The Shepherd (The Game Series Book 6), page 1
THE SHEPHERD
THE GAME SERIES, #6
CARA DEE
The Shepherd
Copyright © 2022 by Cara Dee
All rights reserved
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may not be reproduced in any way without documented permission of the author, not including brief quotes with links and/or credit to the source. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction and all references to historical events, persons living or dead, and locations are used in a fictional manner. Any other names, characters, incidents, and places are derived from the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademark status and owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction. Characters portrayed in sexual situations are 18 or older.
Edited by Silently Correcting Your Grammar, LLC.
Formatted by Eliza Rae Services.
CONTENTS
Welcome to the Games
Prologue
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
More from Cara
About Cara
WELCOME TO THE GAMES
The Game Series is a BDSM series where romance meets the reality of kink. Sometimes we fall for someone we don’t match with, sometimes vanilla business gets in the way of kinky pleasure, and sometimes we have to compromise and push ourselves to overcome trauma and insecurities. No matter what, one thing is certain. This is not a perfect world—and maybe that’s why the happily ever after feels so good.
The Shepherd is the sixth book in The Game Series, and it’s been written so it can be enjoyed fully as a standalone, but characters do cross over, and some journeys continue in other titles.
The Game Series
Book 1: Top Priority – Lucas/Colt – Are you ready for the Games?
Book 2: Their Boy – Kit/Colt/Lucas – Welcome to the Games: The Hunt
Book 3: Breathless – Shay/Reese/River – The Game: The Cages
Book 3.5: The Air That I Breathe – River/Reese
Book 4: Doll Parts – Noa/KC/Cam/Lucian – The Game: Welcome to the Funhouse
Book 5: Out of the Ashes – Kingsley/Tate + Franklin – The Game: The Brat Boot Camp
Book 6: The Shepherd – Greer/Archie/Sloan – The Game: Canceled
PROLOGUE
Greer Finlay
“I’m not letting you aim at a single duck tonight, Unc.”
I barked out a laugh and hauled the last trash bag filled with stuffed animals over the counter. “That’s what I get for helpin’ out, a ban from the shooting gallery?”
Besides, how was he gonna stop me? He wasn’t assigned to a trailer.
“Oh, not just the shooting gallery. The whole Game Row.” Kaden threw out an arm and gestured to the twenty or so trailers that were a couple hours away from opening up for a carnival night. The first of three days. “In every trailer you can win something, I’ll put up your photo so they know to send you away.”
I supposed I should feel flattered. “Consider my ego stroked, kiddo.”
“That wasn’t a compliment!”
Sure it was. He felt threatened by my amazing skills at winning teddy bears and erasers at fairs.
“If it sounds like a compliment and feels like a compliment, it’s a compliment.” With that out of the way, I changed the topic. “Now, what’s this I hear about you giving your mother grief?”
“What the hell? I’m not giving her grief.” He started stocking the prizes along the back wall.
“That’s not what your dad told me,” I replied. “He says you barely call her.”
Which ended up being my brother’s fault. It was through our business he’d helped Kaden and a few of his friends get summer jobs with the carnival. The kids got to travel around the Northeast for six weeks. They worked daytime to prepare; they worked nighttime as cleanup crew.
“I call her almost every day!” my nephew said defensively.
“So you admit it,” I stated. “Almost every day—when you know damn well it has to be every day. Scrap the almost.”
Kaden groaned and opened a new plastic bag full of shit prizes. “Is this how it’s gonna be for the rest of summer? My uncles popping up at every stop to remind me to call Ma?”
“If you need that many reminders, I’ll start worryin’.” But yeah, that was the gist of it. We had contracts with most of the food vendors and would be delivering supplies to the carnival whenever they landed within two hours of one of our branches. This week and the next, the carnival was traveling around Maryland and Virginia, and that was my territory. Mine and Ben’s, my younger brother. We had our branch in Fairfax outside of DC, and our other brothers worked our New York-Jersey branch.
“Fine, I’ll call her more often,” Kaden mumbled.
“Attaboy. I’ll be back tonight with my buddy to win all the prizes.”
“You know, maybe you should call Grandma more often,” Kaden shot back. “Since you hardly ever visit Brooklyn anymore.”
I snorted. “Nice try, but I talk to my mother every morning on the way to work.”
He hadn’t seen that coming. “Do you really?”
“Yeah. Let that inspire you. Your ma already puts up with too much shit.”
Kaden muttered to himself and went back to unloading prizes, and I wrapped things up. I had to go home and shower before I got my reunion with an old childhood friend.
“Uncle Greer!” Kaden hollered when I was some twenty feet away.
“Yeah?” I looked back.
“Can my friends and I crash at your house?”
