Amanda Ryder is determined never to fail her coven again. Next time, she won’t hesitate to pull the trigger to defend her friends. If only they’d trust her enough to let her set foot outside the Academy…
EXCERPT:
Hamilton Spencer Nash was
pissed the fuck off. This shit between him and Marian Dupree was at
motherfuckin' DEFCON1. Something was going to go thermonuclear, and soon.
As he greeted each of his
guests, however, he kept all outward signs of his fury well hidden. He hadn't
wrecked a room in his house, though he was sorely tempted. He hadn't punched
anyone's face in, though his palms itched for contact. He hadn't taken his
anger out on his associates, for that would be undignified, and they were not
to blame… technically.
Instead, he'd sat tight.
Thought long and hard about what had happened, the how and the why it had come
to pass. He debriefed those involved, checking and rechecking the facts.
And he'd come to the
conclusion that Dupree was to blame. She and her bumbling little scout troop
had interfered for the last time. And yes, he recognized how cartoon-villainish
that sounded, thank you very much. Yet another reason Dupree was irritating:
she brought out the worst in him.
He hadn't gotten to where he
was—the head of a powerful and lucrative organization—by throwing tantrums.
He'd earned his wealth and position by maximizing opportunities while minimizing
risks. By making calculated, rational decisions. By eliminating problems with surgical
precision.
Dupree was a problem.
Therefore she would pay. And pay dearly.
He knew something had gone
seriously wrong when his pet firebug, Angelica, hadn't met up with him at their
rendezvous point. The girl was prone to panicky overreaction whenever she sensed
the slightest danger, real or imagined, so the fact she'd never even called was
ominous, indeed. And he'd never heard from her again, in fact—nor had his
associates managed to turn up any sign of her. He had no definitive knowledge
of what actually happened to her—Dupree hadn't bothered to inform him, the
bitch—other than the firm belief that Angelica was dead at her hands.
He did not pause to consider
he'd sent Angelica on a dangerous mission to burn Dupree's precious Academy to
the ground. The only fact that concerned him was that he'd lost a valuable member
of his team. A loss he blamed on Marian Dupree.
It wasn't a personal loss,
per se. He had no emotional connection to Angelica, and he was not the sort of
person to delude himself otherwise after the fact. In truth, not long before
she went missing, he'd been wondering if Angelica was worth the hassle: the
woman had taken an inordinate amount of coaxing and coddling to become even
slightly useful. But now that she was gone, he'd never know if she would've
matured into a fantastically successful associate. And the loss of his profit,
both realized and potential, wasn't a pittance.
Nor was it something he was
inclined to overlook.
Marian Dupree would suffer
at his hands. She would experience the kind of setback he had, but on a much
larger scale. She would be made to sacrifice, and she would know who was the
author of her pain.
"I want everything you
have on Marian Dupree and the Academy of St. Joan of Arc," he announced calmly
to the assembly.
His highest-ranking
associates, seated around his spacious dining table, reacted with varying
degrees of surprise and curiosity.
"Thought you said they
were small time," Brittani Rollins yipped impertinently. "Why the
sudden interest?"
Hamilton leveled a
penetrating stare at her until she started to squirm. He dragged his eyes away
once she'd been put in her place, scanning the group for any other signs of insubordination.
Finding none, he continued. "The situation has changed. What was once a
minor inconvenience has become a serious problem."
He paused once again to
inwardly tally the ledger. He'd had to abort the foreclosure-arson scam with
Dale Dalton at Gulf States Bank—without a firebug, the fires would've actually looked
like the work of an arsonist, and their crooked insurance claim adjustor had
balked.
Thousands of dollars had
been pissed away with that one folded deal alone. Who knew how much more they
might've made running the scam elsewhere?
Hamilton's blood pressure
rose once again at the thought. But he was careful not to let any of the others
sense how riled he felt.
"Round the clock
surveillance. Tails on everyone who enters and leaves that place.
Wiretaps. Financials.
Grocery lists. I want everything," he said in an even voice.
Several of the group nodded,
understanding which of these tasks were meant for them without being
specifically told.
"And I want someone on
the inside we can trust." He stared straight at Lane Cassidy, who'd
established contact with one of Dupree's litter. The mole's allegiance was in
doubt, as far as Hamilton was concerned. It was time for Lane to put the screws
to the bitch and make her show her true colors.
"Spread the word: I
want recruitment stepped up. Finder's fees increased by twenty percent. Doubled
if the new initiate comes from the Academy." He paused for a moment for effect,
then held up a month-old newspaper clipping of a grainy photograph: his only
concrete proof she existed. "And twenty grand for the person who
brings me this girl."
About the author:
Born and raised in small-town, rural Indiana, I now live in metropolitan Phoenix, Arizona with an intimidatingly smart and devastatingly handsome husband, two hyperactively cute and talented sons who will one day be Earth's Overlords (never underestimate the power of Legos), and an emotionally needy, neurotic chocolate lab. I enjoy cooking, traveling, gardening, sewing, quilting, and embroidery but only when I'm in the right mood and seldom concurrently (I'm kind of streaky when it comes to hobbies). I adore reading and writing in the same way that I love breathing and eating, gaining a similar nourishment from each.Author's Giveaway:
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