Junk M.A.L.E.

By J.D. Walker

Jerry Sanger is a member of M.A.L.E., an elite agency made up of ex-Army buddies bored with civilian life. But he always gets the junk assignments, and just once, he’d like a job where he doesn’t have to wear high heels or impersonate a go-go dancer at a strip club in order to take out his target. Sure, he looks good in a dress, but still.

On returning home from his latest assignment, Jerry encounters his hot teddy bear of a neighbor, Guff, fighting off four men intent on doing him serious harm. Jerry helps Guff out and then demands to know what’s going on, in between flirting and striking a pose in his spandex dress.

Guff doesn’t want his help, but Jerry gives it anyway, determined to solve Guff’s problem. And if they happen to get a lot closer as a result, he won’t complain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Aug 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781634862332

J.D. Walker

J.D. Walker likes to keep her stories short and sweet. A multi-published author, she is also a musician, artist, and lover of all things knit and crochet. For more information, visit lifebyjo.com/jdwalker.

Book preview

Junk M.A.L.E.

By J.D. Walker

Published by JMS Books LLC

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2016 J.D. Walker

ISBN 9781634862332

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Junk M.A.L.E.

By J.D. Walker

Chafing was so unpleasant.

Running in really tight boy shorts and chunky boots through streets and alleys in the seedy part of town was not my idea of fun. The job I’d been assigned had taken a turn for the hilarious and insane when the man I was sent to kill turned out to be a drag queen who made the fat lady who sang seem skinny by comparison. I’d never had to deal with shit like this in the military.

I was going to seriously maim my friends when I got back to the agency. They were probably laughing their asses off right now. Why did I always get the junky assignments? And the crazy people?

When I’d done a bit of recon in order to understand just exactly how out of control this could get, I’d discovered that my target had rope as a part of his act and used one of the many go-go dancing boys—one of whom I’d impersonated since they all wore masks on stage—as his horsey. My back would never forgive me.

I’d had to get creative with the three-hundred-pound Patsy Cline impersonator, who’d also been the head of an underground sex trafficking operation, kidnapping boys from the streets and selling them to the highest bidder. M.A.L.E. had been brought in to infiltrate the club and rid the world of the scumbag, once and for all.

Patsy had attacked me with a still-hot curling iron since I’d interrupted him in the middle of preparing one of his wigs after the last show. The end result, following lots of sweat and strain and getting singed in uncomfortable places, was smothering him using one of the many blouses with tassels hanging in the makeshift closet in his dressing room. Red, I think it was. My muscles still ached from the strain.

And now, I was pumping my legs for all they were worth, speeding toward my car to get the hell out of town before bad shit happened. Thankfully, no one followed me, though I didn’t expect it since there was too much activity at the club for anyone to notice right away. Most people hated the late drag queen’s guts, as it was.

Finally, I arrived at my beat-up truck and hopped in, tearing down the freeway toward home and not looking back.

* * * *

It’s not funny, I groused, marginally pouting