“You never have to ask, kid.” I gave a two-finger wave before I turned around again. I couldn’t imagine the motels they stayed at on the road were much to write home about, and since they were in Winchester this weekend, of course they could crash with me. I lived ten minutes outside of town and had plenty of space. If I wasn’t mistaken, Kaden had three friends who’d landed the same gig.
On my way to my truck, I texted Ben to let him know I’d completed all the deliveries to the carnival for the day.
Summers were good. Carnivals, fairs, and festivals drew large crowds of hungry people, and we supplied food vendors with whatever they needed, from napkins and straws to soda fountains and alcohol.
Ben texted back, saying he was gonna prepare tomorrow’s deliveries before he called it a day. I was calling it a day right now. Usually, I’d return to our warehouse in Fairfax to get changed and switch out the company vehicle for my own truck, but I was so close to home now. Paying for gas wasn’t that fun.
I didn’t linger at home for long. I took a run around the grounds with my dogs, I checked in with my closest neighbor, Rebecca, mainly to give her daughter her weekly salary for taking care of my pups while I worked, and then I showered and got ready to leave again.
Angelo had landed at Dulles.
It was gonna be fucking nice to see him again. It’d been too long. Hell, at least six or seven years. But that was the nature of our friendship. He was from Chicago, and we’d met as two scrawny thirteen-year-olds in Chesapeake Bay, where our grandparents had had vacation homes. For three weeks every summer, I’d abandoned my brothers to rule the world with Angelo. We’d stayed in touch ever since, albeit sporadically when our busy lives allowed it. These days, he worked all over the place—London, Rome, New York, Hong Kong…
I patted the pockets of my cargo shorts and made sure I had everything—wallet, phone… Where was my folder? I found it on my dresser. I extended the blade, as I did sometimes, just to check the “Never Forget” engraving. Then I folded the knife again, attached it to my back pocket, and headed out. I snatched my keys from the hallway table on my way.
If I was feeding four eighteen-year-olds for the weekend, I was gonna need to swing by the store. But I had time. Angelo still had to get a rental and drive out here. It was gonna take at least an hour and a half.
As I drove along the dirt road leading from my place, I spotted Rebecca’s horses running across the field to my right. Beautiful creatures—one of the reasons I couldn’t live in Brooklyn. I needed to be close to animals and fresh air.
Before I hit the main road, I received another text from Angelo.
They’ve lost my fucking luggage. I’m gonna be late.
That sucked, but we had all weekend. And I assumed there was no use in telling him we could pick up his luggage tomorrow instead.
That settled it, though. If Angelo was gonna be late, I was definitely heading to the store first. I had eggs, meat, butter, milk, vegetables, and cheese to feed an army, but I couldn’t host my nephew and his friends without sugar. I’d pick up waffles, donuts, and cookies. I was running low on bread too.
Someone had blown life into the carnival when I got back there, and the massive field that’d been nearly empty before was packed with cars. Pillars of smoke came from the food vendors, children screamed and laughed on and around the rides, lights flashed everywhere, and parents were eyeing beer tents with envy and their empty wallets with resignation.
I’d gotten an update from Angelo too. His luggage had somehow ended up in North Carolina and would arrive at Dull
When the carnival reached Manassas next weekend, I was gonna bring my buddy Sloan and his kids. Unless he canceled because he was fighting with his wife. It happened. In fact, the majority of the time when Sloan came out to me, with or without the kids, was because he needed to get away from her. And unlike Angelo, none of them had any dumb allergies to dogs that kept him from staying at my place.
Angelo needed allergy meds.
Sloan needed to quit knocking up a wife he barely tolerated.
I needed to kill three hours at a carnival.
Part of me was tempted to go home again. The other part wasn’t. For as much as I loved my home, it felt empty. Even more so on the weekends when I wanted people around me.
Fuck it, I could grab a burger and then go win some stuffed animals.
“Uncle Greer!”
Shit.
I threw the last ball and got a full score.
“Congratulations, sir!” a young girl said. “You can pick a prize from the top shelf.”
Kaden came up behind me as I eyed the shelf. Then I eyed him too. He wore a yellow vest that read “Maintenance.”
“Didn’t I ban you from this area?” He grinned.
“I remember you trying.” I scratched my jaw and decided between a koala bear for Sloan’s youngest—Jamie loved Australian wildlife—and a pink bunny. Because Sloan had a baby girl on the way. “Gimme that pink bunny, thanks.”
Kaden shook his head in amusement. “I thought you were meeting up with a friend.”
“He’s running late.” I nodded in thanks as I received the stuffed animal, then shifted my attention to Kaden. “I figured I could kill some time by getting my Christmas shopping done.”
“Christmas shopping in July,” he laughed. “I don’t know if that’s funnier than seeing you with a pink stuffed animal.”
