Naomi: When I was kidnapped I thought only of survival. I don’t thrive well in chaos. That’s why I gave my captors exactly what they wanted: my skill with computers. Making millions for a crime lord who kept me imprisoned in his basement compound kept my family safe. When he was taken out, I thought my ticket to freedom had arrived. Wrong. I traded one keeper for another. This time I’m in the hands of a scarred, dark, demanding Russian who happens to be the head of the Bratva, a Russian crime organization. He wants my brain and my body. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued, but I can’t be a prisoner forever...no matter how good he makes me feel.
Vasily: At a young age, I was taught that a man without power is a puppet for all. I’ve clawed—and killed—my way to the top so that it is my heel on their necks. But to unify the fractured organization into an undefeatable machine, I need a technological genius to help me steal one particular artifact. That she is breathtaking, determined, and vulnerable is making her more dangerous than all of my enemies combined. But only I can keep her safe from the world that she now inhabits. Soon, I must choose between Naomi and Bratva law. But with every day that passes, this becomes a more impossible choice.
Published by Berkley, a division of Penguin
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**The first book in the series, Last Hit, has been optioned for a movie by Flame Ventures.**
I had sex once, and it was highly unpleasant. Most think I am a virgin, but I’m not. Like everything, I used the scientific theory. I formed a hypothesis—can I enjoy sex? I had caught Daniel with one of his girlfriends in the barn at my parents’ ranch, and they both looked as if they were enjoying themselves immensely. Therefore, I’d wanted to try it. I’d selected a college classmate I thought was pleasing to the eye and asked him after a study break if he wished to copulate. He had, and we’d found a hotel room. I’d been so distressed by the blankets and the germs that were sure to be crawling on them that I had a hard time concentrating. My memories of sex were him grasping my breasts a few times, then shoving his dick inside me. It had hurt, and there were copious secretions on his end, which had alarmed me more than anything else. I’d screamed at him for leaking on me and ran for the shower.
And that was the end of that.
After that horrifying experience, I’d done more research on sexual activity and now knew that the penis ejaculating semen was normal. However, I did not find any of it pleasant. No touching, because the human skin secreted oils. No kissing, because mouths were filthy things full of germs. And no penises. No penises at all.
But I did like it when Vasily told me what he wanted to do to me. I will allow him to look at me, but not touch. I’m not fond of touching.
“I told you I don’t like to be touched. Do you have a hearing deficit?” She frowns. “Because at first I was concerned that perhaps it is your English, but you seem to speak it quite well. Maybe it is your hearing then? You are young to have hearing problems. Is it hereditary? The most common birth defect is diminished hearing. Genetics are responsible for at least sixty percent of hearing deficits in infants so it’s most likely your hearing loss is due to your parents. Were one or more of your parents hearing challenged?”
I look at her blankly.
“Deaf. That’s what I mean by hearing challenged. Challenged is the word you’re supposed to use instead of other things. Like instead of mute, voice challenged. Or instead of handicapped, it’s physically challenged. I learned that in college. I’m socially challenged, but maybe it doesn’t translate into Russian. You’re Russian, right?”
“Yes. What does it matter?”
“It doesn’t. There was a Russian student in my art history course. Your accent was similar. I remember him telling me he was from a certain region—southern maybe? I didn’t much like the course. My advisor forced me to take it, saying that I needed some liberal arts to make my education well rounded, but learning about painting and politics did not assist me in creating better code. I like to write code. Code makes sense. Art does not.”
Last Hit (bk 1)
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Last Breath (bk 2)
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Last Kiss (bk 3)
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Last Hope (bk 4) Pre-order AVAILABLE
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Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She's been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at firstname.lastname@example.org.
This is a pen name for Jill Myles.
Jill Myles has been an incurable romantic since childhood. She reads all the 'naughty parts' of books first, looks for a dirty joke in just about everything, and thinks to this day that the Little House on the Prairie books should have been steamier.
After devouring hundreds of paperback romances, mythology books, and archaeological tomes, she decided to write a few books of her own - stories with a wild adventure, sharp banter, and lots of super-sexy situations. She prefers her heroes alpha and half-dressed, her heroines witty, and she loves nothing more than watching them overcome adversity to fall into bed together.