A Book Bundle! ELITE GHOSTS @Sabrina_York @HVLong @JenniferKacey @RebeccaRoyce
A new hope. A new family. Elite Ghosts.
Bradley “Tungsten” Peck. Marine. Lover. Friend. He’s the man who can get anything, find anyone, and accomplish every goal. At least he was, before he lost the only woman who mattered…he won’t stop until he gets her back or she puts a bullet in him.
Zinc's Heart by Rebecca Royce
Zinc has nothing to prove--and everything to lose.
Thallium's Submission by Anna Alexander
From now on the only orders he will follow are hers.
Nickel’s Wounds by Saranna DeWylde
Hell hath no fury like a Marine who’s lost her way. Beauty was once her currency, but for a woman who can’t feel anything but agony, she has nothing left. Except the vengeance that could destroy the one man whose love could teach her how to save herself.
Titanium’s Sacrifice by Jennifer Kacey
Titanium. Warbucks. Commander. Brother. He is all of those things. And none of them. Giving up everything to save the men and women under his command was easy until it comes to one…last…sacrifice.
It’s a shame then, that when Benedict Butler—Codename: Lithium—shows up to bring her in from the cold, she doesn’t know if she can trust him or not. And when their relationship evolves into something more…he’s not sure he can trust himself either.
Read an Excerpt of Lithium’s Rescue!She froze as the horrifying sound of a lock snicking shot through the silent room. Her eyes widened. She lifted the knife. Hell! Why hadn’t she turned off the lights?
The door eased open with an eerie creak. No one stood in the opening, but Michelle knew better. Someone was there. The barrel of a Sig appeared, capped with a long silencer. Michelle sucked in a breath and ducked back against the wall. When a hand emerged, she slashed it with the knife and, when it clattered to the ground, she executed a roundhouse kick into the doorway in the spot she assumed a face might be.
She got it right. Her assailant flew back with a bellow, slamming into the wall in the hallway. She bolted forward through the door, but he rallied quickly and caught her around the waist. With a howl, she kneed him in the crotch and gave him a healthy punch to the kidneys. She knew all the spots where a man was weak. She’d been trained for hand-to-hand combat since birth.
But he was trained too, and he was bigger. Stronger. A stocky, burly sort with a squashed in face and piggy eyes. And speaking of piggy eyes, when he slammed into her, launching them both back into her apartment onto the floor, she gouged at his. His response was a clout to her cheek. It stunned her, but only for a moment.
A moment too long.
He captured both her wrists in one hand and pulled a long KA-BAR from its sheath. The bastard smiled then, revealing a hatred for dentistry. “He wanted you alive, bitch,” he growled in a thickly accented voice. Russian, if she wasn’t mistaken. Funny what little details filtered in when one was about to die. “It wouldn’t be hard to convince him this couldn’t be helped.”
It was disturbing, the way his eyes glinted as he set the blade to her neck, as though slicing it would bring him a great deal of pleasure. A flicker of movement behind him caught her attention and her gaze shot to the doorway. She didn’t even bother to wince when his compatriot appeared. It was hardly a surprise. These sorts rarely worked alone.
She didn’t know why her focus locked onto the newcomer’s face, why something rose within her, a wail of denial, a wash of regret. Because he was, this second villain, drop dead gorgeous. In that second, that fleeting moment of time before she died, a great wave of sadness swamped her. In another world, another universe, another dimension, if such things existed, she would want a man like him. He was tall. Broad. Beautiful.
Their gazes clashed and his eyes narrowed. A muscle bunched in his cheek. Something that might have been cold fury rippled over his features.
And then he moved.
To her shock, he grabbed her assailant around the neck with a muscled arm and levered him to his feet. The knife clattered to the floor. The first man howled and flailed, kicking and scratching at the second in a frenzy to be free. He whipped down, throwing the second man over his shoulders and onto the ground—but the beautiful warrior bounded to his feet and faced his foe with a snarl.
They circled each other, there in the foyer of her apartment, each taking the others’ measure. Michelle would have run, but they were blocking the door, damn it all anyway. She grabbed the knife though, as it was in range, and scuttled back. She needed to be ready to face the victor when this was over. She had no idea why they were fighting over her, no idea who the second man was, but it hardly mattered. She wasn’t leaving with either of them. She didn’t trust anyone.
It was probably completely idiotic that deep down, in the well of her soul, she hoped the handsome man won. Being handsome didn’t make him a good man. In fact, it often meant the opposite.
The two men came together in a bone-crunching rush. The fight was furious. Fists and grunts and pummeling. The dull thuds of flesh on flesh. The crack of bones. The wet retort of splattering flesh. It quickly became clear, the pig-eyed man didn’t stand a chance. The warrior, the beast, demolished him with clout after ruthless, savage clout. With one crushing punch, he sent the smaller man teetering back onto the carpet. He didn’t move.
Michelle paid him little mind. She kept her eyes on the victor, the large and looming man with a sinfully beautiful face. Though she held the knife before her, it trembled. He stared down at the broken man and his lips quirked in what might have been a smile. Or not. He cracked his knuckles and turned his attention to her. His eyes were cold, emotionless. His expression harsh.
“Strip,” he said.
Just that one word.