I furrowed my brow. “What’s funny about this? It’s for my buddy’s unborn daughter.”
Kaden shrugged and scratched his nose. “Everyone around us don’t know that when they see a 6’5” mean-machine behemoth walking around with a pink toy for toddlers.”
See if I cared what other people thought. Christ. They’d probably assume I’d lost my kid somewhere around here.
“You’re still bitter about not being as tall as your big brother, aren’t you?” I smirked. It’d been a thing between my brothers and me back in the day. Now it was a thing for my nephews. Always a contest to see who was bigger, taller, stronger.
The Finlays produced tall boys with competitive streaks and tendencies to turn everything into a pissing contest. Unfortunately, we’d never competed for higher grades, just bullshit we had no control over. Like height.
“He’s one fucking inch taller,” Kaden groused. “His ego is ten feet!”
I chuckled and clapped his shoulder. “You’ll get there. Look at your pop and your uncles. We all turned out the same in the end.”
“I hope so. Still sucks that Ma’s so short, though. We won’t be as tall as youse.”
I rolled my eyes. To think I’d been just as dim-witted as my nephew once upon a time.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“What!” He grew defensive.
I shook my head, then jerked my chin at the row ahead of us. “Go do your job, punk. I saw someone dropping popcorn over there.”
I had more stuffed animals to win.
After I left four prizes in my truck and bought three scoops of strawberry ice cream in a cup on the way back, the sun had set on Virginia. I went straight to the shooting gallery to kill off some ducks. This carnival had two options, one cork gun alternative for kids, and an air rifle gallery for those over sixteen. The latter had prizes somewhat worthy of my older nieces and nephews too. Kaden had been eyeing a baseball bat for his kid brother earlier.
I’d had my interest piqued by the premium prizes.
Three rifles were available, all occupied, and I got in the shortest line, which of course was the slowest-moving one. It was just one guy in front of me, and he seemed to be struggling. He’d slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.
“This is going to be a while,” he muttered over his shoulder. He sounded a little British.
I wasn’t in any rush.
Countless little metal ducks moved back and forth across five rows. Five shots per game. A full score brought me to the top shelf of giant teddy bears, inflatable pool toys, and board games. Two full scores, however, opened the see-through cabinet of premium prizes. A lightsaber toy? Come on. Not some cheap knock-off either. I’d be voted uncle of the year by one of my Star Wars-obsessed nephews. Sloan’s eldest was into Star Wars too.
I could also win a multi-tool for Kaden, a ring-shaped LED light for my selfie princess of a niece, a Bluetooth speaker for basically any of the kids, an allegedly indestructible iPhone case for my eldest nephew Crew who’d recently enlisted, and tickets for rides.
The guy in front of me would be lucky to get an eraser.
I stood a few feet behind him and watched him make every mistake in the book. His stance was all wrong, he acted as if there would be an actual recoil—spoiler alert, there wouldn’t be with the world’s lightest air rifle—and he sucked in a big breath before every shot.
I shook my head and scooped more ice cream into my mouth.
He was hopeless.
He had a patch on the backpack he was wearing that read “A Tad Awkward.”
Cute.
“Bollocks,” he whispered.
“Last round,” the man behind the counter announced.
Could I keep quiet?
I could never keep quiet.
“Exhale before you aim, then squeeze the trigger gently,” I said.
“Before I aim?” The guy swung around.
“Whoa.” I lowered the rifle toward the ground. “Have you never held a rifle before?”
It wasn’t until after that I got a glimpse of his face, and fuck me if he wasn’t a bit too beautiful for my comfort.
Perhaps a little young. I didn’t generally go for men under thirty.
He lifted his gaze as if he hadn’t been prepared to find someone so much taller behind him, and it was a funny sight. He could not look more clueless.
“No, I haven’t.” He tried to stand straighter. “But it seemed like a good activity to blow off steam and lose my anger.”
Oh. I nodded. “Yeah, the best marksmen always shoot with their feelings. That’s how they hit their targets every time.”
He frowned.
I stuck another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth and nodded at the duck board. “Like I said. Exhale before you aim, then gently squeeze the trigger. And relax your stance.”
His frown deepened as he turned around and lifted the rifle. “My father is a hunter. He always says you should hold your breath.”
“Is he a good hunter?”
He didn’t answer.
Technically, you did hold your breath, but you did it on the exhale. The rest depended on several factors—the type of gun, the range, and so on. This guy was no more than twelve, thirteen feet from his target. Whether he held his breath at fifty-percent exhale or seventy-five wouldn’t make much of a difference.
The next two shots missed the target too, but he was getting closer. On the third, he knocked down his first duck.
“Oh! Did you see that?!” He spun around again, remembering to keep his rifle aimed at the ground, and smiled widely.
How many girls’ hearts had he broken with that smile?
