said, shaking her head with pity.
If I looked half as bad as I felt, it must have been painful to see.
The man typed some more then turned his gaze to Peni. “No talking.”
She closed her mouth, but her eyes shot daggers.
“Number four, come with me.” The man turned to leave.
“See ya later, Naya,” Peni said, trying to sound cheerful.
I numbly stepped onto the cold walkway and turned to the left. It still amazed me how Peni was so positive, even after being on the Line for over a year.
She’d get over that.
I attempted to grin at her as I left, but the effort hurt too much. I just nodded. “I hope so,” I said.
* * *
In the infirmary, a nurse stuck me in a white-tiled room with a drain in the floor and hosed me off with frigid water then handed me a bar of soap that smelled like bleach. After I was done washing, I took a moment and ran some suds through my hair. I dripped and shivered, waiting for the even colder blast of water to rinse me off. When it came I couldn’t help but gasp. I fought back the urge to cuss.
On a table in a bright white examination room, the nurse propped my legs up in gleaming stirrups and gave me a pelvic exam. She handed me a dissolving pill of some kind. I took it without complaint. Within moments the lights above faded, and I was swallowed by shadows.
When I awoke later I was in the same room, strapped to a bed with crisp white sheets and a pillow under my head.
Strange
.
A woman’s hand touched my shoulder. “Stay still,” she said gently.
I was nearly blinded by the brightness of the room. I could tell the swelling around my eyes had gone down, but it still hurt to move my face.
I wondered if I’d have any scars.
The woman came around so I could see her. It was the nurse who had hosed me off. She was an older woman, well into her forties, with bluntly cut blond hair and a starched white uniform that appeared to be made out of the same fabric as the sheets. She had a twitch in her left eye and her teeth were crooked and yellow. “You’ve been pulled,” the nurse said.
“I figured.” Without meaning to, I shifted in my restraints.
“Here.” She unbuckled the straps and helped me sit up.
Odd.
“Management wants to speak to you,” she continued.
I stiffened. “The manager?”
“There’s a gown on that table for you to wear.” The nurse gestured to a metallic rolling cart in the corner of the exam room. A folded white cloth lay on top.
It had been years since I’d worn clothes. I wasn’t sure if this was a good sign or a bad one. Whenever the manager performed his inspections of the Line, he never had the girls wear anything. I was immediately suspicious.
“Why?” I asked.
“I’ll let them explain,” the nurse said.
I could tell she was holding something back.
“There’s a hair brush too,” she added.
“Right.” I swung my legs over the bed and got to my feet. The room swayed. I gripped the bed to keep from falling, but it was on rollers and moved out from behind me. The nurse stepped forward and grabbed me by the elbow.
I allowed her to touch me but my skin crawled. On the Line, a touch on the elbow was only the beginning. I’d been there years, and it still bothered me.
Pathetic.
“You able now?” the nurse asked matter-of-factly.
I let go of the bed to stand on my own. “Yeah.”
She released me. I inched to the cart for the gown and flung it over my shoulders. It felt stiff and foreign on my skin. It didn’t hurt as much to move around, and my hair was dry. How long had I been unconscious?
To my surprise there was a thin strip of fabric to use as a belt. I wrapped the gown over my body and knotted the belt around my waist, then ran the brush through my long hair. Usually, girls on the Line got to brush their hair after showers. Mine went all the way down my back and hung starkly black against the white gown.
The nurse waited silently by the bed until I was done.
“This way,” she said.
I shuffled behind her through silver double doors and into a green hallway, curiosity curdling in my belly.
Something was wrong. I couldn’t imagine what the manager wanted to talk to me about, but it couldn’t be good. Nothing in the Line could be categorized as good.
Other nurses in white uniforms entered and exited several rooms off the hallway, each with its own set of large silver doors. Rectangular light fixtures in the ceiling beamed heavy shadows below.
Nobody spoke. The infirmary was not a happy place. It was where the girls were processed on and off the Line. As doors opened and closed in the hall, you could hear them crying.
