She’s survived dangerous missions for the government, but can she survive life among the rich?
Davia Glenn is the first woman on a covert paramilitary team until a mission goes deadly wrong. She inherits a fortune, moves to a wealthy community, and soon discovers the crazy under all that money. On a terrorist’s hit list, Davia must navigate her new life while dodging assassins.
Torn between two men and two worlds, Davia must decide her future— but this time, she wears haute couture instead of camouflage and combat boots.
If you love the grit of Jack Reacher and the fun of Stephanie Plum, one-click Dior or Die today for your next addicting, suspenseful mystery read.
I sat in a chair blindfolded, arms bound behind me with duct tape, and a gag stuffed in my mouth. The relentless
gunfire battered my senses.
Control the mind-game, Davia.
Forcing my hands into tight balls, I leaned forward and arched my back, preparing to free myself. In response, a bullet cracked one of my chair’s legs, and I almost crashed to the ground.
This ordeal was a boys’ club welcome to the first woman assigned to the most elite covert paramilitary team in existence. Of course, the team wouldn’t greet me with candy and flowers, but this?
My face grew hot from suppressed fury as the rounds whizzed past unabated. I slowed my breathing. Four breaths in, four out.
Again.
Finally, there was silence.
The malignant perfume of gunfire burned my nostrils. I listened for the click of empty magazines dropped and replaced. Instead, booming laughter and the dull thud of men slapping each other’s backs echoed through the space.
“Let’s give Glenn some time to sit in her messed drawers.” It was
James Warden, my team’s leader. When we met this morning at our training base in Virginia, he radiated Apex Alpha. Now, I amended it to Apex Asshat.
“We can tell the colonel we didn’t hit the hostage,” said another.
More guffaws.
After their voices drifted away, I renewed my efforts to break the bindings. Within minutes, I was loose. I spat the gag from my mouth and tore the blindfold from my eyes, temples throbbing. How long would it take my shattered hearing to return in full?
My location was a plywood shoot house with movable walls. Dummy targets riddled with bullet holes surrounded me, and spent brass casings blanketed the floor like a golden carpet. Crouching, I snuck to the door, flattened myself against the wall, and peeked out.
Another teammate, Savant, sat at a distant table under a canvas shade, headphones atop his mop of fair hair. Hunched over a laptop, he bopped in time to an unheard beat. Gunfire began at a nearby range.
The group had moved on.
Bending, I lifted the combat knife strapped to my right calf and noticed a bullet hole had pierced a cargo pocket. The round missed my leg by a fraction of an inch.
I was almost a victim of high-speed lead poisoning.
Jaw set, I crept forward and thrust the knife under Savant’s chin in case he wanted to continue the hazing. Complex surveillance images streamed across his laptop’s screen as heavy metal blared from the headphones I tugged off.
“Don’t move,” I hissed.
“Oh, hey, Davia.” He pointed toward the distant gunfire. “Have fun.”
He never looked up.
Dropping Savant’s headphones into his lap, I put my knife back in its sheath. At the weapons table, I selected a submachine gun.
Popping in filtered ear protection, I stalked out to the range. Let’s find the hyenas.
Four battle-hardened men turned in sync when I approached, their expressions ranging from surprised to annoyed at my unexpected appearance.
“Sorry, I’m late.” My voice was saccharine sweet, like I was tardy for a Sunday picnic.
“We wasn’t ’specting you at all,” said Hodge, our burly Texan medic. “You’re tougher than a one-eared alley cat.”
Most worked to hide smiles, but Warden scowled. “Careful with that gun,” he said. “I’ll show you how to use it in a sec.”
Show me? I trained for years on every weapon they used, and some they didn’t. Not pausing, I discharged all my ammo, disintegrating the bullseye of the target.
When I finished, teammate Ned tugged at his scruffy beard and said, “We should nickname you Bombshell, and not because you’re blonde.” The men all laughed, except Warden.
