From the USA Today Bestselling author of Love, in English
and The Artists Trilogy, comes a dark romance about a good girl and a very,
very bad man. It’s a deliciously twisted take on forbidden love, set among the
drug cartels of hot, steamy Mexico and is not for the faint of heart. It
contains explicit sex, violence, abuse, drug use, bad language and sexy
Mexicans. You have been warned…
For Luisa Chavez, a twenty-three year old former beauty
queen, a better life has always been just out of her reach. Sure, she’s had men
at her feet since she was a young teenager but she’s never had the one thing
she’s craved – security. Having grown up in near poverty, her waitressing job
in Cabo San Lucas can barely let her take care of herself, let alone her ailing
parents. Every day is another unwanted advance, every day is a struggle to
survive.
When Salvador Reyes, the depraved leader of a major Mexican
cartel, takes an interest in her, Luisa is presented with an opportunity she
can’t afford to pass up. She’ll become Salvador’s wife and exchange her freedom
and body for a life of riches – riches she can bestow upon her deserving
parents. But Luisa quickly finds out that even the finest wines and jewels
can’t undo the ugliness in her marriage, nor the never-ending violence that
threatens her every move.
Soon, Luisa is looking for an escape, a way out of the
carefully controlled life she’s leading. She finally gets her wish in the worst
way possible.
As it is, being the wife of Salvador makes her an ideal
target for rival cartels and there’s one particular man who needs Luisa as part
of his cartel’s expansion. One particular man whose quest for power has
destroyed lives, slit throats and gotten him out of an American prison. One
particular man who will stop at nothing until he gets what he wants.
That man is Javier Bernal. And he wants Luisa. He wants to
take her, keep her, ruin her.
Unless she ruins him first.
Some men were born to create empires, some women were meant
to be queen.
**Dirty Angels is the first standalone novel in the Dirty
Angels Trilogy, in which all books feature or involve different characters. The
character of Javier Bernal is from The Artists Trilogy, and while reading TAT
is recommended if you want additional insight into this twisted character, it
is not required.**
ALSO STAY TUNED FOR A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT AT 1/9!
EXCERPT:
He shut the door behind him and cocked his
head at me. Even in the low light I could feel his eyes, feel him studying me.
“I heard you weren’t too interested in eating today. Este says you told him to
go fuck himself. I wish I could have seen that.”
When I didn’t say anything, he took a step
toward me and held out his hand. “Get up,” he said, waiting. His posture
stiffened and his voice lowered. “I said get up. I don’t like to repeat
myself.”
It was only then that I noticed he was
holding something in his other hand. Two things, it looked like. A folded-up
rope and a knife. I waited for the pang of fear to hit me. It was subtle and I
didn’t let it show. I also didn’t obey him.
He quickly reached down and grabbed me by
the arm, yanking me up to him until I was pressed against his chest, crushing
the front of his suit jacket.
“You’re a light little thing, aren’t you?”
he asked in a bemused voice, his breath smelling faintly of cinnamon and
tobacco. “Delicate and easy to break.”
We’d see about that.
I acted instinctually. With my free hand I
jabbed my palm into his nose. He yelped in surprise, maybe even in pain, and
momentarily let go of me. That’s all I needed.
I pushed past him and went for the door. I
put my hands on the knob and turned, pulling it toward me. There was a
wonderful feeling of freedom for just that one moment where the door opened and
the light from the hallway spilled in. The feeling of power that came from
fighting back.
Nothing in my life had felt as good as my
hand connecting with his face.
But the feeling was fleeting. All at once
the door slammed shut and Javier was behind me, the rope going around my chest.
He hauled me backward into him so that he was holding me tight from behind.
“Don’t you know it turns me on when you
fight back?” he whispered in my ear, his voice ragged. “Though it turns me on
when you don’t fight back, too. I guess you can’t win.” He sniffed. “I think
you bloodied my nose.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to bloody my
face,” I taunted him, my veins on fire with the strange adrenaline that was
running through me.
He sucked in his breath. “No, my darling. I
would never do that to your face. Just your back. I have a lot of respect for
beautiful things, you know. They are usually the most dangerous.”
Oh, how I wished I could be dangerous to
him, to anyone.
“You know, Luisa,” he said, holding me
tighter now. I could feel his erection pressing into my ass. “We’re going to be
doing this dance with each other until we give you back to your husband. You
could make things easier on yourself. I don’t like to play rough with you.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You just want to cut
me up.”
“I’m merely branding you,” he said. “Don’t
make it sound so ugly.” He lifted his arm so that the knife was shining in
front of my face. I could almost see my warped reflection staring back at me.
“My penmanship with a knife is very delicate. A hard-earned skill. If your
husband’s name was Javier, I think you would be quite pleased with the finished
result.”
The man was completely crazy. He planned to
carve his name in my back, as if he was doing me a favor.
“Come on,” he said, and quickly wrapped the
rope around me so my arms were held tight to my sides. He made a few knots and
then shuffled me over to the bed before he pushed me onto it, face down. I
turned my head to breathe and he pressed down on the side of it, to keep me in
place. “Now stay.”
He straddled me, legs on either side of my
waist, and his hands stroked softly along the back of my neck until he grabbed
my collar. “My shirt looks good on you,” he commented. “But it looks better
off.” He reached underneath me, grabbing me by my collarbone, and ripped the
shirt open before pushing it to the side and sliding most of it off until one
shoulder was bare.
“He’s not going to want me when he sees
what you’ve done,” I managed to say.
“He’s not going to see what I’ve done until
I have what I want. What your marriage can and cannot handle is not my problem
and none of my business.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m many things but disgusting isn’t one
of them.”
“You’re sick.”
“Well, there’s no argument there. Good or
bad, there is great power in knowing who you are and owning it. So, tell me, my
beauty queen … who are you?”
He leaned down so those blazing eyes of his
were visible to mine.
“No one you will ever know,” I told him,
relieved at how strong I sounded.
