Explosives are Walker’s specialty, but he’s never handled anything as combustible as his enemy, Jade Huntington.
Goddammit. All I want to do is blow shit up. Is that too much to ask? But, no. What I get is mission frigging impossible in the middle of a Beirut hotbed. I’m the renegade of Operation T-Zone, but this time I swear I’m gonna do things by the book. That is, until Jade Huntington’s involvement in my op causes a brand new snafu.
My tribal name means desperate warrior, and that’s exactly what I am for reasons I can’t outrun. And Jade? She’s personal enemy number one. An incredibly sexy one at that. But she’ll never find out just how desperate I am for her.
I’m not an assassin, even though I am badass. I’m a protector. Except when it comes to Walker. What I wouldn’t give to bore a bullet through his stubborn skull. We’ve been at each other’s throats for years, this time I’m determined to leave him in the dust after I shoot a few holes in him.
We’re forced to work together when Walker practically kidnaps me and my package: the woman I’m guarding, the target he’s assigned to take out.
Days on the run. Nights of enforced closeness. Fighting side by side. Ever-present danger ignites a desire I can’t control. But the endgame is so perilous Walker and I might not make it out alive.
Worldbuilding: This novel takes place all over the world! There is a brief pit stop in Mt. Pleasant, but the majority of the story took place in Beirut, South Dakota and towards the end in Wyoming.
Characters: The main characters in this story are Walker and Jade. Walker is running. He’s been running for the last 5 years and he doesn’t have any plans to stop until Jade busts into his life, and screws up his mission, yet again. All he wants to do whenever he sees Jade is to strangle her but at the same time, kiss the hell out of her just to shut her up. They’ve been enemies for years, always doing the same op but on different sides of field. Can they come together this one and only time to save a woman’s life? Or will their antagonism for each other get in the way of their mission? Jade has always wanted to put a bullet between Walker’s eyes but can never seem to bring herself to actually do it. When Walker comes cocking up another one of her missions, fury rises swift and sure in the form of an epic ass whooping but he seems to be the only one who might believe in Jade’s charge’s innocence. Being in close quarters and on the run starts blurring the line between love and hate until till there is nothing left to do but to face the truth. Can Jade trust him to keep his word and help her out of this mess all the while secretly hoping he won’t break her heart?
Plot: This was so different from the Carolina Bad Boys Universe that I’m used to! I was expecting the Mt. Pleasant boys to be a more central part of the story but this was all about Walker and his boys and special ops his life. I loved that it was different even though, fighting the bad guys was still and underlining theme that seems to be present in most of Rie Warren’s novels.
Writing: This novel was told in first person point of view of Walker. I freaking love that Rie Warren novels are always told from the guy’s point of view but it also kills me because she always writes these kick ass female characters and we never get to read their side of the story!
Curb Appeal: The cover is amazing! I love the colors and it just really embodies all who Walker is. The blurb totally sums up the book and leaves out a lot of great surprises for the reader to find!
Ultimately: This was a fantastic novel that reminds me yet again what a great writer Rie Warren is! The reader gets to see a whole other side to the explosively sexy Mr. Walker and what an amazing back story he has, along with how deep of a person he actually is! All in all, if you are in the mood for a hero will always go after his woman and a heroine that gives just as good as she can take then come check out Walker!!!!!
I listened to Storm grumbling through the industrial sized headgear affixed to my ears, the rotors of the HH-60 Pave Hawk whump-whump-whumping overhead and on the tail.
“Exotic location was the phrase I used.” I chuckled low in my chest. “Didn’t mention nothin’ about R&R.”
“Thought I’d at least be able to get my jock off without gettin’ my fucking head shot off.” Storm aimed me a look from the pilot’s seat, one sinister black eyebrow raised.
“I’ll get you a hooker in Dubai after we get out of this mess.” Unbuckling, I reached over and tapped him on the cheek, ignoring the growl that parted his lips.
In the cargo area of the Sikorsky helicopter, I checked my parachute, the altimeter, the straps of my harness, and my pack filled with all sorts of goodies. I was unofficially Storm’s copilot, but fuck it. The man didn’t need me. He could handle the chopper on his own without the usual five-man crew. He’d have to, because I was getting ready to jump ship in high-altitude, high-opening, full-on fuck-this-shit terror.
Storm snorted, and his deep voice rumbled over the ear-gear. “Unlike you, I don’t need to pay for my pussy.”
“Not after that time you caught syphilis, right, Kemosabe?” Ignoring the curses Storm slung my way, I started zipping into my fancy flight suit, checking and double-checking straps, buckles, my bailout O2 line.
Storm stepped into the back with a dip of his head. “Remember what Blaize said about covert mission?”
“The fuck. I’m always covert.” I wrapped my arms protectively around the desert camo pack snuggled against my chest like it was a baby in a papoose, because I knew what was coming next.
“Hand over the flash bang, Walker.” He opened his palm.
“Goddammit. I feel naked without my C-4. You know that.”
“Gimme.” Storm advanced.
“Motherfucker.” I watched while he dexterously unzipped the side pocket of my pack, eagerly snatching the two M112 demolition blocks of putty-white plastic explosives wrapped in a Mylar bundle.
My eyes narrowed. “Blaize is a bitch.”
“Head bitch in charge.” He pleasantly agreed. “Blasting caps? Priming unit?”
I placed both in his hands, my own shaking like a meth head giving up the last of his stash.
Watching hungrily as Storm placed my precious bundles aside, I muttered, “Blaize is definitely a chick with a dick.” Tearing my gaze from my favorite weapons, I grinned. “Bitch chick with a dick you got the hots for.”
“I’d rather dip my dick into a vat of boiling oil.”
“Like when you got syphilis? That can be arranged.”
Storm cuffed me on the back of the head. He was just lucky I was trussed up like a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving . . . heh.
Blaize Carmichael was our new hardnosed higher-up at Operation T-Zone. Op T-Z was an organization quite possibly unsanctioned by the PTB of the USA, because they didn’t need to know what we did behind enemy lines, in the line of duty.
We weren’t military.
We weren’t from the CIA Viper Pit.
We weren’t Black Ops.
We were darker than that.
Unlike previous operations managers who’d given years of orders over secure lines and in scrambled codes, Blaize had come on the scene, giving it the personal touch with an up-front team meet-and-greet. Yeah, the woman’s touch in the form of intense head games more mind-fucking than any passive-aggressive wifey could come up with.
By the time she’d debriefed us with her high-heeled boot up our collective asses, read us the riot act, and nailed us to the wall over every single possible past mistake and mission mishap, I’d gone home and drunk a bottle of tequila.
Blaize did have nice legs though.
I rubbed my sleeve across the mask of my helmet then peered at Storm . . . then gawped at the cockpit. The empty fucking cockpit.
“Wait. Who the fuck’s flying this thing?” I asked.
“Autopilot.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Jerry-rigged autopilot.” His smug smile did not put me at ease.
“I do not want to know.”
“Probably not, but it involves a selfie stick and duct tape and—”
“La la la . . . I can’t hear you.” Jesus Christ. I was gonna die tonight. I just knew it.
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