Best of 2017

“Bull.” My word is yet a whisper, but he hears.

Carefully, my best friend takes his finger and wipes the sweat away, so it doesn’t slide into my eye. He does it gently and makes sure not to touch my scope. Then, he’s back to staring at our target through his binoculars.

I blink several times and run my mind through every position of my body. I make sure my rifle isn’t canted. My cheek is rested against the butt stock and my eye stares down the scope to Hakim.

Gunny grunts through the speaker. “Stand down, boys. We’re not going to get the shot. Hakim knows he’s being targeted.”

Irritation flits through me.

He always gives up when I know I can take the shot.

I can kill Hakim.

Gunny just needs to let me do it my way.

My way goes against the morals and ethics of most normal men. I’m not normal. I haven’t been normal since I put a bullet through a quail when I was nine years old. As soon as the shot finished echoing through the woods and I had her body tossed in my bag, I’d heard a squawk.

I had killed a mother.

One tiny offspring hollered for food in a nearby nest. I knew. Deep down I knew I’d shot that baby’s mother. Something inside of me—despite my father’s cold upbringing—warmed and softened. I broke for that baby bird.

But I could fix it.

I could care for that bird.

I’d gathered the tiny thing into my small fist and stroked its head with my thumb on my gloved hand. It squawked and squawked. And for the first time in ages, I grinned.

“You hear me, Corporal?” Gunny barks.

I blink away my past and focus on my present.

My target.

My goal.

What’s right in front of me.

“I can make the shot. Give me a chance,” I murmur, my heart thumping steadily in my chest.

He utters out a string of curse words before conceding. “I’m giving you four minutes, Corporal.”

My eyes are on Hakim, my target, but when he glances over at Adara, my heart rate quickens when she beams at him. Her smile is shy but wide. For him. A smile only a woman gives to her lover. Sixteen and fifty-seven. That math sucks.

You dirty dog, Hakim.

That smile proves my research was correct. While Gunny and the team were collecting intel on Hakim, I was doing my own recon. In our short amount of time, I learned a lot about little Adara. I’d suspected she and Hakim had some sort of romantic interest going on.

Click.

Adjust.

My sights have moved slightly to accommodate my target. A target that is clear. Easy.

Focus.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“Stand down, Corp—”

Despite the suppressor on my rifle, the crack echoes off the buildings around me the moment I pull the trigger.

Don’t breathe.

Bull doesn’t dare engage, even though I’ve gone against direct orders.

I blink once and watch the girl crumple to her knees clutching her chest. Wait? Chest? Shoulder. She should be clutching her shoulder. Turning off my mind, I focus on her lover. Hakim. He roars as he breaks free from the cover of his men to be near Adara. The moment I see his fat head, I take my shot.

Crack.

“Fuuuuuck,” Bull hisses from beside me. Gunny is screaming in my earpiece but he’s being ignored for the time being.

Hakim falls on top of the girl’s unmoving body with a deadly head wound, causing blood to rush from his skull. Target eliminated.

“You fucking killed the girl,” Bull gripes, but he’s already gathering our shit so we can bolt. I’m still in position to make sure Hakim doesn’t move despite the gaping hole in his head.

“Hawk!”

I blink away my daze and lift my stiffened body from my position.

Fuck.

RPG.

I see it a second before it whizzes past me.

The explosion is deafening.

The pain is excruciating.

My short life ends before it even began.

CHAPTER ONE

VIOLET

PRESENT DAY

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“You look busy, Letty,” Mr. Collins interrupts in a gruff tone. “I’ll just pop in and see if Grayson wants to grab lunch.”

Violet.

My perfectly manicured fingers, which were typing away on the keyboard, pause as I lift my gaze to the old man. His beady eyes flit over my silky white blouse to where my full breasts are barely encased in a buttoned-up blouse, slightly jiggling with movement. I purposefully still my body and bring my fingertips to my slender neck to touch the string of pearls my mother gave me long ago to distract him. The action hides my breasts from the leering old man, and he drags his gaze back to my face.

I stiffen but force a polite smile to my lips. “Actually, he’s in a very important meeting,” I lie to him as I stand. “I’ll have him get back to you later, sir.”

He seems mildly irritated, but I flash him a winning smile that’s more convincing than the first one. “You’re his favorite client, you know,” I tell him in a conspiratorial whisper. “I know he’d much rather be downing sushi and sake with you than having to hash out the purchase of that Japanese hotel from Mr. Adachi. Those two have spent so much time discussing it. I’ll be glad when they decide on a price, so that Mr. Maxwell can handle his less complicated business.” I make a simple motion of my hand to gesture at him.

His white brows furrow together and he rounds his shoulders, as if the motions will make him taller. More formidable. Powerful. But at five foot ten, I tower over the much-shorter man, especially in my spiked heels that easily put me over six feet. With a huff, he shoots an unnerved glare at Grayson Maxwell’s door. “Tell him we can go out for celebratory drinks later in the week. I’ll accept his offer on my resort. Make sure he gets the message right away.”

He storms off, and my false smile morphs into a genuine and triumphant one. With my chin lifted in the air, I strut over to the coffee machine in the kitchen. Mr. Maxwell likes his coffee a certain way. Two spoonsful of sugar and one scoop of creamer. And I don’t forget the sprinkle of cinnamon. I even squat slightly so I can eyeball how much sugar is rounded on the spoon before dumping it into the steaming liquid and then stirring.

The run-in with Mr. Collins only solidifies what I already know. I’m damn good at my job. After six years, I’m the best employee Maxwell Subsidiaries has. Not long ago I was just a fraction of my current self. A sliver of what could be. Back when Vaughn pulled my strings. Long before I cut loose from him and danced in my own show called life.

The earlier smile fades at the thought of my ex-boyfriend, Vaughn. A dangerous man. Toxic and vile. I’d fallen hard for a man who tainted me in every way possible. It takes hi

ndsight to realize how deep in his dirty world I’d sunk.

I’m jolted from terrorizing memories of Vaughn when I hear male voices behind me.

“This is the break room,” Clint from HR says. “We hardly ever come in here. Our assistants make our coffee. You’ll be assigned an assistant as well.”

I jerk my head to see the new associate, a handsome male, taking in my appearance with a slight hunger in his eyes.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Truman,” Clint tells him with a chuckle. “This is the owner’s assistant, Letty.”

Violet.

“Will she be my assistant as well?” Mr. Truman questions, hope flickering in his weasel eyes.

I suppress a shudder and force a smile as I clutch the steaming mug of coffee. If he keeps staring at me like he’s undressing me with his eyes, I might have to accidentally dump this hot cup down the front of his slacks.

“No, she belongs to Mr. Maxwell.”

My heart ceases to beat at Clint’s choice of words. You belong to me. Vaughn’s favorite saying still haunts me seven years later. This time, the shudder ripples down my spine and the coffee sloshes in the mug, stinging my hand when it splashes over.

Turning away from the pompous pricks, who are now laughing at my clumsiness, I snag a paper towel and clean the coffee spill from my flesh. It takes everything in me to keep my lips pressed in a firm line to avoid saying anything. Under my breath, though, I mutter, “I belong to no one.”

When I reach Mr. Maxwell’s door, I visibly straighten my back and affix the same warm smile I’d used earlier for Mr. Collins before stepping into my boss’s office. Just like always, his scent hits me first. Strong. Rugged. Spicy. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy inhaling his unique smell.

I swallow down my silliness and focus on not spilling any more hot liquid on my hand. Walking in stilettos while carrying coffee sometimes proves to be a challenge. Thankfully, it’s one I’ve mostly mastered.