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Walker, Bad Boys of X-Ops #1 (a four book
series to be released spring/summer 2016)
Explosives are Walker’s
specialty, but he’s never handled anything as combustible as his enemy, Jade
Goddammit. All I want to do is blow shit up. Is that too much to
ask? But, no. What I get is mission frigging impossible in the middle of a
Beirut hotbed. I’m the renegade of Operation T-Zone, but this time I swear I’m
gonna do things by the book. That is, until Jade Huntington’s involvement
in my op causes a brand new snafu.
My tribal name means desperate warrior, and that’s
exactly what I am for reasons I can’t outrun. And Jade? She’s personal enemy
number one. An incredibly sexy one at that. But she’ll never find out just how
desperate I am for her.
I’m not an assassin, even though I am badass.
I’m a protector. Except when it comes to Walker. What I wouldn’t give to bore a
bullet through his stubborn skull. We’ve been at each other’s throats for
years, this time I’m determined to leave him in the dust after I
shoot a few holes in him.
We’re forced to work together when Walker practically kidnaps me
and my package: the woman I’m guarding, the target he’s assigned to take out.
Days on the run. Nights of enforced closeness. Fighting side by
side. Ever-present danger ignites a desire I can’t control. But the endgame is
so perilous Walker and I might not make it out alive.
listened to Storm grumbling through the industrial sized headgear affixed to my
ears, the rotors of the HH-60 Pave Hawk whump-whump-whumping
overhead and on the tail.
location was the phrase I used.” I chuckled low in my chest. “Didn’t mention
nothin’ about R&R.”
I’d at least be able to get my jock off without gettin’ my fucking head shot
off.” Storm aimed me a look from the pilot’s seat, one sinister black eyebrow
get you a hooker in Dubai after we get out of this mess.” Unbuckling, I reached
over and tapped him on the cheek, ignoring the growl that parted his lips.
the cargo area of the Sikorsky helicopter, I checked my parachute, the
altimeter, the straps of my harness, and my pack filled with all sorts of
goodies. I was unofficially Storm’s copilot, but fuck it. The man didn’t need
me. He could handle the chopper on his own without the usual five-man crew. He’d
have to, because I was getting ready to jump ship in high-altitude, high-opening,
full-on fuck-this-shit terror.
snorted, and his deep voice rumbled over the ear-gear. “Unlike you, I don’t
need to pay for my pussy.”
after that time you caught syphilis, right, Kemosabe?” Ignoring the curses
Storm slung my way, I started zipping into my fancy flight suit, checking and
double-checking straps, buckles, my bailout O2 line.
stepped into the back with a dip of his head. “Remember what Blaize said about
fuck. I’m always covert.” I wrapped my arms protectively around the desert camo
pack snuggled against my chest like it was a baby in a papoose, because I knew
what was coming next.
over the flash bang, Walker.” He opened his palm.
I feel naked without my C-4. You know that.”
I watched while he dexterously unzipped the side pocket of my pack, eagerly
snatching the two M112 demolition blocks of putty-white plastic explosives
wrapped in a Mylar bundle.
eyes narrowed. “Blaize is a bitch.”
bitch in charge.” He pleasantly agreed. “Blasting caps? Priming unit?”
placed both in his hands, my own shaking like a meth head giving up the last of
hungrily as Storm placed my precious bundles aside, I muttered, “Blaize is
definitely a chick with a dick.” Tearing my gaze from my favorite weapons, I
grinned. “Bitch chick with a dick you got the hots for.”
rather dip my dick into a vat of boiling oil.”
when you got syphilis? That can be arranged.”
cuffed me on the back of the head. He was just lucky I was trussed up like a
turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving . . . heh.
Carmichael was our new hardnosed higher-up at Operation T-Zone. Op T-Z was an
organization quite possibly unsanctioned by the PTB of the USA, because they
didn’t need to know what we did behind enemy lines, in the line of duty.
weren’t from the CIA Viper Pit.
weren’t Black Ops.
were darker than that.
previous operations managers who’d
given years of orders over secure lines and in scrambled codes, Blaize had come
on the scene, giving it the personal touch with an up-front team
meet-and-greet. Yeah, the woman’s
touch in the form of intense head games more mind-fucking than any
passive-aggressive wifey could come up with.
the time she’d debriefed us with her high-heeled boot up our collective asses,
read us the riot act, and nailed us to the wall over every single possible past
mistake and mission mishap, I’d gone home and drunk a bottle of tequila.
did have nice legs though.
rubbed my sleeve across the mask of my helmet then peered at Storm . . . then
gawped at the cockpit. The empty fucking
Who the fuck’s flying this thing?” I asked.
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
autopilot.” His smug smile did not put me at ease.
do not want to know.”
not, but it involves a selfie stick and duct tape and—”
“La la la . . . I can’t hear you.” Jesus Christ. I was gonna die tonight. I
just knew it.
From the world of bad boys of Retribution MC comes a deliciously dangerous,
scandalously sexy, four part series!
girl versus Bad boy. Southern charm comes head-to-head with military grit. They
say opposites attract. That’s an understatement where Justice and Lawless are
Let’s face it. I’ve got a bad rep with the ladies. I’m a rough-talking,
smooth-loving, international playboy—yeah right, whatever—and an X-Ops
specialist. Sure, I’m hiding a secret or two. Who isn’t? That’s the least of my
concerns when I’m called in to lead an infiltrate-and-retrieve mission.
my head in the game—the one firmly attached to my shoulders. An American
embassy overseas is under siege, and I’m expecting to rescue the ambassador and
his daughter, a stereotypical geeky damsel in distress, Matilda Lawless.
in the crossfire between explosive danger and wild desire, I’m in for the shock
of my life.
I’m not looking for any man to save me. I’m pretty damn capable of taking care
of myself, thank you very much. I have a successful career and was practically
born and bred on a gun range, even if I can’t bake a perfect biscuit to save my
life like a good southern woman should.
there’s just something about that hardcore operative called Justice. He’s
haunted and lonely, and I know that pain inside and out. It doesn’t hurt one
little bit he’s been blessed with more than his fair share of good looks, plus
a body that would make any red-blooded woman drool.
inside the embassy, under my father’s shrewd eyes, I intend to have Justice no
matter how many times he says he’s not good enough. I see the way he watches
me. With dirty, sexy, hungry lust.
is what Justice does. Now I need him to fight for me.
Graphic sex, graphic action, graphic language. Triple X caution.
Bad Boys of X-Ops—four part spring/summer series: Walker: April 5th (preorder $0.99 now) http://amzn.to/1VQjqVA Justice Storm: Coming soon Bane: Coming soon
Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough
trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Her latest endeavors
include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun,
hot, and southern-sexy series.
A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie
started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic
poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for
paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school
to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie
has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.