Synopsis
“He’s fearless and
ruthless. Soulless.”
As a flight
attendant, Alana Bernal has had her share of suitors. She's also had more than
her fair share of tragedy within her messed-up family. But what she hasn't had
is love. Real, rip-your-heart-out, tear-your-clothes-off, all-consuming love.
At least that was the
case until she met an American tourist, Derek Conway, a ripped ex-soldier with
steely eyes and a commanding presence.
What started as a
chance encounter between the two in Puerto Vallarta, a weekend full of hot sex
and mindless passion, has led to something more.
Something deadly.
Because Derek isn't
the type of man to fall in love. He's not a man who sticks around.
And he's definitely
not in Mexico on vacation.
Derek is a mercenary,
a killer-for-hire, a man who does the ugly jobs for the highest bidder.
Unfortunately for
Alana and Derek, the highest bidder has the power to destroy whatever worlds
they have created for themselves.
The highest bidder
can destroy everything.
This is a romantic
suspense book, #2 in the Dirty Angels trilogy but can be read as a standalone
novel*
Reading Order
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Excerpt
The call came at 6:30 a.m. from a voice I recognized but
couldn’t place. The fact that it sounded familiar was surprising, though. The
turnover rate for these guys was exceedingly high. They were shuffled around to
different sicarios like a game of musical chairs. Sometimes I wondered if the
ones giving me the orders—the narcos just underneath the bosses—ever lasted
more than a few weeks. Did they go on to have long careers doing the dirty work
of the patrons? Or were they so good at getting the job done that they were
employed for a long time, even promoted, just like any assistant manager at
McDonald’s?
It didn’t really matter. I took these calls, I carried out
the orders, and I got paid. I was at the bottom of their food chain, but as
long as I wasn’t tied to just one cartel then I didn’t have to worry about
long-term security. You didn’t want long-term security when working for the
narcos. You wanted to stay as distant—as freelance—as possible. You wanted a
way out, in case you ever had a change of heart.
That was unlikely for me. But I was still a bit of a
commitment-phobe. Freedom meant everything, and in this game, freedom meant
safety.
The girl next to me in bed moaned at the early intrusion,
pulling the pillow over her head. She looked ridiculous considering she was
completely naked on top of the sheets. Was it Sarah? Kara? I couldn’t recall.
She was so drunk last night that I was amazed she even made it to my hotel
room. Then again, that’s why I was in Cancun. I could pretend to be like
everyone else, just another dumb tourist on the beach.
I took the phone into the bathroom and closed the door.
“Yes,” I answered, keeping my voice low.
“I have a job for you,” the man on the other line said. His
English was pretty much perfect but relaxed, almost jovial. Sometimes they gave
me orders in Spanish, sometimes in English. I felt like this man was trying to
extend a courtesy.
“I assume I’ve worked for you before,” I said.
“For me?” the man asked. “No. For my boss? Yes. Many times.
But this has nothing to do with him. Let’s just say this is coming from a whole
new place.”
None of that concerned me. “Tell me about payment.”
He chuckled. “Don’t you want to hear about the job?”
“It doesn’t matter. The price does.”
“One hundred thousand dollars, U.S., all cash. Fifty now,
fifty upon completion.”
That made me pause. My heart kicked up. “That’s a lot of
money.”
“It’s an important job,” the man said simply.
“And what is the job?”
“It’s a woman,” he said. “In Puerto Vallarta. She should be
very easy to find for someone like you.”
“I need a name and I need her photo,” I told him. Though the
price was quite higher than normal, the man was ignoring the basics. It made me
wonder if he had ever done this before. It made me wonder a lot of things.
“I have the first, not the second. As I said, she should be
easy to find. You might even be able to Facebook her.”
I waited for him to go on.
He cleared his throat. “Her name is Alana Bernal. Twenty-six.
Flight attendant for Aeroméxico. I want a bullet in her head and I want it front
page news.”
Bernal was a very common name, which is probably why it
sounded familiar. I wondered what she had done, if anything. Usually when I was
sent to kill women, it was because they were involved with a narco and had
overstayed their welcome.
They knew too much. They had loose lips in more ways
than one.
I was never really given time to think about it. You weren’t
with these types of things.
There were a few minor alarm bells going off in my
head—the high price for someone minor, the greenness in the man’s voice—but the
price won out in the end. That amount of money could get me away from this
business for a long time. I saw a lengthy hiatus on my horizon, one that didn’t
include fucking drunk chicks on spring break just because I was horny, a hiatus
that didn’t include bouncing my way from hotel room to hotel room across
Mexico, waiting for the next call.
I told the man I agreed to his terms, and we worked out the
payment plan. I wouldn’t get the other half until she made the news.
Considering how rare shootings were in Puerto Vallarta, I had no doubt it would
happen. And I would be long gone.
I hung up the phone feeling almost elated. The promise of a
new life buried that worm of uneasiness. One more job and then I’d be freer
than ever.
I came out of the bathroom to see the chick sitting up in bed
and looking extremely nauseous. Once she saw me though, her eyes managed to
light up.
“Wow,” she said. “You’re fucking hot.”
I tried to smile, hoping she didn’t find me enticing enough
to stay. “Thank you.”
“Did we have sex last night?”
I stood beside the bed and folded my arms across my chest.
Her mouth opened a bit at my muscles. I still had the same physique I had back
in the military, and it still got the same reactions from women. They never
knew the real me—knew Derek Conway—but at least, with the way I looked, they
thought they did. Just another built, tough American boy, a modern G.I. Joe.
They had no idea what I did.
They had no idea who I was.
“No,” I told her, “we didn’t have sex. You stripped and then
you passed out.”
She looked surprised. “We still didn’t . . .”
I gave her a dry look. “Sex is only fun when you’re awake,
babe.” I stretched my arms above my head and she stared openly at my stomach,
from the waistband on my boxers to my chest. Okay, now it was time for her to
go.
I told her I had stuff to do in the morning and needed her to
move along. I could tell she wanted to at least take a shower, but I wasn’t
about to budge.
I had a plane to catch.
Karina Halle
With her USA Today
Bestselling The Artists Trilogy published by Grand Central Publishing, numerous
foreign publication deals, and self-publishing success with her Experiment in
Terror series, Vancouver-born Karina Halle is a true example of the term
"Hybrid Author." Though her books showcase her love of all things
dark, sexy and edgy, she's a closet romantic at heart and strives to give her
characters a HEA...whenever possible.Karina holds a screenwriting degree from Vancouver Film School and a Bachelor of Journalism from TRU. Her travel writing, music reviews/interviews and photography have appeared in publications such as Consequence of Sound, Mxdwn and GoNomad Travel Guides. She currently lives on an island on the coast of British Columbia where she’s preparing for the zombie apocalypse with her fiancé and rescue pup.
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