Hi, all!
It's me again, Annabelle Hawthorne, with yet another ridiculous installment of "Let's watch disaster lesbians fight the forces of darkness!" Naturally, this title was too long for this website, so I shortened it to Dead and Horny.
This is officially book 3 of Dead and Horny and takes place during the events of Book 8 of Horny Monsters, and BOTH of these series take place in the chronological time gap between the release of A Dance with Dragons and The Winds of Winter. (Technically, that's everything I've written, actually, but George makes way more money than I ever will, so what do I know?)
Anyway, I want to take a quick moment and thank everyone who continues to follow my work. This year was harder than others. I got sick for a long time, had some pretty big IRL stuff come up, and it just wiped me out creatively. Some months ago, I realized that I hadn't written anything with Lily in it since I created her back in 2017. That is how I learned that Lily is officially my emotional support character.
So for those who love my succubus, your girl is back, and I'm gonna dial it up right out of the gate. For those who are curious about my release dates, make sure to check my bio, I've been really good about making sure to keep to it. A special thanks to my beta team, including Literotica's own TJ Skywind.
Just a reminder that this little slice of monsters and mayhem is coming to you absolutely free! You just have to pay
Shipping and Handling
The building was nondescript from the outside, as plain as any other warehouse in the area. The windows had been blacked out with bars across them, which wasn't an uncommon practice these days. There had been several break-ins over the last six months, most of them some sort of smash-and-grab.
Arnaud knew differently, though. To any passing observer, he was on a smoke break. In truth, he was watching the gated entrance of the facility and keeping an eye out for trouble. The smash and grabs had been perpetuated by his own team in order to buy or rent out as many of the buildings as possible. These were largely left empty, for the people he worked for didn't traffic in material goods or possessions. Their tastes were far more refined and best handled away from prying eyes.
"Southeast, checking in." The voice in Arnaud's earpiece was soft, as if the words had been little more than a whisper. He waited as each man on patrol reported in, then flicked the ash from his cigarette when it came to his turn.
"Front gate is all clear," he replied in French. "We're still a go for delivery."
"Roger."
Roughly five minutes later, a box truck crested the hill that overlooked the secure warehouse district. Navigating the winding descent, it stopped at the bottom to check in at the front security gate. If anything felt remotely off, or if strangers were spotted roaming the area, the deal would be delayed or called off entirely and the truck would turn around. The man working the gate was one of their own, and would leave this delivery off the manifest. Camera footage would be scrubbed later, so if any sort of security audit was brought up, this delivery never happened.
Arnaud blew a thick cloud of smoke, then snorted and spat on the ground. The gate opened, allowing the truck to enter, and Arnaud headed into the warehouse to wait for the delivery.
Large bay doors opened to allow the truck inside. There were five men waiting inside, all of them former military. Arnaud had discovered long ago that the biggest source of hired help were those who had been forgotten by their own countries after the atrocities of war.
Well, that was only half true. Some of the men he hired were disciplined former soldiers who simply liked money and had no scruples. There were plenty of mercenary groups that functioned off this ideal alone. In fact, two of his most recent hires were from the recently disbanded Sons of Sin. Honestly, the name was silly, but both James and Alberto were top notch military operators. When a detective had started snooping around the warehouses, the ex-SoS had gone to his house and murdered his entire family. Sometimes, it wasn't enough to warn people off. You had to make a point.
There was a brief burst of static over the comms. Arnaud frowned and put a finger in his ear to hear better. "Are we clear?" he asked.
"Southeast. All clear." Each man checked in without fail. Arnaud shrugged, assuming the static was just some type of interference. It didn't happen often, but radio equipment could be quite finicky.
The truck pulled to a stop and the bay doors were closed. A man holding a manifest got out of the cab and walked up to Arnaud. He handed the manifest over.
"Full load today," he said. On the manifest, it looked like he was shipping pet food, and the truck was packed with it. In reality, they just shipped the animal food back and forth until it went bad. The pet food was meant to mess with cadaver dogs, but they almost never got questioned by customs. Nobody in the European Union looked twice at a dog food company.
"Thanks." Arnaud handed the man a stack of cash. "See you in two weeks."
The driver gave a mock salute and walked out of the warehouse where his car was waiting. Though the extra help pulling all the food out would be nice, it was the driver's job to call back if he saw anyone coming down the long country road that led to the warehouse district.
The mercenaries shouldered their weapons and opened the truck. They tossed the bags of food down to each other, doing their best not to let them rip. A genuine shipping company would use pallets and a forklift, but the cover story was always that the forklift had broken. That way, if someone wanted a peek inside the truck, they had to reconcile the idea of lifting everything out themselves to do a proper check.
About six feet into the back of the bed, they reached the latch that opened the false bottom. The mercenaries spread out and pulled their stun guns. Arnaud's second, a man named Emilio, twisted the ring holding the latch shut and yanked it open.
"You can crawl out or we can pull you out," said Emilio. "You won't like it if we pull you out."
"Please," said a voice from inside the trailer. "We're all scared and hungry."
"We've got plenty of food for anyone who comes out on their own," said Arnaud. There was a long silence, followed by the sound of shuffling beneath the bed of the truck. A tiny figure stood, her features hidden by long, black hair. Emilio pulled the little girl from the hole and Arnaud moved forward to help her down. He gave her his best smile and put his hands under her armpit to lift her down.
"That's a good girl," he said. "What's your name?"
The child, who was probably eight years old, sniffled. "It's Lily," she said, then looked at him with wide eyes. "Are you guys going to hurt us? My babysitter said you were going to cut us up and feed us to some pedophiles!"
Emilio actually chuckled. Arnaud gave the man a dirty look, then turned his attention back to Lily.
"Now, now, of course we wouldn't let that happen." The truth of the matter was that he wasn't entirely sure what his clientele were going to do with the girl. All he knew was that little kids were a massive payday, and if some rich asshole in London wanted to hack up kids to eat their organs, it meant Arnaud would stay in business.
"Do you promise?"
"Cross my heart." Arnaud ruffled the girl's hair. "I like your dress."
"Hey." Emilio stomped on the hole. "Get out!"