I grew up in a small town in Southern California. My early writing career began when I created a neighborhood newspaper, won an American Legion essay award in 8th grade, and became editor of my high school newspaper.
At age 24, I became a prosecutor for the San Diego County District Attorney’s office. I handled high-profile murder, rape, domestic violence, and gang cases. When I person I convicted made death threats, I trained in self-defense and weapons with a former black-ops agent. This led to the creation of my protagonist, Davia Glenn.
I’m a Distinguished Toastmaster and like to advocate for suicide prevention, elder abuse prevention, and fighting sex crimes against children.
This all sounds serious and achievement driven, but I also enjoy traveling, taking photos, and Korean dramas. I have two cats and a great guy.
When you’ve lost everything – revenge is all that’s left…
After securing the convictions of two violent murderers for a horrific and brutal attack on a pensioner in his own home, Henry’s wife, Abi should be celebrating.
With the nation watching, it was her biggest test as a criminal lawyer.
But someone’s not happy.
First, there’s the hooded stranger who follows her home in the dead of night.
Then comes the attack on her car and a death threat in an anonymous hand-delivered letter.
Someone’s trying to scare them.
Someone wants revenge.
And they’ll stop at nothing until they’ve brought the couple to their knees – and exacted a deadly retribution…
Nothing Left To Lose is an electrifying psychological thriller from the No. 1 bestselling author of his Wife’s Sister.
It’s gone half nine and a niggle of worry rumbles in my gut. A vision of Abi on a hospital trolley flashes through my mind. I shove it away. I’m being silly. Worrying unnecessarily. I’m sure she’s fine.
I snatch up my phone and hit the redial button, willing her to answer, hoping for a slurred apology and the sound of music thumping in the background. At least I would know she was safe.
I listen to a long hiss-filled silence, the blood gushing through my ears.
A click.
Her voice.
And for a split second, I dare to believe I’m through.
‘Abi?’
‘You’ve reached Abigail Pilkington-Hutton. I can’t take your call right now but leave a message.’
I slump in my chair and pinch the bridge of my nose as I ring off, my heart beating a little faster and a little harder. A kaleidoscope of images of my wife’s body dumped by the side of the road, bleeding, lifeless, her eyes staring blankly, spiral through my head.
Stop it.
I refuse to be that husband. She’s perfectly capable of looking after herself. She’s not a child. And yet, I can’t help but worry.
Of course, the lasagne’s ruined. A fiery blast stings my face as I flip open the oven door. I step back to let the curls of steam rush towards the ceiling and peer inside despondently at the charred remains. Shavings of Parmesan cheese are blackened beyond salvation and crusty tracks of meat sauce have bubbled up and hardened over the sides of the ceramic dish. It’s as good as cremated, even though I turned the heat down hours ago.
I slam the door shut. Wasting good food irks me, especially when I’ve put effort into cooking. It’s not as if it’s one of those vile cardboard-tasting ready meals, straight out of a packet. It’s an authentic Italian recipe from a dusty old cookbook I picked up in a secondhand bookstore in town. I used a pinch of rosemary and cubes of pan-fried pancetta for the ragu and a sprinkling of nutmeg in the bechamel sauce. A surprise treat to celebrate the end of Abi’s trial.
I’ve lost count of the number of evenings and weekends she’s given up working on the case. The missed bedtime stories with the girls. The hours going through witness statements “one more time”. After everything she’s sacrificed over the last couple of months, I thought tonight we could spend some time together. But she’s not come home and her phone’s off.
AJ Wills is the number one Kindle bestselling author of multiple psychological thrillers.
He was a journalist for 20 years and also ran the communications department at a national charity in the UK.
He has been writing full time since March 2021 and runs the small independent publishing company, Cherry Tree Publishing, with his wife, AJ McDine, a fellow thriller author.