Some, fresh off their sales, were there for sterilization and laser hair removal, and to be assigned numbers and compartments. Some were given medical care or showered off with the hose; others were retired and never seen again. There were rumors among the girls about what happened at retirement, but no one wanted to know for sure. Some feared they were euthanized. Others theorized they were sold again. I preferred the first option.
The nurse stopped at the fifth pair of silver doors and touched her palm to a square black-glass scanner in the wall. A buzzer sounded and the scanner screen flashed green. The nurse jerked the door open.
Inside was a reception area, painted the color of rust with a black tile floor. It was complete with an artificial wood desk and a nurse banging away on an ancient computer. Against one wall were some empty metal folding chairs and a matching eight-foot table stacked with tablets. Applications for the appointments, I guessed.
Was the reception nurse the one who had approved Lover Boy again?
Someone should tell her.
A phone rang.
“Manager’s office,” the reception nurse said into her earpiece. “Hold.” She motioned with her head for us to enter the door behind her. I followed the blonde nurse.
Inside the office was a tall, extremely attractive businessman. He had a false smile that took up nearly half his face, and smelled of expensive aftershave. I didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t the regular manager. He stood from the leather chair behind a real mahogany desk and pointed me to an overstuffed chair next to a matching leather sofa and coffee table. The room was lit by two floor lamps with soft bulbs. Shadows hid in the corners.
The nurse helped me sit.
“Thank you, Nurse. That will be all,” the man said, and he straightened his tie.
The nurse hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaving without a word. I followed her with my eyes. She did not look back. This didn’t surprise me.
“Your real name is...?” the man asked. He sat on the sofa across from me and examined my every expression.
I did the same. I could usually tell when someone was on the level. It was one of my best skills and had come in handy after so many years of reading the moods of my appointments. This guy seemed sketchy at best.
“Naya,” I said.
“Is that your birth name?”
“No.”
“Then what’s your birth name?”
“Dunno.”
“I don’t know,” the man said.
“I assume that’s why you asked
me
,” I answered.
He cracked a pearly smile and leisurely crossed his long legs; both seemed forced. “No, I meant, the actual phrase for ‘dunno’ is ‘I don’t know,’” he corrected me.
I glared back at him.
Asshole.
“I read your file. You were sold by your mother nine years ago. That would make you how old?”
The air caught in my lungs. “It’s been nine years?”
“Yes,” he answered dismissively. “Your file was unclear about your actual birth date and birth name, however.”
I couldn’t believe it had been that long. Inside the walls of the Line, it was as if time stood still. I blinked back my shock. “She wasn’t my mother.”
This stopped him. “Excuse me?”
I enjoyed the confused look on his face a little too much. He obviously hadn’t expected that. “The woman who sold me was not my mother.”
His recovery was quicker than I would have preferred. “I’m sorry,” he said, as if it was of no concern. “I just assumed. Orphan then?”
“No. Kidnapped,” I said, opting for a version of the truth.
The man took his finger and rubbed his eyebrow as if suppressing a twitch. “Kidnapped?”
He was squirming. Good. He
should
squirm. I suppressed a smile. “I was taken from my parents when I was five and sold here when I was thirteen.”
His expression went stony. “Making you twenty-two. So, you don’t remember your birth parents?”
“Not really,” I lied.
“And not your birth name?”
“I remember I had a baby sister. She called me Naya.”
“What did the woman who sold you call you?”
This stumped me. I hadn’t thought of her in a while, and for good reason. “Nothing. She never spoke my name.” This was true. She’d never called me Naya. She called me Little Rat. But I wasn’t about to tell him that.
The man sighed heavily. When he spoke next his voice was tight. “Do you remember what sector you lived in?”
“Why does it matter?” I blurted.
It was unusual for girls on the Line to ask questions, and for a moment I regretted it. He shifted on the sofa, causing the leather to moan. But he didn’t seem too upset by my outburst, and when he looked back to my face, his expression was unchanged.
I waited.
“Well, then, this is going to get tricky,” he said, standing. He scratched the corner of his mouth, went around the coffee table and back to his desk. He kept fidgeting with his tie. “When a girl is retired from the Line, it’s customary for us to send her home or, if the family requests it, we resell her, perhaps as a servant, maid, nanny, concubine, you know...”