The confession booth splintered around us as the .50 cal rounds tore through centuries-old oak. I tasted blood and gunpowder on Lucas’s tongue as he kissed me through the gunfire, his free hand working my zipper with single-minded focus. “You’re bleeding,”…
The church confessional reeked of gun oil and incense. I pressed the barrel of my Glock between Father O’Malley’s third and fourth ribs, his cassock rough under my fingertips. “Bless me, Father,” I whispered, “for I’m about to sin.” Behind…
The warehouse was supposed to be empty. Instead, I found myself staring down the barrel of a .38 revolver—held by a trembling teenager who couldn’t have been older than nineteen. His hands shook so badly the hammer kept catching on…
The warehouse was supposed to be empty. Instead, I found myself staring down the barrel of a .45, my back pressed against cold concrete, Lucas’s blood smeared across my stolen blazer. The gunman sneered. “Carter’s whore finally shows her—” Thwack.…
The safehouse smelled like gunpowder and sex. I pressed my palm against the bleeding graze on Lucas’s shoulder, his sweat-slicked skin hot beneath my fingers. “You’re an idiot,” I hissed, dabbing whiskey on the wound with more force than necessary.…
The humid New Orleans air clung to my skin as I slipped into the underground jazz club, the kind of place you only find when someone whispers directions against your ear in the dark. The bass thrummed through the floorboards,…
The penthouse was all glass and shadows, the city lights stretching below them like scattered diamonds. Elena had known this was a bad idea the moment she accepted his invitation. But one look from those piercing gray eyes—dark with promise—and…
The dim, sultry glow of the nightclub pulsed around them, the bass thrumming through Lila’s body like a second heartbeat. She had come here to unwind, to forget the stress of her high-powered job—not to be pinned against the velvet-lined…
In Ahmedabad’s vibrant pulse, where the aroma of fafda-jalebi mingled with the warm breeze of the Sabarmati River, Nina Elle glowed like a Navratri flame. Her voluptuous figure, as striking as the intricate carvings of Adalaj Stepwell, drew eyes at…
In Hyderabad’s vibrant pulse, where the aroma of biryani mingled with the warm breeze from Hussain Sagar, Nina Elle glowed like a Charminar minaret at dusk. Her voluptuous figure, as striking as the pearls of Laad Bazaar, drew eyes at…