“I’ve always loved thrillers, but psychological thrillers hold a special interest for me because they’re about the scary, insane, disturbing things that happen to ordinary people – and we can all relate to them on some level,” he said.
He lives in Kent in the UK with wife, Amanda, their two teenage sons and two cats.
You can find out more about him by visiting his website: ajwillsauthor.com
Callie’s mind holds the key to weapons of mass destruction, both nuclear and biological. As a child, she drew the attention of an obscure military branch who kidnapped and held her in the bowels of a Think Tank.
Following a daring escape, death and destruction dog her steps yet can’t diminish her determination in seeking justice.
Nate Crofton left his black-ops unit seeking a quieter existence as a private investigator. When an ex-teammate draws him into a web of tangled lies and betrayal, he can’t resist the young prodigy in need of protection.
Little does he know the blue-eyed enigma holds incredible secrets and can take care of herself, along with the team sworn to protect her.
Together, they rely on each other’s strengths to stay one step ahead of agents, both foreign and domestic, while navigating their growing attraction.
A must-read for fans of for fans of CM Sutter, Dale Mayer, Dean Koontz, LT Ryan, and Fiona Quinn.
Timing remained key to survival while the erratic, pounding pulse in her ears rivaled a snare drum’s buzz roll, an executioner’s beat. Before the adrenaline in her blood circulated again, she’d be free or dead, depending on which card destiny threw her way.
Crouched between Jake on the left and Franklin on the right, she took a deep breath and waited for the signal. Both men risked their lives to set her free yet asked for nothing in return.
“Whatever happens, don’t look back and don’t hesitate, regardless of what you see or hear,” Franklin issued orders per routine. Years in the military merged certain traits with his basic character. A glance at his watch then around the corner, he assessed the building’s front.
Wind shrieked through specimen trees dotting the courtyard and offered the illusion of cover. Neither would stop a bullet.
A shimmer of perspiration glazed Jake’s forehead. Steel in his gaze matched the resolve of his harsh whispers.
Jake gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We’re in this together, Callie. This is our best shot. Let’s go. It’s time to set you free.”
Omission of flaxen-haired warbler attested to his degree of concentration. No quips, no banter, just streamlined focus.
Her mind defaulted to calculating estimated distances while factoring in wind resistance, depth of snow, and the time needed to reach the tree line beyond the fence.
The perimeter guard pulled up his collar against the frigid wind in passing. She wondered if he knew exactly who, and what, he secured.
Anxiety innervated and stimulated her senses, twisted higher by the potential for failure. Unable to distinguish between the urge to run or freeze, she was caught in a limbo of her biological making.
Static squelch of the second perimeter patrol’s radio faded with distance. Each circuit of the border yielded a like check-in. Stereo came from the electrical channel noise of a tower watchman’s walkie-talkie above.
Something felt— off.
The facility’s floodlights defined the unmistakable profile of the rooftop sentry. Light glinted off the barrel of his automatic rifle.
Seconds into her nightmare bid for freedom, an earsplitting siren blasted the silence.
Jake rushed forward with a stronger grip on her upper arm. Additional pressure compelled her to tap into unrealized energy reserves.
Her life changed in ten strides.
Franklin’s grip on her other arm convulsed before sliding to her wrist, then releasing. “Go, Jake. Get her out of here. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
Reily Garrett is a writer, mother, and companion to three long coat German shepherds. When not working with her dogs, she’s sitting at her desk with her fur kids by her side.
Author of chilling suspense and snarky romance, her stories span the distance of romantic thrillers, paranormal romance, and erotic romance. Regardless of genre, each book delves into a dark and twisted imagination yet is tempered with romance and a touch of humor.
Reviews by Kirkus Reviews, San Francisco Bay Review, and BestThrillers.com best describe her work:
“This could be James Patterson, Lee Child, and Tess Gerritsen rolled into one, but the dark, twisted methods used by the serial killer could surprise even those readers…” – San Francisco Bay Review
