Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“Do you have a quarter?” he says, digging through his pocket.
With an exasperated sigh I reach into my jeans and find a dollar bill. He plucks it out of my hands. “Thanks. You have now officially hired North Security as your personal bodyguard.”
I cross my arms. “Pretty sure that’s not legally binding.”
“And I’m pretty sure Liam North would shit a brick before he ever let you leave without adequate protection. The guy in the Crown Vic may be dead, but someone else ordered the hit. You’re not safe until we neutralize them for good.”
A rush of emotion wells in my throat. I know I need to leave Liam, but it hurts worse than anything I can imagine. I could turn Lady Tennant into firewood, and it still wouldn’t break my heart as much as this. A sob escapes me, and Josh’s face blurs into a thousand pointillism dots. Through the tears, I see him open his arms. I let him hold me as I break apart. He has the same build as Liam, the same coloring, and I feel close to the man I love—and so far away I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to cross the distance.
LIAM
I sit in the armchair in my office, the fire blazing. It can’t penetrate the chill. Samantha took any warmth from the house, and I don’t expect it to return.
That doesn’t absolve me of my responsibility where she’s concerned.
I should probably feel guilty about defiling a priceless violin with a micro-tracking device, but there is nothing I won’t do to keep her safe.
Elijah enters the room, his face implacable. He wants to kick my ass, but it’s a testament to how terrible I look that he doesn’t bother.
“You’re a bastard,” he says instead, no heat in his voice.
“Are you more angry that I failed in protecting Samantha—or that I failed in protecting you?” I enlisted the day I turned eighteen, leaving my brothers behind. Josh was old enough to defend himself by then, at least. Elijah had no such power. It took years before I had the money and the strength to return home to get him out of there.
“You didn’t fail,” he says. “That’s not giving Samantha enough credit.”
No, she became a strong woman with fierce loyalty. No thanks to me. I don’t expect I’ll ever get to touch her again. Won’t get to see her except from afar. But I can damn well protect her. “A drug lord?”
A humorless smile. “That was an unexpected detour.”
“Christ, Elijah.”
“We found the target and confirmed his identity.”
I flip through the pages in a manila folder, proof that one Kimberly Cox never actually existed. She has a convincing portfolio of freelance articles, an apartment in Brooklyn, a 401K. She had a contract with Classical Notes to interview the performers on tour.
Except that she’s not a real person.
The woman who came to our house that day was a fraud.
“Did he make you?” I ask.
“Negative, but he knows someone’s after him.”
A few months ago I heard whispers that Alistair Brooks survived the assassination.
I sent the Red Team to find out if the whispers were true. And then a reporter shows up asking questions about her background. Quite a coincidence. That had been enough to make me concerned. I stepped up her security detail quietly, making sure one of the men was always nearby.
Josh will keep her safe while I find the traitorous fucker and finish the job.
She’ll be safe once and for all—and she won’t ever have to know that the man who ordered the hit was her father.
* * *
Violent Delights
By
Jessica Hawkins
Prologue
On my bedroom balcony, I danced to the upbeat mariachi music coming from the parade in town. Street fireworks popped and crackled to a soundtrack of trumpets and violins, but I couldn’t see much beyond the fortress of olive trees surrounding our compound. They’d been planted after my first birthday party, when my father had been shot at in the backyard while holding me. The sicario had hit an inflatable bouncy castle instead, trapping kids inside and inciting a mob of screaming parents. That was what my best friend had told me years later, anyway, and Diego would know, since his parents had ordered the hit.
I waved to one of the guards, who tipped his AK-47 to me. I was supposed to be at the Day of the Dead parade now, honoring the deceased. Diego had promised me two slices of sugar skull cake if I went early and got a good spot, but since Papá was out of town with half his security, my mother didn’t want me leaving the premises without her. And as important as every man around here acted, she was the neck that turned the head of the Cruz cartel.
I returned inside to see why she was taking so long, twirling through the maze of hallways so the colorful, floral embroidery of my floor-length skirt ran together. Almost an hour ago, my mother had been nearly ready in an off-the-shoulder, white, green, and yellow dress with a red ruffle along the bottom. She’d pulled her hair back with silk, orange marigolds, and I’d stood on a stepstool to clasp her necklace, a starburst with gilded chains heavy enough to sink a small ship.